The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 153

My voice cracks on the last word, a heavy sob tearing through my chest.

“And Willow spent her whole life waiting for someone to just notice she was bleeding. How do I sit here in this penthouse, and not feel like the universe gave me everything and left her with nothing?”

“Because life isn’t a zero-sum game, Zara,” Locke says. “You having protection didn’t steal it from her. You being loved didrit rob her of a family. Cobra didn’t even know she existed until a week ago. You didn’t steal her life, baby”

I shake my head weakly, leaning my forehead against his chest, inhaling the clean, grounding scent of cedarwood clinging to his skin. “It’s not just that though….”

Locke’s large hand rises, cupping the back of my head, his fingers threading gently through my hair, pressing me tighter against his heartbeat. “What else? Talk to me.”

“Her threat,” I whisper against his shirt. “When she stood at the door… when she said the universe wouldn’t allow an imbalance to exist forever. She said it was going to take it directly from me. What if she’s right? What if – what if my cancer is just… the balance being restored?

The second the words leave my mouth, I feel Locke’s entire frame lock up.

He doesn’t move for a long, dangerous second. His heartbeat thunders beneath my cheek, hard and heavy. Then, gently but with absolute, unyielding strength, he cups my face in both of his massive hands and tilts my head up, forcing me to look directly into his eyes.

They are blazing with a dark, primal intensity that takes my breath away.

“Listen to me very carefully, baby,” he growls, his voice vibrating deep in his chest. “Willow is not a fucking prophet, she is not a deity, she does not command the universe. She’s a hurt, spiteful girl throwing sharp words around because she wanted to make you bleed. That’s all it was: a desperate attempt to leave a mark because she couldn’t break you any other way.”

“Locke -”

“No,” he cuts in fiercely, his thumbs stroking over my cheekbones, “I will not let you give her bullshit a home in your mind. The universe didn’t give you cancer to balance some imaginary cosmic scale, and nobody nobody is taking you away from me.”

–

Before I can process the raw, fierce possessiveness in his voice, Locke bends his head down and captures my mouth in a deep, desperate kiss.

It isn’t gentle, and it isn’t tentative. It’s a fierce, consuming seal, a demand to drag me straight out of the abyss of my own head and anchor me back into the physical world. He tastes like salt, warmth, and absolute safety

When he finally pulls back, resting his forehead against mine, both of our breaths are coming in ragged, shallow gasps. The dark, cold shadows that have been suffocating me all evening suddenly feel a little further away, pushed back by the sheer, unyielding force of his presence.

“No more heavy thinking tonight,” Locke murmurs, his lips brushing against the corner of my mouth, then

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Chapter 86-2–

my cheek, then the soft skin just below my ear. “No more Willow. Okay?”

tlet out a shaky breath, nodding weakly against him. “Okay.”

Clar

Locke smiles, a tiny, rare softening of his hard features that’s reserved strictly for me. He places his broad hands beneath my arms and lifts me seamlessly off the stool, setting my feet gently back onto the cool hardwood floor.

“Here’s the plan,” he says quietly, his hands sliding down to rest securely on my hips. “I’m going to transfer the pasta to a baking dish, cover it in mozzarella, and slide it into the oven for sixty minutes. While it’s in there, I’m going to draw you a hot bath. You’re going to soak, and let me take care of you. Clear?”

I look up at him, feeling a sudden, overwhelming wave of gratitude so intense it makes my eyes prickle with fresh tears – not tears of guilt this time, but of pure relief. “Clear.”

Locke takes my hand, his long fingers intertwining effortlessly with mine, leading me out of the kitchen and down the quiet, dimly lit hallway toward the master bathroom.

He flicks on the light, bathing the spacious room in a warm, amber glow. Moving with quiet efficiency, Locke walks over to the deep, freestanding soaking tub positioned beneath the frosted window.

He turns the heavy brass faucets, and hot water instantly roars into the basin, filling the air with a soothing, billowy cloud of steam. He reaches into the cabinet, pouring a capful of lavender oil directly under the running water, filling the room with a rich, calming fragrance.

Locke straightens up, testing the water with his hand before turning back to face me. He crosses the tile floor slowly, stepping into my space, his eyes focused entirely on me.

“Come here,” he murmurs softly.

I step closer, letting out a long, quiet sigh as Locke’s large hands reach for the hem of my oversized shirt. He lifts it slowly over my head, taking exquisite care not to catch it on my hair, setting the fabric aside on the counter. His hands are impossibly gentle, tracing the line of my collarbone, brushing over the delicate curve of my shoulders with a reverence that makes my throat feel tight.

He unzips my jeans, letting them pool around my ankles before stepping back to help me slide out of them, and then my panties. When I’m naked in front of him, surrounded by the fragrant steam of the bath, Locke cups my face one last time, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead.

“In you go, baby,” he whispers gently, taking my arm to steady me as I step over the edge and sink down into the hot, silky water. “Careful now.”

As the heat envelops me, washing over my weary bones, I close my eyes and lean my head back against the porcelain, finally letting the dark weight of the day drift away.

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