The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 277

Chapter 137-2

Clas

A soft, relieved sigh echoes through the speaker. “Oh, Zara. You have no idea how much lighter my chest feels just hearing you say that.”

“So,” I ask, shifting the phone to my other ear. “How are you? Where are you living? Are you still out at that commune?”

“Yes, the Solstice Sanctuary,” Willow says, a bright, airy flutter returning to her voice. “It’s been such a profound, transformative space for me over the last few weeks.”

“It sounds very… you,” I say. “A place to learn, I suppose.”

“I’ve been spending hours a day in deep, transcendental meditation. I’ve been doing a lot of shadow work, looking at all the ancestral trauma we carried down from our parents.”

She pauses for a moment, her breath hitching slightly before she continues in a lower, more vulnerable

tone.

“I’ve been meditating on Dad,” she admits softly. “Asking the universe if there’s any room left for reconciliation. Wondering if I’m strong enough spiritually to reach out to him, to ask for his forgiveness for what I did, or if his energetic field is closed off.”

I listen quietly, my heart aching slightly for her. For all her eccentricities, Willow has clearly always been searching for a sense of belonging. Hearing her talk about our father feels painfully human.

“Dad is… Dad, Willow,” I say. “He’s set in his ways, but if you take accountability for your actions, he’d be open to hearing it. I know that.”

“Thank you,” she says warmly. “That means more than you -”

A subtle, muffled noise cuts through her sentence.

It’s faint, almost swallowed by the ambient rustle of her background, but I catch the soft, heavy clatter of a thick ceramic mug striking a laminate table, followed immediately by a low, indistinct male voice right near her microphone.

I freeze, my posture straightening slightly on the sofa.

“Willow?” I say, my brow furrowing. “Who’s that with you?”

There’s a brief beat of silence on her end – just a half-second too long – followed by a faint rustle of fabric.

“Oh! Nobody. Just a customer,” Willow stammers, her airy cadence stumbling for a fraction of a second before smoothing back out. “I… I told you at dinner that night that the commune is entirely tech-free. No cell phones are allowed within the sanctuary perimeter because they disrupt the natural energetic lines. So I had to leave the grounds to make this call.”

“Where are you right now?” I ask, my pulse picking up a slight, uneasy beat.

“I walked down the highway a little ways,” she says quickly. “There’s a little roadside diner about a mile from the commune gates. I’m sitting in a booth having some herbal tea, and it’s just a bit noisy in here.”

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Chapter 127

In the background, I can hear the faint, ambient clinking of silverware and the distant hum of traffic on asphalt. It sounds reasonable. It does sound like a roadside diner.

Claim

Yet, something about the way she paused, that sudden, careful shift in her breath, leaves a lingering knot of hesitation in my chest.

“Right,” I say slowly, resting my arm on the cushion. “Okay.”

“Yes,” Willow reassures me, though her tone carries a subtle, tight polish now. “So… hearing your voice again, Zara… it feels like the universe is giving us a real second chance. A clean slate.”

She lets out a breath that feels slightly too deliberate.

“I know we have a lot of trust to rebuild,” Willow continues, her tone turning deeply earnest. “But my spirit is craving real, physical connection with you. I want to see your face, and hug you and seal this healing in person. I can come to you, or we can meet halfway at a quiet neutral space, just the two of us. What do you think? Can I see you this week?”

The request hangs in the air between us.

There was a time, not very long ago, that I’d have jumped at the chance out of sheer longing for having more family. But the strange, subtle tension in her voice – and the weirdly careful, script-like precision of her words – makes my instincts prickle.

Something beneath the surface feels slightly out of alignment.

I take a slow breath, keeping my voice gentle, clear, and firmly guarded.

“No, Willow,” I say, “I’m really glad you called. I’m glad we cleared the air, and I appreciate your apology more than you know. But I’m not ready to meet up in person yet. I need more time.”

Silence drops over her end of the line… and it just feels wrong.

It isn’t a long, dramatic pause, but it’s entirely devoid of her usual fluid, breezy warmth.

For four or five seconds, there’s only the faint, hollow hiss of the phone connection. No ambient diner noise, no sound of her sipping her tea, no immediate reassurance. Just a flat, unnerving quiet.

“Willow?” I ask, my throat tightening as I sit up straight. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” Willow’s voice returns instantly. Her tone is calm, but the, emotional quality from earlier has completely flattened out. “I’m here. I… I understand. I completely honor your boundary. Your timeline is

your own.”

I frown, straining my ears, but all I hear in the background now is the faint, muffled scrape of a chair leg against a floor.

“Thank you for understanding,” I say as a cold prickle of caution settles along my spine. “It really was good to hear your voice.”

“It was good to hear yours too,” she says, her words coming out a little faster now, almost functional. “I won’t press you. I have to wrap up here anyway – my tea is getting cold. I’ll reach out again in a week maybe, okay?”

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Chapter 117-

“Sounds good. Take care of yourself.”

The call disconnects.

I set the phone back on the coffee table, fetting out a long, slow breath.

A tiny, uneasy prickle lingers at the back of my neck. The phantom shadow of that man’s voice in the background, and the strange, flat hush before she hung up. But I force my shoulders to drop, running a hand through my hair with a small, self-deprecating laugh.

Get a grip, Zara. Jesus Christ.

Claim

Living under a cloud of threat for so long has conditioned me to look for hidden motives in every shadow, to overanalyze every stray whisper and awkward pause.

It was just a noisy roadside diner, a stranger ordering coffee, and my half-sister being her usual flighty, off-beat self. She called, she apologized, and she respected my boundary when I said no. That was a good thing.

Shaking off the silly paranoia, I reach for my book on the side table, sink back into the soft cushions, and let the quiet calm of the afternoon take over.

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