The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 308

Chapter 151-1

Charm

Two days after my cat with Willow, the air in the penthouse smells like red wine, braised beef, and garlic blooming in hot olive oil

Dad isn’t a complicated man when it comes to food. The club kitchen might run on grease, instant coffee, and white bread, but Dad’s private palette has always been grounded in simple, heavy comfort.

Slow-cooked pot roast with seared chuck, thick cuts of carrots, pearl onions, and a rich, dark gravy cooked down until the meat falls apart at the touch of a fork. It’s the meal my mother used to make for him on Sunday nights before she got sick.

At seven o’clock sharp, the sharp, distinctive chime of the private elevator rings through the foyer.

I turn down the gas burner, setting my wooden spoon on a ceramic tray, and walk out to meet him.

The elevator doors slide open, and Dad steps into the foyer. He’s out of his cut tonight, wearing a dark, well-fitted charcoal dress shirt, clean black jeans, and heavy leather boots.

He looks stripped down without the leather and the brass, but the sheer presence of the man still fills the room. His graying beard is trimmed, his sharp jawline set, but the moment his eyes land on me, the hard, watchful edge he wears as the club’s President simply vanishes.

“Smells like home in here, sweetheart,” Dad says, his deep, gravelly voice warm as he steps forward.

“That’s because I spent three hours searing beef just for you,” I say, stepping into his space. “Just the way you like it.”

He pulls me into a long, quiet hug, wrapped in his heavy arms. He smells like crisp night air, cedar, and the faint, familiar scent of old tobacco. He holds me tight, not with the tight, protective panic he had during my worst chemotherapy weeks, but with a steady, grounding strength.

“It’s good to see you, Dad,” I murmur against his shoulder.

“Good to be here,” he replies, pulling back to look at me, his dark eyes searching my face with intense, quiet scrutiny. “Look at you. Got some color in your cheeks tonight.”

“I cooked. I ate some bread. I’m doing good,” I say. “Come on in. Everything’s ready.”

The lights twinkle outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, creating a vast, shimmering backdrop against the dark glass. I’ve set the long wooden dining table in front of the glass: clean linen napkins, polished silverware, and two heavy crystal glasses next to an open bottle of a rich Cabernet.

Dad takes his seat, looking out over the ocean below before turning his gaze back to me as I set a steaming ceramic bowl of pot roast, buttery mashed potatoes, and roasted carrots between us.

“Damn, Zara,” he says. “You’re putting the clubhouse kitchen to shame.”

“Don’t let Diesel hear you say that,” I laugh, sitting down across from him and pouring the dark red wine into his glass. “He’s still trying to convince me to move into the dry-storage room so I can cook full-time.”

“Diesel can keep eating his gas station hot dogs,” Dad grunts, picking up his fork and knife. “Serves him right when he’s nine-hundred pounds.”

1/2

<Chapter 151-

Clam

For the first ten minutes, we just eat. It’s an unhurried, comfortable silence, the kind that only exists between people who don’t need to fill every second with noise to feel close. He takes his time, savoring every bite of the tender beef, taking long sips of the wine, letting the quiet warmth of the penthouse wash

over him.

“Locke is still deep in dark territory,” Dad says, setting his fork down for a moment and looking across the table at me. His tone is conversational, stripped of the operational gravity he uses at the clubhouse. “Total radio blackout, moving through zones where nobody can trace him.”

My heart gives a soft, involuntary flutter, but I keep my expression calm, swirling the wine in my glass. “I know. It’s hard not hearing his voice, but I get it, Dad.”

“He’s Locke,” Dad says simply, a faint glint of absolute respect in his eyes. “The man is built out of iron and bad weather, and he knows how to move through dark territory without leaving a shadow. I know it ain’t easy sitting up here while he’s completely off the grid, sweetheart, but he’s coming back to you. I’d stake my life on it.”

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