The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 333

Chapter 163-1

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The chime of the private elevator rings through the penthouse at seven o’clock sharp, cutting

through the low hum of the music that Locke put on twenty minutes ago.

I’m standing by the kitchen island, smoothing down the front of my cream knit sweater. My hands. are trembling slightly- not from nerves, but from the electric, overwhelming reality of what today

brought us.

The e-mail from Dr. Mercer arrived at 2:14 PM, containing twelve pages of dense blood work,

cellular panels, and on a separate page, the clear, beautiful, life-giving words:

Full and complete remission. No detectable malignancy.

The heavy doors slide open, and three people step into the foyer, looking like a tactical unit trying awkwardly to act natural.

Dad steps out first. As President, the man usually walks into every room like he owns the floorboards beneath him, but tonight his broad shoulders are locked tight, his weathered face

drawn into hard, anxious lines.

Right behind him is Mayhem, carrying two large, thermal takeout bags from our favorite Italian spot and a tub of artisanal gelato tucked under his arm. His knuckles are white around the paper handles, his dark eyes scanning the room as if searching for bad news.

And then there’s Jade. She looks tiny flanked by the two hulking men, holding a massive bouquet of soft pink peonies and eucalyptus like a shield against her chest.

They’re trying so hard to hide it, but the tension radiating off them is palpable. They’re scared that they’ve been called here to hear about a relapse, a complication, or another brutal round of

treatments.

Locke moves forward immediately, “Come on in. Let me take those bags, Mayhem.”

“Yeah. Thanks, brother,” Mayhem grunts, handing over the food with a tight, restrained nod. He

doesn’t take his eyes off me for a second.

I don’t make them wait another second. I can’t bear seeing the fear sitting on their shoulders for

even one more breath.

“Stop holding your breath, all of you,” I say, stepping into the middle of the living room with a bright

smile breaking across my face.

I grab the bottle of chilled champagne resting in the ice bucket on the side table – along with my own glass of alcohol-free sparkling white I poured ten minutes ago. I hand a glass to Jade, then

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“Hell yes! Fuck yes!” he roars as he squeezes us tighter. “I knew you were too stubborn to let that fu cking disease stick around!”

Over Mayhem’s broad shoulder, I look at Dad.

He looks suddenly ten years younger, the terrifying weight of potentially burying his daughter lifted off his soul. He sets his untouched champagne on the table with a trembling hand, steps forward, and pulls me out of Mayhem’s grip.

He wraps his broad, leather-clad arms around me. I feel a shudder run through his massive frame, his hand gently cupping the back of my head like he did when I was a little girl.

“My girl,” he whispers, his voice choked and raw. “My brave, strong girl. Thank God.”

“I’m clear, Dad,” I whisper back, tears finally spilling down my cheeks as I hold him back with everything I have. “I’m completely clear.”

When he finally pulls back, his dark eyes are shining with unshed tears, but his smile is brilliant, wide, and overflowing with pure relief. He grabs his champagne flute, lifting it high into the air.

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