The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 347

Chapter 170-1

Anding the perfect gift for a six-foot-five badass who has so much money that he could buy the city three times over is not an easy task, but I’ve had this idea locked in my head for five weeks.

I walk quickly down the chilly pavement outside the mall, heading toward a small, specialty

motor-gear and leather shop on a quiet side street.

The rich, earthy smell of conditioned hide, heavy oiled canvas, and polished steel hits me the

second I push the heavy glass door open.

“Ms. Callahan,” the store owner says with a smile, stepping out from behind the repair counter. thought you might be in today.”

“Hi Mr. James,” I say, my hands clasped together in front of my coat, my breath catching in anticipation. “Is it ready?”

“I finished it yesterday.”

“Oh, wow. Perfect timing, then.”

He grins, reaching under the counter to pull out a dark velvet-lined wooden box. He lifts the lid to reveal a massive, custom-forged steel belt buckle… heavy, solid, and built to survive a lifetime on

the road.

I lean down, tracing the dark, precise engraving with my fingertips. Right on the front, set in clean, striking script, are two sets of GPS coordinates stacked together.

The top line marks my old apartment. That tiny, quiet sanctuary where we shared Chinese takeout on the floor, where he made me cum on his fingers in my bathtub, and where he first held me through the night when my world felt like it was breaking apart.

The line right beneath it marks his penthouse. The sprawling high-rise luxury apartment where I fin ally felt safe enough to breathe, where we stopped running and let ourselves fall completely.

And engraved neatly into the polished back of the heavy steel buckle are four simple words:

Always My Safe Haven

“It’s… it’s breathtaking,” I whisper, running my thumb gently over the cool, heavy steel. “It turned out even better than I imagined.”

“A guy like Locke demands stuff that can take a beating on the road,” Mr. James says, carefully wrapping the box in dark paper and sliding it into a plain brown bag so nothing shows. “The man is all about substance and steel. He’s never been one for cheap crap that falls apart after a month.”

THA

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Chapter 170 1

25 Pointe

Franklin James has the hands of a true artist, calloused and stained with dye from decades of working magic on the club’s leather: stitching heavy cuts, rebuilding worn-in boots, and restoring beaten-up saddlebags.

Having known Locke personally for years, he knew exactly what I wanted before I even finished explaining. When I needed something crafted to last, he was the only person who came to mind.

“That steel won’t scratch or fade, Zara,” he adds as he rings up the purchase. “Locke’ll be wearing

that on every ride, and thinking of you.”

“Thank you, Mr. James,” I say, paying him with a smile, and clutching the bag tightly against my side. “You’re a miracle worker. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Zara,” he says with a warm smile as I turn toward the door. “Tell Cobra and Mayhem I said hello… and that firecracker Jade.”

I laugh and step back out into the cold afternoon air, checking my phone clock.

I have ten minutes before I’m supposed to meet Locke.

I carefully slide the brown bag deep inside a larger shopping bag along with Mayhem’s pink alpaca, burying it under tissue paper so Locke can’t see a single thing.

When I walk into the cozy Thai restaurant, the air is thick with the mouth-watering scent of toasted peanuts, red curry, lemongrass, and sizzling noodles. The restaurant is small, warm, and dimly lit by paper lanterns hanging from the wooden ceiling.

I spot Locke immediately. He’s sitting in a deep wooden booth in the far back corner, his back to the wall, his eyes scanning the room. The moment he sees me step through the door, the sharp, watchful look on his face completely melts away, replaced by that soft, warm gaze he reserves

only for me.

He gets out of the booth as I approach, helping me slide into the seat across from him.

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