The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 358

Chapter 176-1

When I wake up, the pale northern sunlight is pouring through the multi-paned bay window, scattering brilliant diamonds across the frost-dusted glass.

Titan is lying across the rug by the door, his massive head resting on his paws. The moment my eyes open, his ears perk up, and he lets out a soft, low whimper of greeting, his heavy tail thumping against the floorboards.

I sit up slowly, holding my breath and waiting for the familiar, greasy wave of morning sickness that usually hits the second my head leaves the pillow.

Nothing.

I take a cautious, deep breath, and swing my legs over the edge of the mattress. My stomach is completely calm. No nausea, no cold sweats, no sudden dizziness, just a light, pleasant hunger.

I linger on the edge of the bed for a minute, stretching my arms over my head and letting the utter peace of this house sink into my skin.

Back home, my mornings are usually filled with the dull anxiety of Knox or the hum of club business, but here, the silence is comforting, broken only by the faint, rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere downstairs and the gentle hush of the ocean.

“Good morning to you too, little baby,” I whisper, resting a palm flat against my lower stomach as I stand up and walk over to the window.

Titan steps up beside me, his shoulder gently brushing my leg, resting his massive snout on the window sill to look out at the snow alongside me. Out on the bay, the sea is a deep, icy indigo, capped with tiny white crests.

Down on the snowy lawn, I catch a brief glimpse of Locke returning from the shed with an armload of birch kindling, his heavy boots leaving deep tracks in the untouched drift. He looks so completely in his element against the rugged Maine backdrop, like he was built straight out of the granite cliffs and timber forests surrounding us.

After pulling on a thick cable-knit sweater, soft leggings, and a pair of heavy wool socks, I walk out of the bedroom, Titan padding silently at my side, and make my way down the hand-carved wooden staircase.

The rich, mouthwatering aroma of thick-cut smoked bacon, fresh dark-roast coffee, and sweet blueberry pancakes wafts up from the ground floor, instantly guiding my steps toward the back of the house.

I round the corner into the open-plan kitchen to find a scene of quiet, domestic perfection.

Locke is standing by the grand cast-iron stove, looking ridiculously broad, solid, and handsome in a simple long-sleeved black shirt, efficiently flipping golden-brown pancakes in a heavy iron skillet. Evelyn is at the butcher-block counter beside him, humming softly to herself as she slices fresh fruit and sets out a sizzling platter of maple sausage links.

There’s an easy, unspoken rhythm between them – a comfortable, practiced silence born of years of deep mutual trust, loyalty, and survival. They move around each other without needing words, Locke reaching up to grab a high cupboard door for her while she deftly slides a clean platter under his arm.

1/2

Chapte Ta

+25 Points

Look who finally decided to join the living,” Locke says without even turning around, though the low, deep Tumble of his voice is laced with unmistakable warmth. He sets the spatula down, wipes his large hands on a dish towel, and turns to face me, his eyes instantly searching my face for any sign of fatigue.

“I’m so sorry for sleeping in, I say, glancing up at the antique wall clock near the pantry and realizing with a blush that it’s already past eleven in the morning. “I didn’t mean to hibernate like that. You two made an entire feast.”

“Don’t you dare apologize, Zara,” Evelyn says, carrying a large glass pitcher of fresh orange juice over to the wooden dining table. She stops beside me, looking at me with a soft, intensely perceptive curve to her lips. “You rest while you can, sweetheart. Pretty soon you’re not going to be getting many full nights of uninterrupted sleep, so take every single hour you can get.”

The sentence hangs in the warm, butter-scented air of the kitchen for a fraction of a second.

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