The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 388

Chapter 190-1

Zara

Sensory details return in fractured, brutal fragments before my eyes can even open.

The first thing is the cold. A bitter, damp, bone–chilling air that seeps through my coat, clinging to my skin like a frozen shroud.

The second is the taste. A thick, nauseating chemical metallic residue sitting heavy on the back of my tongue, making my stomach churn violently.

The third is the pain. A dull, throbbing ache radiating across my left cheekbone and down the side of my jaw where a monster hit me.

My eyelids feel like lead, fluttering against the gloom as consciousness drags me back from the dark abyss.

The baby.

The thought hits my brain like a bolt of electricity, incinerating the lingering fog of the chloroform. My heart slams against my ribs in a sudden, wild panic, adrenaline surging hot through my veins.

I try to reach down, to press my hands against my lower abdomen, but my arms won’t move. My wrists are pulled tight behind my back, bound securely with thick, industrial plastic zip–ties that bite ruthlessly into my skin the moment I strain against them. My ankles are secured just as tightly around the metal legs of a heavy folding chair.

I force my breathing to slow down, holding my breath for three steady counts, tuning out the world to focus entirely inward.

Deep inside my abdomen, beneath the cold terror and the throb of my jaw, I listen, I feel, and I

wait.

There’s no sharp, tearing pain in my belly. No heavy cramping. No sensation of bleeding. The tiny, fragile eleven–week spark inside me is still there – hidden and whole.

We’re okay. You’re okay, baby. Mama’s right here.

With my body assessed, I slowly open my eyes to evaluate my surroundings.

I’m sitting in the center of a vast, probably derelict warehouse. High above, broken skylights expose a pitch–black night sky, the freezing winter wind whistling through cracks in the corrugated iron walls.

upter 190 1

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-25 PR

Knox isn’t an all–powerful, all–knowing mastermind. He’s just a pathetic, petty, broken little man playing at power in a dark room.

“Knox,” I say flatly. “Figures.”

Knox stops five feet away.

He tilts his head, examining me like a trophy he just pulled out of the river. Two heavy, thick–necked thugs step up behind him, their hands resting on the grips of sidearms holstered at their belts.

I recognize them as the two who grabbed me outside the café, and I know they aren’t in

Chapter 190 T

+25 Ports

Knox’s MC. It looks like he hired some outside muscle – meaning that probably nobody in the Night Howlers know what their President has done here.

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