The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 416

Chapter 204-1

Locke stays by the door for a long beat after everyone leaves, his massive shoulders blocking out the faint ambient light of the corridor.

When he turns back toward me, the relaxed, easy warmth he wore during lunch has left, replaced by the watchful, intense stillness that usually means his mind is moving three steps ahead of whatever room he’s standing in.

He walks over, scoops Xena up from her bed by the fireplace without a word, and loops a thick, heavy arm around my waist, gently steering me down the hallway toward the master

bedroom.

“Time for sleep, baby,” he says. “You’ve been on your feet way too long.”

I don’t argue. The adrenaline that carried me through my family’s visit is rapidly evaporating, leaving my limbs feeling like lead weights. Every step pulls sharply at the deep bruise across my abdomen, and my lip throbs in time with my pulse.

Inside the bedroom, the massive king–sized bed is already turned down. The space is dimly lit by the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamps, reflecting off the high floor–to–ceiling windows that overlook the black, glassy expanse of the water.

Locke sets Xena down at the foot of the mattress. The puppy lets out a tiny, dramatic sigh, does three awkward circles on top of the heavy duvet, and instantly collapses into a tight, furry ball, her little paws twitching as she surrenders to exhaustion.

Locke helps me strip out of my gray sweatpants and oversized hoodie, his hands remarkably gentle for a man whose fists can shatter bones.

He glides one of his oversized t–shirts over my shoulders, carefully working my bandaged wrists through the sleeves. Then he strips down to his dark boxer briefs, revealing the wall of corded muscle, faded battle scars, and dark tattoos that cover his torso.

When we climb under the sheets, the cool fabric feels like bliss against my aching skin. Locke pulls me into his side, his arm wrapping snugly across my waist, drawing me up against his broad chest. My hand rests over the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart.

For ten minutes, neither of us speaks. The room is quiet save for the distant, low murmur of the ocean waves crashing against the cliffs below and the tiny, squeaky snorts in her sleep at the bottom of the bed.

I can feel the tension coiled tightly in Locke’s body, his fingers making slow, dev over the fabric of my shirt above my hip. He’s holding himself back I know him su

I swallow past the dry knot in my throat, staring at the faint white scar on his chin to anchor myself. “Knox… before he died in the warehouse. Before the end. He talked to me.”

Locke’s gaze hardens, a flick of dark, dangerous energy passing behind his eyes, though his hand stays steady against my skin. “What did he say?”

“He apologized,” I say. “For hurting me. For… everything he destroyed trying to drag me down with him. He was bleeding out, Locke, and he looked at me like he was waking up from a decade–long nightmare. He thanked me.”

Locke frowns slightly, a sharp crease forming between his brows. “Thanked you for what?”

“For the birthday cake,” I say. “Years ago, when everyone else forgot his day or didn’t care. He held onto that one little moment like it was the only clean thing left in his life. He told me… he told me he knew he wasn’t worthy of my love. That he took everything good in his path and burned it to ash.”