The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 429

Chapter 210-1

+25 Point

Willow?” I step closer to her, reaching out to touch her arm. The moment my fingers brush her sleeve, I feel her shaking, a deep, visceral tremor that seems to originate in her bones. “Hey, Willow,

talk to me. What do you mean, someone died in the bathroom?”

“Not… not just a person. Something else. Something that doesn’t have words.”

Locke doesn’t ask questions. His protective instincts instantly take over: in a smooth practiced motion, his hand goes beneath his leather jacket, unholstering his sidearm. He steps in front of us, shielding us with his broad frame as his eyes sweep the dim shadows of the master bedroom.

“Stay behind me,” Locke says. “Both of you. Don’t move.”

He clears the threshold of the master suite with heavy, silent steps, and I peer around him as best I

can.

The room is in complete disarray. Drawers are yanked open, silk nightgowns discarded on the hardwood, velvet jewelry boxes dumped onto the mattress and stripped of their contents. Becca’s hasty exit is written across every surface.

“Clear,” Locke calls out after a long moment, though his tone is strangely flat. He holsters his gun and looks back toward the hallway. “There’s no one in here. But you should both see this.”

Willow resists at first, her feet planted firmly against the floorboards. She shakes her head frantically and says, “No, Zara, please. Don’t go in there. It’s… it’s wrong. It’s like breathing in poison.

“I’m right here with you,” I say. “Locke is right there. Nothing in this house can hurt us anymore.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Willow allows me to gently pull her forward into the master suite. Every step feels as if we are wading through deep, freezing water. As we cross the threshold of the bedroom,

the smell hits me.

It isn’t the smell of alcohol or stale perfume that lingers in the rest of the house. It’s the

overpowering, acrid stench of industrial bleach and harsh chemical cleansers, so strong it burns

1 the back of my throat and makes my eyes water instantly.

We stop at the entrance of the master bathroom.

The contrast between this room and the rest of the house is jarring. While the bedroom is a chaotic disaster zone of abandoned clutter, the master bathroom is immaculately, terrifyingly

pristine.

The white Italian marble tiles on the walls and floor have been scrubbed until they shine with a

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Chapter 210-1

high, reflective polish under the bright lights.

+25 Pama

The grand walk-in glass shower enclosure is spotless, stripped of every soap bottle, towel, and even the bath mat.

The long double vanity, carved from dark quartz, is entirely empty. Not a single smudge, fingerprint, or water droplet remains on the chrome fixtures or the massive mirrors.

It’s completely stripped of human presence. Completely sanitized.

“It’s clean,” I murmur, my eyes tracing the immaculate lines of the room. “Becca must have spent hours scrubbing this before she ran.”

“No,” Willow chokes out. “It isn’t clean, Zara. It’s… it’s covered in it. She tried to wash it away, but you can’t wash away what happened in this room. You can’t bleach a nightmare.”

Locke stands near the center of the room, looking down at the sparkling floor. His jaw is set, his features carved from stone, but his sharp eyes are analyzing every square inch of the space with

relentless focus.

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