The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 439

Chapter 216-1

The heavy oak door of Dad’s office groans on its hinges as Locke pushes it open.

I lean against the doorframe, letting out a long, heavy breath that feels like it’s been trapped in my ribs for days.

“We’re so far behind,” I mutter, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes until little bursts of light dance behind my eyelids. “Locke, we haven’t touched these files in weeks. Between my recovery, resting for the baby, and getting snatched up by f*****g Knox, we’ve completely let the paper trail slide.”

“Hey,” Locke says softly, his broad hand settling warm and heavy against the small of my back. “We’ve been keeping you alive and keeping the club standing, baby. Nobody’s keeping score on the paperwork.”

“I’m keeping score,” I sigh, looking at the untouched boxes stacked near the desk, each one representing a mountain of unanswered questions. “The club is fighting blind because I’ve been out of commission. If Grit makes a move through one of Knox’s old channels, we won’t even see it coming because I’ve been sitting on my hands.”

“You haven’t been sitting on your hands, you’ve been healing,” Locke says, pressing a quick, firm kiss against my temple that warms me to the bone. “We’ll get through it. Page by page, day by day, night by night. We’ll catch up.”

“Catch up?” a voice purrs from the shadows around the desk. “Oh, sweetie. You two are so find behind, you’re practically ancient history.”

I jump, my hand flying to my chest as the big leather swivel chair slowly turns around.

Sitting behind the massive desk, looking like the world’s most dangerously lethal high-fashion operative, is

Jade.

She lowers a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses to the tip of her nose, her striking green eyes sparkling with pure, unadulterated triumph. Her red hair is pinned up with a silver dagger-shaped clip, a few loose strands framing her face in delicate waves.

She’s wearing a low-cut crimson silk blouse, a tight gray pencil skirt that hugs every curve, and five-inch matte black stilettos crossed casually over an open desk drawer. On her lips is a coat of flawless, blood-red lipstick that looks like a weapon all on its own.

“Jade?” I stammer, staring at her in absolute shock. “What… what are you doing in here?”

“Saving your asses,” Jade says, twirling a high-end gold pen between her manicured fingers. “While you two were playing domestic bliss and worrying yourselves sick over falling behind, somebody had to keep this club from drowning in Knox McVale’s bullshit.”

Locke raises an eyebrow. “How long have you been in here?”

“Two weeks,” Jade says, flicking on the desk lamp, leaning back in the chair and gesturing grandly to the room around her. “Fourteen days of pure, unadulterated detective work. I practically took up residence.”

My jaw practically hits the floor as I finally see the rest of the office.

The chaotic, overwhelming mess of unread documents, loose manifests, and dusty folders that had been

Chapter 216-

giving me nightmares is completely gone. In its place is a tactical masterpiece.

+25 Pomts

The far wall, which used to be blank plaster, is now covered in massive corkboards. High-resolution satellite maps are pinned up, crisscrossed with vibrant colored yarn, brass pushpins, and clear acetate overlays.

Whiteboards are covered in pristine, hand-drawn flow charts detailing logistics, shell companies, and movement corridors.

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