The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 465

Chapter 228-2

voice breaks completely on the last word, dissolving into a ragged, pathetic sob that rips straight through my sternum.

My father doesn’t fight back. He doesn’t raise his voice again. He just stands there, six feet four inches of hardened steel and leather, looking down at me as I scream at him, his face completely shattered, his shoulders bowed under the crushing weight of my words.

He takes every insult, every accusation, every strike of my fists, letting me pour my scorching, devastating grief right over his head.

“You’re right,” he says softly, his voice barely a whisper, completely stripped of pride, completely stripped of power. “You’re right, sweetheart. I failed him.”

The total surrender in his voice hits me like an iceberg, freezing the rage right in my throat.

I stumble backward away from him, my knees buckling under me. The adrenaline that had fuelled

my screaming match instantly evaporates, leaving behind a cold, hollow shell of absolute, overwhelming exhaustion.

My legs give out completely, and I collapse onto the hardwood floor beside the bed, my head resting against the frame, my hands clutched over my stomach as tears spill silently, relentlessly

down my face.

Dad slowly steps back, his eyes hollow, his hands hanging limp at his sides. He looks at Mayhem, giving him a single, subtle jerk of his head.

“Let her bleed it out, Mayhem,” Dad says, his voice devoid of all life. “Come on. Let’s leave her.”

Mayhem hesitates, his dark eyes filled with immense pain as he looks down at me huddled on the floor. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it, nodding slowly.

He turns and follows my father out of the bedroom, closing the heavy oak door softly behind them,

leaving me alone in the dim light.

The silence returns, heavier and colder than before.

I lie on my side on the hard floor, my body curled into a tight, protective ball around my midsection, my sweater soaked with tears and sweat.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

All I can see is Locke: unconscious, bloodied, being dragged away into the dark while I lie here in a

warm, dry room miles away.

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Locke… Locke… please…

A soft, warm rustle cuts through the quiet.

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Across the room, Xena gets up from the corner. The German Shepherd puppy trots slowly across the floor, her claws clicking softly against the wood.

She doesn’t bark, she doesn’t whine loudly. She simply comes over to where I’m lying on the floor

and presses her heavy, warm body directly against my back.

She sits down, leaning her shoulder against mine, and then lies down, draping her muscular front leg over my ribs. She rests her big, heavy head directly against the crook of my neck, letting out a

deep, trembling sigh.

The heat of her body seeps through my sweater, immediate and solid.

“Xena…” I choke out, my voice a broken whisper. “Thank you, sweet girl.”

I turn my head into her thick, soft fur, burying my face against the side of her neck. The familiar smell of her clean coat, outdoor air, and puppy warmness – floods my senses.

I wrap both arms around her neck, pulling her as close as humanly possible, clinging to her like a

lifeline in the middle of a churning ocean.

I cry for Brick. I cry for Spoon. I cry for my father, who carries a burden no man should bear.

And I cry for Locke – my heart, my partner, my protector – who’s somewhere out in the cold, fighting in the dark.

Xena shifts closer, using her muzzle to nudge gently under my trembling jaw until I’m forced to

raise my head slightly.

She noses at my chin, warm and persistent, her dark ears perked forward in intense, undivided

devotion.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” I whisper, my voice barely a rasp. “You know he’s not here.”

Xena lets out a long, shuddering huff, pressing her weight down until she’s practically lying on top of me, her body an unyielding shield against the freezing air of the bedroom. She licks the corner of my eye, tasting the salt of my tears, refusing to let me sink back into the dark spiral of panic.

I roll slowly onto my back, dragging the pup with me until her chest rests over mine, her front paws planted firmly on either side of my shoulders. The sheer physical pressure of her weight slows my racing heart, forcing my lungs to expand, forcing the jagged, shallow gasps to even out into

something manageable.

I drag one hand down from her shoulder and lay it flat across my lower stomach. Beneath the thick

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