The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 469

<Chapter 230-

Chapter 230-1

+25 Points T

The heat radiating from the fireplace hits my face in soft, pulsing waves, but deep inside my bones, I’m still freezing.

1 lie curled on my side on the thick faux–fur rug stretched across the sitting room floor, my knees drawn toward my chest, wrapped in a faded wool blanket that smells of Locke. I run my fingers over my cool silver cuff, over and over, compulsively. I can’t seem to stop.

The tarot cards from this morning still burn in my mind – The Emperor, gold–leafed and unyielding – but my body is running on absolute empty. Almost fourteen weeks pregnant, three days of relentless panic, and a complete refusal to sleep have reduced me to a heavy, trembling shell.

From the adjacent open kitchen, low voices and forceful whispers catch my attention:

“She’s burning through her reserves, Willow,” Stitch’s voice cuts through the air, low, tight, and sharp as a scalpel. “Her blood pressure is erratic, her core temperature is dropping, and she hasn’t kept a full meal down in seventy–two hours. Her body is in full fight–or–flight shock.”

“And you think that forcing chemical sleep into her veins will fix her spirit?” Willow’s voice answers, “Do you really?”

I don’t move from the rug, but my ears strain toward the low, heated exchange carrying across the open floor.

“I don’t care about her spirit right now,” Stitch hisses, the sound of heavy glass vials clinking together in his trauma bag echoing off the marble counter. “I care about her vascular system. I care about the fact that severe emotional trauma spikes cause sharp cortisol surges that restrict blood flow to the placenta.”

I blink at his anger.

“She needs a clinical IV drop, continuous fetal heart rate monitoring, and a low–dose sedative to force her brain to shut off before her body rejects this pregnancy.”

“If you numb her brain with sedatives, you’ll disconnect her from the child, Stitch,” Willow counters calmly. “You’re treating her like a machine with a broken wire. You want to plug her into monitors and pump her full of synthetic calm because it makes you feel in control.”

“It’s not about my feelings, Willow, it’s about medicine!” Stitch’s voice rises, a care, furious edge breaking through his usually clinical demeanor. “It’s about science.”

“Science…”

“Yes. It’s about forty years of obstetrical research proving that acute maternal stress causes severe gestational complications. She’s in shock, and you can’t fix an adrenaline cascade with dried leaves and quiet thoughts.”

“And you can’t heal a broken soul by drugging it into silence,” Willow blazes back. “You want to freeze her emotion so it’s convenient for your charts.”

“I don’t –”

“You do. You look at Zara and you see a patient with failing vitals. I look at my sister and I see a mother

holding a life inside her while her heart’s being pulled out of her body. If you strip away her awareness with pharmaceuticals, you cut the tether she’s holding for Locke. You’ll leave her empty.”

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