The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 474

r 232-7—

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Every smell made my throat close; every attempt to swallow felt like choking on glass. But looking at the food now, I don’t feel nausea. I feel a deep, primal hunger – a clean, imperative demand from the life growing inside me.

“Are you… do you need me to call Stitch?” Jade asks carefully, setting her mug down on the counter, her eyes searching my face for any hidden tremor or oncoming break. “I can have him up here in thirty minutes.”

“No,” I reply. “I don’t need Stitch. I’m fine, Jade. I’m going to eat.”

“You haven’t kept a solid bite down for a while,” she notes softly, cautious as if approaching a skittish animal. “If you try to push too much too fast –”

“I’m not going to throw up,” I interrupt gently, looking her straight in the eye. “I’m hungry. My baby is hungry.”

Jade stares at me. Slowly, the defensive tension in her shoulders drops, and she nods. stepping back from the fridge to give me space.

“All right. Go for it, girl..”

I turn on the stove, placing an iron skillet over the gas flame. I drop a pat of butter into the pan, listening to it sizzle softly as I whisk three eggs in a glass bowl. Jade stands near the sink, completely silent, watching me with a mixture of quiet disbelief and profound relief.

The simple, physical act of cooking feels strong. The heat of the stove, the smell of melting butter, the rhythmic whisking of the fork against glass: it brings me back into the physical world, focusing my senses.

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Chapter 232-2

Chapter 232-2

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When the eggs are fluffy and warm, I plate them alongside a handful of fresh berries. I pour a full glass of cold milk, carrying the plate and glass over to the kitchen island.

! don’t force the food down out of obligation or under the stern eye of a medic. I eat slowly, deliberately, savoring every hot, nourishing bite. I drink the milk, feeling the cool liquid settle into my stomach, washing away the last lingering remnants of chemical fatigue.

When my plate is clean, I open the small cabinet beside the sink and reach for my bottle of prenatal vitamins. I shake a single pill into my palm, pop it into my mouth, and swallow it with the last gulp of milk.

Slowly, deliberately, I place my right hand flat over my lower stomach.

Beneath the thick wool of my sweater, my palm absorbs the quiet warmth of my own body.

There’s no trembling now. No desperate, begging panic. Just absolute, loving purpose.

I’m feeding his child. I’m building the flesh and blood that will carry his name. I’m keeping the hearth burning so that when he steps through the door, he walks into a house of strength, not a ruin of despair.

Jade lets out a long, quiet breath, leaning her hips back against the counter. A tiny, rare smile touches the corner of her mouth, smoothing the hard lines around her eyes.

“Look at you, Zara.”

“Willow was right,” I say. “And Locke is fighting. The least I can do is give him something to come home

“He’s a stubborn bastard, Zara,” Jade says, her voice/carrying the weight of years spent loving a man like him. “I’ve seen Locke take hits that would put three normal men in the ground. He doesn’t know how to die when there’s someone waiting for him.”

I stand up, carrying my empty plate and glass to the sink, rinsing them clean under the warm tap. My body feels good, heavy with healthy energy, iny mind razor–sharp.

The helpless girl who screamed at her father is gone. In her place stands the woman Locke claimed.

I walk out to the main living room windows, staring out over the sprawling grey skyline of the ocean. Xena comes up beside. ine, leaning her heavy shoulder against my thigh. I let her steady warmth reinforce my

own.

Looking around the main living space, I realize how much of the past five days has been spent treating this penthouse like a prison ward. Blackout curtains drawn tight, cold tea cups left half–empty on side tables, an oppressive gloom clinging to every corner.

+25 Points

The light hits the hardwood, exposing the lingering dust and the heavy shadows that settled over us. I unlatch the center glass pane and slide open a few inches. The crisp, biting winter air rushes in, instantly sweeping away the stale scent of anxiety and cold sweat. It feels sharp in my lungs, cold and alive.

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