The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 534

Chapter 263-1

I stand behind the heavy desk inside Dad’s private office, stacks of papers laid out before me.

The desk is cluttered with ledger books, a couple of ballpoint pens, and a cold cup of green

tea, but my fingers are motionless.

Then, the floorboards in the corridor groan beneath a heavy, deliberate tread.

The shadow that falls across the open doorway is broad, sharp, and instantly recognizable.

My breath locks tight in my throat before my eyes even rise from the desk.

Locke stands in the doorway, filling the wooden frame completely. His heavy leather cut sits

broad over his dark thermal shirt, the Grinning Skulls patches stark against the black hide. He

looks brutally exhausted.

But it’s his eyes that stop the air in my lungs. They aren’t the distant, polite gray slate I

encountered four days ago in the hallway.

Today, they’re wild, turbulent, and burning with a restless, frantic heat… like a man caught in a

fire, searching for an exit he knows ought to be right in front of him.

My gaze involuntarily drops from his face, tracking down his torso beneath the cut, and my

heart gives a violent, sickening thud against my ribs.

Threaded through the heavy belt loops of his jeans is the custom leather belt I

special–ordered for him. The rich, espresso–colored leather has softened slightly along the

edges where his holster usually sits, catching the warm overhead light of the office lamp.

Locke doesn’t offer a greeting. He doesn’t step into the room with the measured, cautious

respect of a stranger treading on fragile ground. He takes two steps forward, his heavy boots

striking the floorboards with a dense, solid sound, and reaches down to his waist.

His fingers work the heavy steel buckle, and the custom–milled steel plate unlatches with a

sharp, echoing clack. With a single, controlled motion that stops my damn heart, he pulls the

leather strap clean from his belt loops and holds it out toward me on his open palm, the

metal buckle dangling slightly between his fingers.

“Did you give me this?” he asks. His voice is thick, with a jagged edge of quiet desperat

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