The MC President's Forsaken Wife

Chapter 2

Zara

I’m in the passenger seat, my hands folded tightly on my lap, my fingers cold despite the heat blasting in Becca’s little sports car.

Becca drives like I imagine she lives: fast, reckless, unapologetic. One hand on the wheel, the other tapping against her slim thigh to music only she can hear.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she says, glancing sideways at me as we exit the city limits. “Are you sorry that you insisted on seeing Knox tonight?”

I don’t look at her. “No.”

“Liar.”

“You don’t know me well enough to call me that.”

Becca laughs scornfully. “Oh, I know all about you being a stranger to the truth. You stayed in a marriage where your husband never touched you, right? Separate bedrooms, separate lives?”

My jaw tightens, and I stare out the window at the dark fields.

“Tell me,” Becca continues, voice dropping, almost teasing. “Do you ever wonder what it feels like to have him actually want you? What it feels like to have him f**k you senseless up against a wall? His c**k is perfect, I tell you… not that you’ve ever even seen it. And you never will.”

I close my eyes against her words, reminding myself what the hell I’m doing in this car, with this vindictive, malicious woman:

Just see Knox once more. That's it, OK? No declarations of love from me, no apologies from him.

All I want is an ending that I can choose.

“After tonight,” Becca continues, her tone casual, almost conversational. “You’ll be out of his life completely, and everything will go back to the way it’s supposed to be.”

I let that sit for a moment. “And what way is that?”

She smiles, slow and certain. “Knox was my first love, remember, way back in high school, and I’ve always known that we were meant to be. You were a roadblock, but in the end, it was going to be me and him. I never had any doubt.”

“Whatever you say.”

“You can drop the f*****g attitude, b***h,” she snaps, as if I’d contradicted her. “We’re almost there, and he’ll tell you himself."

The road curves ahead of us, headlights flashing suddenly into view, too bright, too close, and Becca frowns, her grip tightening on the wheel.

“What the –”

The blaring of a horn comes first. Then everything else.

The impact is violent, the sound of metal crushing inward is deafening. The world snaps out of place, my body jerking forward as the seatbelt cuts sharply across me. Glass shatters, scattering like fragments of light, and the car spins, the motion disorienting and sickening and endless until…

… everything stops.

For a moment, there’s nothing. No sound, no movement. Just a heavy, suffocating stillness that presses in from all sides.

Then the pain starts. Not sharp at first, but deep and overwhelming, spreading slowly through my body as awareness returns in fractured pieces, my chest tightening as I try to draw in a breath that doesn’t quite come.

“Becca,” I try to say, but her name barely forms. Black smoke fills the air, thick and billowing, and I cough and choke. “Becca!”.

There’s no answer, and I can’t see a thing. All I can hear is that somewhere, something is crackling, and it comes to me in a rush of paralyzing horror that the car is on fire.

And then… my ears prick up.

The roar of motorcycles, getting closer.

Within seconds, the engines cut abruptly, boots hit the ground, fast and urgent, and then his voice breaks through the chaos, rough and commanding in a way that has always carried authority, always demanded attention.

“Cain! Grab that side! We need to f*****g pull this door off!”

Knox.

My heart stutters weakly, something fragile flickering through me despite everything else, despite the pain, despite the way my body feels like it’s already letting go.

Deep voices rise around me now, overlapping and urgent. There’s the sound of movement, of hands pulling at metal, of something being done, something being fixed.

“Where is she?” Knox shouts.

My chest tightens, and I try to answer.

But…

“Becca!” Knox sounds frantic. “Are you OK?”

For just a second, the smoke clears and I see Knox reach into the wreckage. His large, strong, hand – with my wedding band mirrored on his finger – is pulling at Becca, saving Becca.

“Hold on,” he says, his voice rough with urgency, with something that might have been fear. “I’ve got you.”

I watch as my husband pulls Becca free, shielding her, holding her close, his attention entirely fixed on her as if nothing else exists.

As if I’m not sitting in a burning vehicle, trapped and helpless.

And that’s when I finally, truly understand everything about my marriage, about the man that I love.

Knox is not here for me; he’s never been here for me. Becca was right: in the end, it was always going to be her and him.

Something inside me loosens now, not breaking, not shattering, but simply… releasing.

So this is how it ends for me. Not with closure or victory. Just with… truth. And it’s okay.

The acceptance comes quietly, without bitterness, without anger, and my eyes close.

At least I saw you one last time. I love you, Knox.

And then –

everything goes black.