The Luckiest Mistake of My Life

It was clearly a chilly autumn night, but Evelyn Mitchell still felt hot and restless.

The empty space beside her in bed was ice cold—he hadn't been home in ages. A flicker of hurt crossed Evelyn's eyes as she got up to change.

She had barely gotten halfway undressed when—bam!—the door slammed open. Instinctively, she covered her chest and turned around.

Fabian Jackson, dressed in a wrinkled suit, staggered in, reeking of alcohol. He grabbed her shoulders hard.

The stench of liquor hit her nose, and Evelyn frowned. "Fabian, have you been drinking again?"

Without waiting for a response, she turned to grab clean clothes.

But Fabian's grip tightened, his eyes flashing with contempt. "Can't wait, can you, Evelyn?"

Before she even had time to process what he meant, Fabian hoisted her up and threw her onto the bed.

Her body jerked with the impact. He lunged over her, tugging roughly at her clothes without caring how it made her feel.

Terrified, Evelyn screamed, "Fabian, what are you doing?!"

He didn't speak—just tugged harder on her nightgown. Her strength was no match for his.

In no time, she was left in just her underwear.

His lips crashed clumsily onto her neck, and Evelyn thrashed in panic. "Fabian, stop! Let go of me!"

The man who hadn't stepped into this house for months—now acting like she was just some stress-relief tool. Evelyn couldn't take the humiliation anymore. She sank her teeth into his arm.

"Ugh..." Fabian froze.

His icy glare bore into her like she was his enemy. Suddenly, he gripped her throat, his hand tightening.

"You disgusting woman. Don't push your luck." His eyes looked like they could kill.

Choking, Evelyn stared back defiantly, tears welling up in her eyes but refusing to fall. "Let me go."

Fabian let out a sneering laugh at the sight of her. "Let you go? Isn't this what you wanted? You've been blowing up my phone begging me to come home. Don't play the saint now. At least I'm still giving you attention."

She bit her lip, staying silent. His words stabbed through her like knives. She was his legal wife, yet in his eyes, she was beneath a street beggar.

With one rough move, Fabian stripped away the last piece of clothing, ignoring Evelyn's desperate resistance, like he was unloading all his rage onto her.

Evelyn's face twisted in pain, her nails digging deep into his skin. Tears rolled silently onto the pillow. She lay there, helpless, like a broken doll under his weight.

The agony was unbearable. Clutching the pillow tightly, she felt like her whole world was collapsing.

Suddenly, a soft ding broke the moment—the sound of a text message.

They both looked toward the nightstand.

On the screen, the sender's name lit up: "Gina Mitchell."

A shift flickered across Fabian's handsome face. He instantly pulled away and rolled off her.

It was like he'd sobered up all at once. Neatly fixing his clothes, he turned to leave.

"Is it Gina Mitchell?"

Evelyn's voice was hoarse. Tear-streaked and trembling, she sat up, a sliver of desperate hope clinging to her expression.

Fabian paused mid-step, gaze as sharp as ice.

He didn't say a word. But his silence gave her the answer.