His Innocent wife

Father's wrath

  Evelyn hurried home through the twilight streets of New York, the glow of the streetlights guiding her way as the evening deepened into night. She hadn't meant to stay so late at the library, but time always seemed to slip away when she was surrounded by books. Now, as she neared the grand brownstone that housed her family, a sense of unease settled in her stomach. She knew her father wouldn't be pleased that she had lost track of time.

  As she climbed the front steps and pushed open the heavy door, the familiar scent of polished wood and expensive leather greeted her. The Hart family home was as imposing as its patriarch, a symbol of wealth and power. But to Evelyn, it was a place filled with unspoken expectations and constant pressure.

  The moment she stepped inside, she knew something was wrong. The house was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that spoke of simmering anger just waiting to boil over. Evelyn slipped off her coat and hung it on the hook by the door, trying to steady her nerves. She moved cautiously through the hall, her heart pounding in her chest as she approached the living room.

  Her father was waiting for her. James Hart, a man of rigid principles and unyielding authority, sat in his favorite armchair, his expression dark and unforgiving. He was a tall man, with sharp features and a commanding presence that made even his own children wary of crossing him. When Evelyn appeared in the doorway, he didn’t look up immediately, his eyes fixed on the newspaper in his hands.

  The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, until Evelyn could no longer bear it. “Father,” she began softly, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’m sorry I’m late. I didn’t realize the time.”

  At her words, James finally looked up, his gaze locking onto hers with a cold intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. “Late?” he repeated, his voice low and menacing. “You were expected home hours ago, Evelyn. This is not acceptable.”

  Evelyn’s throat tightened as she struggled to find her voice. “I—I lost track of time at the library. It won’t happen again.”

  Her father’s eyes narrowed, and he slowly folded the newspaper, setting it aside with deliberate care. The small action only heightened her anxiety, as she knew what was coming next. “You lost track of time,” he echoed, his tone dripping with disapproval. “You are a Hart, Evelyn. We do not lose track of time. We do not indulge in frivolities when there are responsibilities to attend to.”

  She lowered her head, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “I’m sorry,” she murmured again, knowing it was all she could say, though she doubted it would make a difference.

  James rose from his chair, his movements precise and controlled. He approached her with measured steps, his gaze never leaving her face. “Do you have any idea what your behavior says about this family?” he demanded, his voice growing harsher. “You are already the least visible of my children. The least accomplished. And yet you can’t even manage to follow a simple schedule?”

  Evelyn flinched at his words, each one cutting deeper than the last. She had always known she was a disappointment to him, but hearing it spoken so plainly never got easier. She had tried to be what he wanted—a dutiful, obedient daughter—but it was never enough. Nothing she did was ever enough.

  “I—I’ll do better, Father,” she promised, her voice trembling.

  “You’ll do better,” he repeated, his tone mocking. “I’ve heard that before, Evelyn. Empty promises mean nothing to me. What matters are results, and so far, you have given me none.”

  Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to cry in front of him. She knew better than to show weakness. Weakness was unacceptable in the Hart family, a sign of failure. And she had failed enough already.

  “Go to your room,” her father ordered, his voice cold and final.

  Evelyn nodded quickly, eager to escape the suffocating weight of his disappointment. She turned and fled the room, her footsteps soft against the plush carpet as she made her way upstairs to the sanctuary of her bedroom.

  Once inside, she closed the door and leaned against it, her whole body shaking with the effort of holding herself together. She had known her father would be angry, but his words still stung, leaving her feeling hollow and small.

  Her bedroom was a stark contrast to the rest of the house. Where the rest of the brownstone was filled with dark wood and heavy furniture, her room was light and airy, with soft colors and delicate furnishings. It was her refuge, the one place where she could be herself without fear of judgment.

  Evelyn crossed the room to her bed, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress. Her mind raced with thoughts of her father’s scolding, of the disappointment she had seen in his eyes. She knew she wasn’t like her siblings—bold, ambitious, driven by the same relentless pursuit of success that fueled her father. She was quieter, more introspective, content to lose herself in books rather than the cutthroat world of business and society.

  But that didn’t matter to her father. To him, success was everything, and anyone who didn’t strive for it was a failure. And Evelyn had been failing for as long as she could remember.

  She reached over to the nightstand, picking up the worn copy of *Pride and Prejudice* she had brought home from the library. The familiar feel of the book in her hands was comforting, a small reminder that there was a world outside the one her father controlled—a world where she could be free, even if only in her imagination.

  Evelyn opened the book and began to read, letting the words wash over her like a balm for her wounded heart. As she read, the tension in her body slowly began to ease, the weight of her father’s expectations fading into the background. For now, in the quiet solitude of her room, she could forget about the world outside and lose herself in the story of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy.

  But even as she read, a small, nagging thought lingered at the edge of her mind—a memory of the man she had seen outside the library, the way his eyes had followed her, the brief moment of connection she had felt. She shook her head, dismissing the thought as foolish. It was nothing, just a fleeting moment, easily forgotten.

  And yet, as the night wore on and the city outside her window fell into silence, Evelyn couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. She couldn’t explain it, but deep down, she knew that her life, so carefully controlled and predictable, was on the brink of something new. Something she couldn’t yet understand, but that she felt certain would change everything.

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