Her heart pounded as she climbed the stairs, following the trail of women’s clothing scattered across the steps. Then, she saw them—Paul, tangled in the sheets with another woman.

The gifts slipped from her hands.

Paul turned lazily. “Oh, hey, Jane, this is my wife, Isabel.”

Jane barely glanced up. “Hi,” she said with a smirk.

Fury trembled in Isabel’s voice. “This is insane!”

Paul sighed. “Relax. You weren’t supposed to be home yet.”

She clenched her fists. “She’s in our bed, Paul. And you care about the time?”

Paul waved dismissively. “Pick up your stuff and leave for a few hours.”

Jane smirked. “Yeah, honey. You’ve got ten seconds.”

The betrayal stung, but the arrogance? Unbelievable.

Isabel rushed downstairs, stuffing clothes into a bag. She had to leave—with her children.

Paul’s voice cut through the silence. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m leaving. The kids are coming with me.”

He scoffed. “And where will you go? No money. No family.”

Isabel swallowed hard. He was right.

Paul leaned in. “Walk out, and you’ll never see them again.”

She stayed. But she began to plan.

And in the end, it wasn’t Paul who won.

It was her.