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Wait for my come back

Wait for my come back

KMZEE Zaddy

5.0
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5
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David is cheating on his wife with his mistress

Chapter 1 The Sock Conspiracy

Isla Hart believed in three things: freshly brewed coffee, the power of dry shampoo, and the absolute certainty that her husband David was hiding something.Not something sinister-at least, not initially. She wasn't the dramatic, suspicious wife type. She didn't snoop through phones or track locations. But when she found the single pink sock under David's car seat-neon pink, with a sparkly heart on it-her intuition, finely honed through years of marriage, perked up like a bloodhound sniffing out secrets.David didn't wear sparkly socks.

Isla was sure of that.She twirled the sock in her hand, raising an eyebrow as she stared out their kitchen window. David was out on one of his "late work meetings" again. The phrase had become as common as "I'll be back soon" and just as meaningless. Isla hadn't seen his actual job description in months. She was pretty sure it now included "affair-having CEO of Excuses Unlimited."Still, she wasn't going to jump to conclusions. Maybe the sock belonged to a co-worker. Maybe he gave someone a ride. Maybe she was just bored and imagining things, like that time she thought the neighbor's cat was plotting her death.She sighed and tossed the sock into the drawer where lost things went to die-next to the mystery key, three dead batteries, and her sanity.

"Isla, you're spiraling," she muttered to herself, pulling out a tub of ice cream like it was holy water. "Just breathe. It's probably nothing."

But as she scrolled through her phone, her thumb paused over Emily Rose's Instagram story. Emily, the perky 25-year-old "lifestyle influencer" David had recently hired as a brand consultant. Emily, who just last week posted a selfie in what looked suspiciously like Isla's guest bathroom. Emily, who was now-yes, there it was-wearing a pair of neon pink, sparkly heart socks.

"Oh, hell no," Isla whispered, dropping the phone into her lap.

Revenge, she decided, wouldn't be a dramatic moment. It would be a slow-burn masterpiece.

And she had just found her first brushstroke.

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