That evening, David returned to the empty mansion on Meadowbrook Ridge alone.

The broken sliding glass door had been boarded up with heavy plywood sheets by an emergency restoration crew, keeping the freezing wind from howling through the home.

The kitchen was dead silent, smelling of cold damp air, old pine cleaner, and the faint metallic scent of shattered glass that had been swept into commercial bins.

David walked down the central corridor to the master suite on the second floor.

He opened the double doors of the expansive walk-in closet, staring at the walls of designer shoes, luxury fur stoles, and silk evening dresses that Chloe had accumulated over their eight-month marriage.

He didn't hesitate for a single second.

He walked to the utility closet in the hallway, grabbed four fifty-gallon heavy-duty contractor garbage bags, and returned to the wardrobe.

With ruthless, methodical efficiency, David dragged every hanger from the rods.

He tore the mink stoles, the silk dresses, and the designer handbags off their velvet shelves, stuffing them violently into the black plastic sacks until the seams strained.

He walked over to the dressing vanity, sweeping every bottle of imported perfume, crystal powder box, and luxury cosmetic tray directly into the trash with his forearm.

The glass bottles shattered inside the heavy plastic, releasing a cloying, suffocating mixture of floral scents that had once filled the house.

He hauled the bulging bags down the grand staircase, dragging them across the foyer and throwing them out onto the snowy driveway beside the municipal trash receptacles.

He returned to the kitchen, walking over to the pantry counter where Chloe had kept her private collection of rare vintage wines.

He picked up the bottle of French burgundy she had been drinking on the security footage while Leo cried outside in the snowdrifts.

David carried the bottle to the sink, unscrewed the cork, and poured the dark red liquid down the stainless steel drain, watching it swirl away into the pipes.

He dropped the empty bottle into the recycling bin, wiped his hands on a clean paper towel, and looked around the cavernous, opulent room.

The marble countertops, the imported chandeliers, and the sprawling square footage meant nothing.

It was not a home; it was a gilded tomb built on vanity and vanity alone.

David pulled his keys from his pocket, walked out the front door, and locked the deadbolt behind him.

He was going to sell the house the moment the legal freezes cleared, and he was never going to spend another night beneath its roof.