Marcus stood up slowly. He looked at the pitcher of dirty, soapy water in Chloe’s hand. He looked at the toothbrush on the ground. He looked at the shattered sewing machine. He possessed a brilliant, analytical mind that had built an empire; it took him exactly three seconds to piece together the horrifying reality. This wasn’t an accident. This was systematic, deliberate abuse.
“How long?” Marcus asked, his voice dead flat, staring holes right through his wife.
“Marcus, please, she’s losing her mind,” Chloe hissed, stepping closer and lowering her voice, trying to play the victim. “Since you left, she’s been completely erratic. She broke my imported vases! She ruined my silk dresses! I had to let the housekeeping staff go for the week because she was harassing them! I’m just trying to maintain some order in our home while you’re out making millions!”
