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My wife, Chloe, swept into our grand foyer, her familiar bright smile in place, another "soulmate" in tow-a fresh-faced influencer named Daniel. I was in my studio, painting a serene landscape, the antithesis of the chaos she embodied. She had a new project: Daniel needed my art studio, the only sanctuary I had left in our gilded cage, for his "content hub." "You said you wanted a clean slate for Daniel," I told her, my heart a hollow ache, as she beamed, thinking I was finally being "reasonable." In my last life, I had fought, pleaded, and eventually broken, losing my studio, my art, and then everything. Chloe, oblivious, wired me a fortune-pocket change to her, but to me, seed money for her demise. I saw the number on the screen, a grim smile touching my lips. Little did she know, this wasn' t payment; it was her first installment on her own ruin. I was reborn, and this time, the canvas of my life would be painted with her downfall.