DEAD TO ME [tartaglia]

000 - PROLOGUE

IT'S SAFE TO SAY you've had enough of your husband.

With a stoic expression, you quietly rush past the guests of your soirée, the fabric of your satin gown flowing with your swift movement. In truth, although you certainly do not look like it, you're angry. For what seems like the first time in your life, your heart was burning up with the flames of the anger towards this joke of a union your family pushed you into as you rushed into the rose garden of your home— or what was about to be nothing but an empty shell of what was.

It's when you reach the garden that you finally halt your movements, the stoic face of yours faltering by the second as you recount the scandal that your husband had the audacity to ensue while guests were in your very own home.

You suppose you were sad at first, seeing your husband tuck your rival's hair behind her delicate ears and affectionately whisper sweet nothings to her while they were both unaware you were watching everything unfold. but the more you thought about it, your emotions forged from sadness to extreme anger— the most anger you've ever felt in your life. Your breathing turns frantic, but you're interrupted by a voice.

"Had a fight with your dearest husband? Too bad, can't say I'm a fan of him either."

As soon as the words leave the intruder's mouth, you quickly return to your stoic expression and turn around to be face to face with a grinning lad, clad in a clean suit with an ivory silk vest as the star of the ensemble with a head of ginger hair.

"..Tartaglia," You acknowledge him, all the while screaming at yourself in your head to be as polite as possible. "What brings you out here?"

"You sure are good at dodging the question." Tartaglia muses, walking past you to get a good view of the grand and admittedly well-lit rose garden at night and farther away from the entrance of your home where snobby party guests chattered the evening away. "I got bored in there. You know, since your husband was playing mushy mushy with your sister."

Utterly ashamed he somehow witnessed the ordeal take place, you press your lips into a line at his words, briefly glowering at him before looking to the side in an attempt to contain yourself. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The man simply shrugs. "It should've been expected, he bought you that tacky little rock and expects you to call it an engagement ring." Childe grimaces, taking a hold of the hand that adorned your wedding ring and bringing it up to his eye level to inspect it in disgust.

"The world doesn't revolve around diamonds." You blurt a silly excuse, snatching your hand away from him in an attempt to send the hint that you wholeheartedly want to be alone. To you, all the man was doing was making fun of you and wounding your pride, jabbing you for marrying your sorry excuse of a husband and making fun of your damned wedding ring.

"..It's seven carats." You lamely try to repair your pride, fidgeting with the ring on your finger.

"If he loves you, he'll buy you 12."

There it was, another quick and witty comeback to push you off the edge as he always did when you were children. At this point, you're irritated, earning a relatively better understanding of why your husband despises him so. "Are you here to make fun of me, Childe?"

"No, I'm here to help you." He waves his hand at your brutal accusation, going from the look of disinterest he held while going on about your ring grinning at you sweetly so quickly that it was sickening.

You almost scoff, but stay cold and brush off whatever dust that could have landed on your attire before attempting to walk away swiftly. Tartaglia quickly puts a stop to your escape plan, latching his hand onto your elbow in alarm. "Wait!"

"What is it that you want?" you say sharply, and you can see his eyes light up after confirming he has successfully gotten you to stay here, with him.

"He cheats on you, you get with the man he hates." Childe says, pointing to himself awfully proudly "and I just happen to be right here, standing right in front of you, more than willing."

"What are you insinuating, Childe?"

"That you marry me instead."

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DEAD TO ME

started 04232022