DEAD TO ME [tartaglia]

001 - MOONLIT MEETING

+p earned it - the weeknd

"NO." YOU REPLY firmly, shaking his grasp from your elbow. "This is insane, it hasn't even been that long since I've gotten married."

At this point you're a mess on the inside, questioning yourself as to why he would propose something so odd and what his motive was. You were a valuable marriage candidate, that much was true, but you're off the market. You've been married for a while now, married to the best of the best nonetheless. In terms of a marriage of convenience, yours is influential enough to shake your country's entire business scene if ever a merger were to occur, and you daresay only a fool would ever attempt to get in the way of such a big deal.

But when you look up to really meet the eyes of the man in front of you for the very first time tonight, perhaps thinking he was that fool would not be too far off.

"..My husband is waiting for me, I'll forget this ever happened." You whisper, rushing away swiftly and intending to spend the rest of your night up in your bedroom contemplating whatever your next move would be. You only make it a few steps away from the still man before his mellow voice stops you from moving any further.

"Are you going to keep letting him treat you like some side chick?" He teases, not even looking back at where you stood as he insulted you so gravely.

"What?" You spit out almost immediately, turning around to glower holes into the back of his head.

"From a friend to another— if you have any self respect for yourself, you'll drop him."

"I am not 'dropping' anyone, goodnight." You respond monotonously, heart racing in your chest for what you did not know was anger or whatever other emotion was making you shake to your core.

"Think about my offer, pretty." He dismisses you, not at all tearing his eyes from the rose garden to your heightened dismay.

You don't, walking off with even more anger than you held in your heart than a few minutes ago, successfully leaving the scene and the man who basked in it alone.

You're shaking from adrenaline, barely able to keep yourself together when you rush into your shared bedroom, abruptly shutting the door and breathing heavily. What would Tartaglia do with the knowledge of your husband's affair? Would he blackmail you? Perhaps he would spread the information to the media and allow you to drown in your humiliation. Whatever it is, you begin to feel your energy leave you as you collapse onto the bed, mind filled with thoughts of Childe and that moonlit garden and your heart filled with the sadness and regret of learning about your husband's shameless betrayal.