DEAD TO ME [tartaglia]

002 - ANY OTHER DAY

YOU WAKE THE next day, head pounding and your mind still in complete shambles. You let yourself stare at the ceiling for a brief moment of drowsiness before letting your eyes wander to your husband's side of the bed, clean and untouched. He didn't return to your bedroom last night.

After forcing yourself up from the comfort of your resting place, you go on like how you used to everyday since you got married, brushing your teeth, bathing yourself, heading downstairs where you are greeted by multiple servants and served an adequate breakfast.

Were you really about to pretend like nothing happened? Were you really going to live the rest of your life as a sitting duck, standing idly while you watched your husband sneak off to be with your sister with a dull ache in your heart?

"Are you going to keep letting him treat you like some side chick?"

You hear the double door of your house open up, several maids and butlers rushing towards the said location to greet your husband with a fearsome "lord Scaramouche!". As swiftly as the sound of the sound of the door came, the sound of his footsteps graced the dining area as he revealed himself to you for the first time since last night.

You're not ready to face him, not when the last time you laid eyes on him was confirmation of his betrayal. Yes it was clear that he did not love you, but you thought that maybe he regarded you as a partner for life. You take a deep breath as you let your eyes wander upwards to get the full view of your husband, the hurt piercing your heart as you greet him as you would any other day.

"Hello, where have you been?"

"Your father called, he wants us for dinner at his residence tonight. something about the merger." he responds curtly, leaving you to eat by yourself as his indigo hair vanishes from your line of sight. He's always treated you like this. Were you really so blind? So naive, that you really believed that man ever respected you?

A side of you wants to chase after him, beg on your knees and shed a few tears for him to not be unfaithful anymore. The other side is done, still just as angry as you were the previous evening. It wants out of this marriage, out of this house, out of this life.

Although it hurts your pride to admit it, you love him. you've loved him ever since you met him as an impatient child, and when your arranged union was celebrated, you couldn't have been happier. For the sake of love, were you really about to brave the rest of your life in silence and hurt? Were you going to let him use you for the sake of merging your two companies?

As you quietly retreated back into your bedroom, the answer was already clear to you.

—————

It's a few minutes past evening when you step outside of your home with your husband, fully dressed in a black velvet as he glanced at his watch impatiently in the blue tones of the night while you glanced at him and if your transport would be arriving any time soon, intending to make what you were about to do quick and easy.

When the limousine arrives in front of you, Scaramouche makes an attempt to open the door when you call his name abruptly.

"I know where you were last night." You confront him stoically, pinching the sides of your velvety black dress.

He tenses up at first, then relaxes before letting go of the car handle and facing you slowly with his hands in his pockets. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You should."

"What was I doing, then?"

"Fucking my sister." You spit, the anger you've been trying to keep at bay since yesterday evening slowly unraveling and piercing the man in front of you. Looking the least bit surprised upon hearing your foul language, he lets out bitter huffs of laughter.

"What do you intend to do then," he tests, walking towards you and leaning real close to your face. "Tell daddy on me?"

You mimic his action, leaning so close to him that your lips were almost touching. "Leaving you."

It's this he's shocked, and you take the opportunity to walk by him and shut yourself in the limousine. You catch your husband turning to the direction of the limo in the pursuit of his anger, and your feeling of satisfaction is put on hold when you're spoken to by your chauffeur.

"Where to, Madam?"

"..Tartaglia's residence."