DEAD TO ME [tartaglia]

006 - COURTHOUSE CLASHES

[A/N] SCARA NATION HES FINALLY PLAYABLE WOOO!!!! also, my descriptions of divorce and it's laws here may not be accurate so keep in mind whatever i write that doesn't match up with law in real life is for the sake of the plot.

SCARAMOUCHE GETS WHAT he wants, when he wants. If others grew up with silver spoons in their mouths, he grew up with one that was made from gold. He even got you— in his eyes, a pathetic daddy's girl that would serve him as nothing more than a financial asset.

So when you leave him that fateful night, not even bothering to take your belongings from the home your family bought as a wedding gift, he's shaken up. He's shaken up far more than he will admit. He's even more unstable when the media blows up with photos of you entering the home of his rival, so he does what he has to. He adorns a look of pain and distress in front of your father when he demands an explanation, reporters when they ask him how it feels to have his wife leave him, and even to your sister, who cries for him and welcomes him with open arms.

If you want to play the role of the unfaithful wife, then so be it. He will play the role of the devastated husband. even in front of your lawyers, who are currently assisting you in handing him those damn divorce papers.

"How.. how long would the divorce take?" He tries to look timid, and the feeling of great satisfaction spreads in his chest when your lawyer shoots him a brief look of pity. Across from him you're there, perched neatly on a cushioned chair in the conference room situated in one of Scaramouche's office buildings. You don't even bother looking at him, and it angers him to no end.

"We'll need confirmation from the court that there isn't any reason why the two parties cannot get divorced and by six weeks upon applying, all the legal requirements needed in obtaining your divorce will be set." The lawyer answers, but halts any movement when their cell phone starts to buzz. "I'll leave you to discuss which assets go to who." They nod, sliding out the glass door to pick up the call.

The room suddenly feels hot, and the tension is so thick you can barely breathe. You squirm, the fabric of your chair feeling scratchier than it was a second ago. Perhaps, it has something to do with the chilling stare scaramouche is unapologetically sending your way. You feel as if you are drowning in his stare, and you want nothing more than to get out.

"Do you want me to beg you?" He finally speaks, and it's like cold, harsh arms have brought you back to the surface. You're not the least bit relieved.

You meet the terrifying indigo of his eyes, and respond coolly. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do you want me to get on my knees and beg for you to come home?"

"You talk like you've been waiting for me with open arms."

You're scared. Scared of Scaramouche, scared of your father, scared of what could come now that your husband is fully aware you want out. All your life, you've been afraid. You think it's showing now, when the man in front of you smiles wickedly. "But I have? On the other hand, you've been out with other men."

It finally clicks in your head that this is his gameplan. In contrast to you who wishes to keep a strong image instead of being the one that was deliberately stepped on and disrespected, Scaramouche chose to embrace it. He understands that the public will cry for him, coddle him and take his side. After all, he is a man. Your gaze never falters from his, and his never falters from yours.

"I can confirm that." A sweet voice chirps from behind you, and your silly staring contest is quickly forgotten. 

It's Childe, and he has the same grinning expression on his face as ever. But when you see the deathly grip he has on the bouquet of full, fresh roses in his hands, you know better than to believe there is no anger or hatred in his bones as he menacingly stares at your husband.

He makes his way to where you sit, handing you the bouquet of roses and kissing your cheek for appearances before sitting right next to you, legs crossed. "Am I late?"

"How could you be late to something you're clearly not invited to?" Scaramouche swiftly responds, and Childe is twice as fast to counter him.

"Should I not be there for my fiancé?"

"Your fiancé?!" Scaramouche roars, slamming his hand on the table the three of you sit around. He searches you for any indication that what the man beside you claimed might be true, and when he catches a glimpse of the sapphire ring on your finger, he thinks you may have lost your mind. "That's my wife you're talking about."

When you feel his eyes on you in search of any pathetic reaction, you only smile and look away.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting." Speaks a familiar voice from the doorway, and all three of you seated by the table come to an abrupt pause. While yes— the voice was familiar, it was nowhere near comforting.

The stern voice had come from your mother, hair styled neatly and clothes well-pressed. She presents herself clean-cut, neat and orderly as always.

"Mom," You find yourself stiffly calling out to her. You get up to carry her bag and usher her to a seat. "What brings you here?"

Though when you get to her, she snatches the elbow her designer purse hangs on away from your hands and announces her intentions. "No need, I'm not staying for long."

Your mother's distant eyes wander towards Scaramouche, who is looking down and bouncing his leg up and down irritably then to Childe, who's watching you curiously before she finally lays her attention onto the divorce papers on the table. You reckon your mom knows everything, from you leaving home, to the photo of you entering Childe's home in the media, all the way up to your request for a divorce.

She is not happy, you observe. Not in the slightest. Especially since she has just discovered you have gotten yourself engaged to another man while you are still very much married. And it's clear to everyone that a cold and distant woman like your mother did not make herself present for the sake of seeing how her daughter was doing, but to issue a warning. A warning that it's only a matter of time until your father catches wind of this.

She purses her lips tightly before speaking. This time, she is speaking to you, and you alone. "I also hope that the news I've been seeing recently is just your way of getting everything out of your system, because you are married. It will stay that way, will it not?" You, stunned and standing stiffly can barely answer her before she cups the side of your face with a cold hand.

"And do come to your sister's birthday party, she misses you very dearly."