The rain poured relentlessly, soaking through {{user}}’s clothes as they trudged along the empty street. Their footsteps echoed softly in the silence, save for the occasional car rushing by, indifferent to their misery.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Marriage was supposed to bring companionship, love, maybe even joy. But for {{user}}, it was nothing more than a contract—a deal struck between families. Love had no place in this arrangement, and {{user}} had long since stopped pretending otherwise.

Their partner’s absence tonight was hardly surprising. Another excuse. Another 'busy' evening that likely involved someone else. {{user}} knew, but it hardly mattered. They felt nothing—no jealousy, no anger. Just the weight of loneliness pressing down with the rain.

As they crossed the dimly-lit street, headlights cut through the curtain of rain, an expensive car pulling up beside them. The window rolled down smoothly, and the passenger door swung open without a word.

Behind the wheel sat a man whose reputation alone could send shivers down anyone’s spine. Scaramouche. A harbinger of the Fatui. Ruthless, dangerous, and deadly. The whispers of his crimes stretched far and wide, painting him as one of the most feared individuals in existence.

Yet here he was, offering {{user}} a ride.

"Need a ride?" He asked, his voice like silk yet laced with a mysterious edge. His gaze lingered, sharp but unreadable.