The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *
The morning sunlight had quietly slipped into the room.
Lying in bed, Cynthia shivered and tried to shake off the lingering chill before instinctively turning toward a source of warmth nearby.

“Ooh, that’s warm.”
Her hand, fumbling toward the body radiating heat, abruptly froze as her eyes snapped open.
A large, warm hand had clasped hers.

“Where do you think you're groping?”
Cynthia’s mouth parted in shock when she realized that Masera was lying in the same bed as her.
And worse—what she had been groping was his chest.

Knock knock—
Just then, a knock sounded on the door, followed by a maid’s voice.
“May I come in?”

Masera, who had been lying neatly dressed with his shirt buttoned, began unfastening the buttons with one hand as he looked at Cynthia.
“Let’s pretend nothing happened.”
“Pretend the groping didn’t happen?”

“……”
Masera gave her a blank stare, then lifted the slip strap that had fallen from her shoulder and covered her with the blanket.
“Come in.”

At his command, the door clicked open and the maid entered.
“I brought the laundry and morning tea… Should I come back later?”
Her cheeks flushed at the sight of Masera’s unbuttoned shirt and Cynthia bundled in the blanket.
“You can leave it. Thank you,” Cynthia said, waving her hand vaguely.

“Yes, and don’t forget there’s a luncheon today hosted by Director Isaac…”
The maid stammered the rest before hurrying out.
Masera, watching the door close, stood up.

“I’ll wash up.”
'Is he planning to get ready here?'
Watching him head into the bathroom, Cynthia hurriedly gathered fresh clothes and slipped into another bathroom.

When she returned from her bath, she found Masera already dressed.
'What’s this? His tie is crooked?'
His tie, always impeccably straight, was oddly askew today.

“Hmm? Did you tie it in a hurry?”
As Cynthia reached out her hand, Masera instinctively dodged—only to lean forward again and offer his neck.
He must have changed bath products. A soft rose scent wafted from his gleaming white hair.

“There. All done.”
Her small hands expertly straightened his tie and patted his chest twice.
“Thank you.”

Masera, murmuring his gratitude, recalled the feel of her bare hand in his own.
He’d heard noblewomen’s hands were as soft and delicate as a baby’s—but hers had been rough, marred with small calluses.
Was that why she always wore gloves?

Looking down at his own calloused hands, Masera raised his gaze again.
For some reason, he didn’t want to question her.
* * *

At noon, they attended the social gathering held at Director Isaac’s villa.
Director Isaac held significant sway in the military, so the place was filled with officers and their wives.
“Oh my, Madam Visente. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”

“I heard you were appointed director recently. How impressive!”
Wives gathered around Cynthia, greeting her warmly—hoping to earn invitations to future social events she might host.
Smiling gently, Cynthia asked them,

“Did you enjoy the macarons?”
“Pardon? What macarons?”
Behind the confused women, several officers who had previously received macarons from Cynthia began to panic.

They remembered being gifted the treats to share with their wives—only to scoff at the cheapness and toss them aside.
Now the husbands subtly nudged their wives with meaningful glances.
“Oh, yes! They were absolutely delicious,” one wife quickly said, catching her husband’s cue.

“Which flavor did you like best?”
But Cynthia’s sharp question left them speechless.
Then, one wife who had genuinely received macarons spoke up.

“They were from that famous dessert shop, right? I loved them. I remember thinking how rare it was for my husband to bring me sweets, but he told me it was a gift from the princess.”
Others scrambled to mimic her story—but none could recall the name of the actual shop.
'A famous dessert place? Which one?'

One wrong answer could cause suspicion.
Cynthia calmly took mental note of every face and name—this had all been planned from the beginning, even when she bought the macarons.
Then came the familiar voice, feigning elegance—Helene’s.

“Oh my, Cynthia. You handed out treats to the officers?”
Her husband, the duke, frequently mingled with military officials, so he had also attended the event.
“It’s customary to give meaningful gifts first. You must not have known. So naïve, really.”

With one line, she painted Cynthia as ignorant.
Several people nodded along.
Cynthia looked at them and asked in return,

“Giving out expensive gifts to everyone indiscriminately—isn’t that wasteful?”
“Calling it wasteful to look after one’s adjutants? If you're short on funds, I’d be happy to help.”
Cynthia smiled slyly and shook her head.

“Oh, I think I can manage just fine. But only for the people I chose myself—carefully.”
Seeing Helene’s expression stiffen, Cynthia added,
“Treating people who are sincere and those who aren’t the same? That’s the real unfairness. Expensive gifts may buy favor—but they don’t help you filter out the unworthy.”

Helene smirked, but her thoughts turned cold.
'There’s nothing in the Nox region anyway. Clinging to an uncertain possibility—pathetic.'
Her husband’s family had recently begun investing heavily in developing Dies.

When results came out, who would shoulder the responsibility?
“Yes, my little sister is very wise,” Helene said in a relaxed tone.
'Let’s see how long a mere maid, destined to be discarded, can keep up that defiant tone.'

'That’s why I prepared a little gift.'
Helene smiled sweetly and gestured somewhere.
“Cynthia, our eldest brother is here.”

Cynthia looked toward where she pointed. There stood Carlos, right in the path of her red gaze.
He waved cheerfully.
“It’s been a while, little sisters.”

Helene leaned in and whispered to the expressionless Cynthia.
“Smile. He’s family. He’ll be staying in the capital for a while—there are talks of marriage with the Prime Minister’s daughter.”
Cynthia of the past—who had once loved him—might have been shocked.

But the current Cynthia felt only one thing:
'So what?'
'He came to try and rattle me, psychologically.'

Beside Carlos stood a woman—his partner for the event. She was stunning, with golden blonde hair and vivid blue eyes.
“Your Highnesses, it’s a pleasure. I’m Valeria Eldrin.”
Valeria offered a pleasant greeting to both Helene and Cynthia.

Seeing Cynthia’s polite smile, Helene chimed in slyly,
“Our youngest has always adored our eldest brother. I wonder if she’s jealous.”
Carlos slung an arm around Cynthia’s shoulder, smiling warmly.

“Cindy, your big brother’s getting married. You’ll understand, right?”
Cynthia was speechless.
'Are they trying to set up a weird narrative? Fine. I’ll become the weirdest one here.'

Without warning, she tightly hugged Helene around the waist and buried her head in her shoulder.
“I just love Helene so much. Isn’t it obvious, since I followed her all the way to the capital?”
She employed a trick that had once horrified her biological older sister in her past life.

“Ugh, what’s with you? Gross!”
Helene tried to push Cynthia away, but Cynthia muttered like a wide-eyed lunatic,
“There was a time I wished the world would leave only you and me… I even performed a blood pact alone, believing you’d be mine forever… So why did you marry someone else? Traitor.”

“Are you insane?!”
Helene gasped and clenched her hands.
Lady Valeria looked a little frightened as well.

Just then, Masera entered after finishing his conversation with several officers, catching Cynthia’s eye.
She dashed toward him and clung to his side.
“After being betrayed by the sister I loved, my obsessive affection turned toward the brigadier.”

“…?”
Masera blinked down at her, bewildered.
Cynthia narrowed her eyes and whispered,

“Hug me.”
“…What?”
“Hug me hard. Now.”

Her tone was sharp and commanding.
Without thinking, Masera pulled her into a firm embrace.
Held tightly in his arms, Cynthia turned to look back at Carlos.

“Lady Valeria and my brother Carlos make a lovely couple. Wishing you a happy marriage!”
Carlos, who had expected at least a flicker of jealousy, slowly felt his expression stiffen.