The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *

“…You admired me?”
The Duke murmured the words in a daze.
‘Even my own wife has never acknowledged me… and yet someone not even close to me says something like that. Masera’s wife, of all people.’

Duke Henry Recanosa had become head of the ducal house at a young age. He had lived his life under relentless expectations.
Which meant, in other words, he’d lived under constant scrutiny from people eager to find any flaw.
Raised under strict, conservative standards, he was never praised—only told, “Of course you’re excellent, that’s expected of someone with superior blood.” A child raised like that was bound to grow up lacking something.

His pride was strong, but his self-esteem was low. He became an adult desperate for recognition.
“Why would you suddenly compliment me?”
The Duke rubbed his forehead as he asked.

“It’s not ‘suddenly,’ it’s past perfect tense, thank you very much. You used to deserve compliments. Good looks, wealth, ability, status—not a thing out of place. That’s why I’m disappointed.”
Cynthia crossed her arms and made an angry face.
The Duke faltered. Disappointment—didn’t that mean she ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) had expectations?

“I’m not normally like this. The woman… followed me into the room…”
He ended up giving an excuse—one he hadn’t even offered Helene.
He had always held dissatisfaction toward Helene, who was domineering and never grateful. This time, he’d used the incident as an excuse to return the insult.

But Cynthia looked at him like she couldn’t believe a word of it.
“Tch. You’re awful. I was going to stop by occasionally for advice on the UN Foundation.”
“You’re always welcome to—”

The Duke stopped short, startled.
‘Why do I feel… regret?’
He couldn’t understand why he so badly wanted to be acknowledged by someone like her, an imposter.
* * *

Evening Banquet
Valeria, though still feeling uneasy, apologized to Cynthia, saying she had misunderstood.
“It’s fine. That play, ‘The Sister-in-Law’s Dangerous Seduction’, is trending these days, right? It’s a social issue. I probably would’ve suspected me too.”

Cynthia looked completely unfazed.
Incidentally, the play’s twist was that the sister-in-law was obsessed not with her brother, but with her new sister-in-law—but Valeria tactfully ignored that part.
Cynthia added cheerfully,

“And to think I now have such a beautiful sister-in-law—I couldn’t be happier. Can I tag along on the honeymoon? We’ll leave boring Carlos behind. Just the two of us would be way more fun.”
Valeria stared into Cynthia’s sparkling eyes.
‘What is this? It makes no sense, but… I kind of want to?’

There was something magnetic about Cynthia’s warmth.
‘No, no. People who act all innocent like that always have something dark inside. I won’t fall for it.’
Like a traveler resisting the sun that tries to strip away their coat, Valeria stiffened her guard.

Meanwhile, Helene sat in silence, eating with a pale, chilled expression.
The air between her and the Duke was freezing cold. Though they were seated in the same space, it felt like they existed on different planets.
Director Isaac and his wife, also present, weren’t in a good mood either.

The incident at the villa had left his own men being scapegoated, after all.
Trying either to lighten the mood or simply not caring, Cynthia peered at Masera’s plate with delight.
“Wow, the sauce is shaped like a heart! I feel like I need to chant a spell to make it taste even better.”

“You’re the one who drizzled it like that. And what kind of spell is that supposed to be?”
At Masera’s deadpan question, Cynthia made a heart shape with her hands and adopted a dramatic expression.
“Let’s do it together! Moe~ moe~ kyuu—”

“I will never do that.”
Masera, sensing something irreparably chaotic, shut it down immediately.
Duke Recanosa silently watched the two of them.

Cynthia chattered on without pause, telling pointless stories about someone destroying the snowman she worked hard to build, or how she made a sweater that unraveled into netting after putting it on a kitten.
Masera responded only with flat “Mm” or “Ah” sounds, but his eyes were quietly affectionate.
The Duke recalled something from a recent visit to the military residence—he’d seen Cynthia practicing tennis by herself.

When asked why she was pushing herself so hard with a cold still lingering, she’d blushed and said:
“Because the Brigadier likes tennis. I want to practice so we can play together.”
Suddenly, her words about mutual respect and recognition in relationships came back to him.

It was what he had long hoped for in his own marriage.
He could see that even Masera was trying in his own way.
“I like this. Spicy food.”

“…Tastes like tear gas.”
Masera, who never touched anything spicy, was now eating the hottest chili pickles.
They say the one who changes you is your true match.

The Duke felt an unexpected pang of jealousy toward Masera.
* * *
Cynthia had officially begun her volunteer work.

The schedule was set for two sessions each weekend.
Today’s location was the Raphael Orphanage, on the outskirts of the capital, home to children orphaned by war.
In addition to the six official foundation members, many others showed up to fulfill the volunteer hour requirements.

That included Carlos, Edford, and Major Rodriguez—some of Masera’s least favorite people.
Masera, attending with his soldiers, wore a displeased look.
Carlos had come trailing his fiancée, Edford seemed to be scoping for future brides…

But what was the Duke doing here? Without even bringing Princess Helene?
“…Why are you here?” Masera asked sourly.
“I think I have every right. I’ll be donating a large sum—seems like a good cause.”

The Duke replied smugly, then approached Cynthia to discuss the donation amount. Cynthia clapped politely.
“…What the hell.”
Masera had no idea what the man was up to.

Then he felt something soft and warm wrap around his fingers.
“Papa?”
A blond child, around three or four years old, looked up at him.

Masera tugged his own platinum fringe.
‘Must’ve had a blond father.’
He knew that the only thing most of these orphans wished for was that their parents would come back to take them home—even if they already understood their parents were gone.

He handed the child a gold-foiled chocolate, but the child gripped Masera’s hand with both of his tiny ones and wouldn’t let go—as if he never intended to again.
“How precious. Looks like the Brigadier has a fan,” said a woman, wrapping a scarf around the child.
Masera, who knew this wasn’t something cute but rather heartbreaking, let out a sigh.

Just then, Cynthia approached.
“We’re short on cake ingredients. Want to go get some with me?”
She smiled at the child still clutching Masera’s hand.

“You too. It’s okay—you don’t have to hold on so tightly anymore. You won’t get lost.”
The child, hearing those words, immediately released Masera’s hand.
During the war, children were constantly told, “Never let go of my hand.” Many came to believe that losing their grip was why they’d been separated from their parents.

How did she know that?
Masera looked down at the child, who now held his hand gently. And for once, he felt at peace.
* * *

At the market, Cynthia was full of energy, wandering about with Masera and the child.
“Look, a swirly lollipop!”
She even bought the giant candy for the child.

“What a lovely family. Your daughter’s so cute!”
Vendors cooed over the child and handed her little snacks.
Masera looked at Cynthia and the child holding hands and felt his ears grow hot.

He’d never even imagined he could have something resembling a normal family.
Just then, a shout broke the mood.
“Stop whining! You think we can afford to eat if you miss a single day of work?!”

A man was gripping a woman’s hair and screaming at her—and Masera recognized his face.
He was about to step in, when—
“Let go of her!”

Cynthia shouted first.
It was Anita—and her delinquent husband Hans—whom she had met during the honeymoon voyage.
Cynthia sprang forward.

Whack!
A loud crack like a watermelon splitting echoed through the street.
Cynthia had struck Hans in the head with the oversized lollipop.

“AAAGH!”
Masera’s eyes went wide.
“YOU PIECE OF SHT, I’LL F**ING XX YOU, YOU GODDAMN XX—WHAT THE HELL IS THIS TRASHY BEHAVIOR?!”

It was the first time Masera had ever heard Cynthia scream such deadly obscenities.
He quickly covered the child’s ears.