The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

Helene’s face went pale with betrayal as she looked at the Grand Madam.
“So that’s why you wrote the request letter? Pretending to be supportive, only to draw a line and dump everything on me?”
The Grand Madam’s green eyes settled into a cold, glacial stillness.

“We occupy a position where even the kindness we offer in passing comes with consequences. It means we must always consider the weight and impact of our words.”
Her voice rang out, strict and unyielding.
“I wrote the letter just as you asked, but seeing how now I only receive blame—can’t you see what that means?”

“But isn’t that just shifting the responsibility onto me? You only call me the Duchess of a duke’s house in name—you're as cold as a stranger.”
“If the Visente couple hadn’t caused any problems, you wouldn’t be in this mess. And you wouldn’t be here, pointing fingers at me after bringing disgrace to the ducal house.”
The Grand Madam tapped a section of the debt collection letter with one finger.

“Leaving all possibilities open and acting with caution—that’s only natural for the head of a noble house. This is all a result of your own choices.”
Helene’s gaze followed her hand.
There, printed clearly, were the words: ‘For your reference, we know a great deal about the Duchess.’

The Grand Madam did not delve into that line.
“1.8 billion and your weakness. That is the price for your so-called kindness, done in the name of your title.”
She simply made clear the burden Helene now had to bear.

“This is your final chance. If the ducal house repays this, it will be treated as a settlement. Understand it as such.”
The Grand Madam’s frigid warning pierced like a dagger.
* * *

Helene paced her room, biting at her nails in unease.
For the sake of her ambition, she could not afford to lose her position as Duchess.
The true head of the ducal house was not the Duke—but the Grand Madam.
If the Grand Madam decided on divorce, Count Queensguard would deem his divorced daughter worthless and send her off to a convent.

He would dispose of anything useless without a flicker of hesitation.
'What do I do…?'
Coming up with that much money was no easy feat.

She couldn’t tell Count Queensguard about this. And even if she asked the Duke for help, he would only mock her.
Worse, if anyone discovered she had dealings with a criminal organization, it would be over.
'I even secretly used the trade guild’s credit notes… I can’t embezzle any further.'

After much deliberation, Helene hurriedly prepared to go out.
'There’s only Cynthia now.'
With her weakness exposed, Cynthia would have no choice but to obey.

Helene went straight to the government residence.
A butler with a noticeable scar on his face guided her to the reception room.
She waited for about an hour.

Then the door opened, and Cynthia appeared.
Helene sprang to her feet and stormed toward her with a face full of fury.
“You knew exactly why I came. How dare you make me wait?”

“Why are you here?”
Cynthia replied with a bright, innocent smile, as if completely unaware.
“Because of you, I’m stuck with that debt. Eighteen billion, no less!”

“How is that my fault? You're the one who took on more than you could handle.”
Helene’s lips twisted with rage.
“You should’ve prioritized better. That money should’ve been paid by Brigadier General Visente, not me, who’s been keeping your identity secret.”

“The Brigadier General was never obligated to pay it in the first place. And my top priority is playing the part of the wife properly.”
'Did she take some kind of debate training or what?' Helene thought, then moved to the main issue.
“You killed Anna, didn’t you? I heard you met her in the village.”

“No. If you’re that suspicious, go ahead and report me.”
Cynthia shook her head and sipped her milk tea.
Seeing a brief flash of seriousness in Cynthia’s expression, Helene pressed further.

“Where’s Anita?”
“I have a rough idea why you’re asking me that, but it won’t work as blackmail.”
Cynthia smiled brightly as she continued.

“The only card you have is exposing the whole scam and dragging us all down together.”
She no longer even called her ‘sister.’
'Is that really the attitude of someone who committed murder? She must be a psycho.'

Helene clenched her fists at Cynthia’s composure—no, her shamelessness.
Cynthia, still tilting her teacup, rolled her eyes toward her.
“By the way, how did you know Anna was dead? I was only aware she was missing.”

Helene flinched at the unexpected question.
'Damn, I walked right into that {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} sly snake’s trap.'
“I just assumed. That she was killed… by you, or by Father.”

Helene mumbled something vague. Cynthia placed a hand to her cheek and said with a sorrowful look,
“So it’s money you want after all. But I don’t have any right now. Could you wait until the Nox development is done? The revenue stream is just around the corner.”
“It’s been confirmed there’s nothing in Nox. As if a sham marriage wasn’t enough, now you're trying to scam the Medeian royal family too. You’re no different from your ‘father.’”

Helene sneered, but Cynthia only gave a nonchalant shrug.
“We won’t know the results until they come in. And while you’re trying to make this sound like blackmail, the truth is you have no one else to turn to but me.”
She was right. Whether it was a threat or a plea, Helene had no other options.

Still, she refused to abandon her pride and clung to a façade of superiority.
“Listen well. If I go down, you go down with me.”
Helene warned in a grave tone. Cynthia, meanwhile, crunched a cookie and mumbled:

“Mm. I’ll ask the Brigadier General if he can spare some money for you. He’s right over there.”
Cynthia stood up and flung the window open before Helene could stop her. Then she shouted out:
“Brigadier General! Helene wants some money!”

Every senior officer walking with Masera turned to look at them.
“If she doesn’t get it, her life’s ruined!—Mmph!”
Helene rushed over, clamped a hand over Cynthia’s mouth, and slammed the window shut.

“Can you not shut up?!”
Cynthia peeled her hand away with a grin.
“Money really is filthy and pathetic. You have to toss aside your pride no matter who you’re dealing with.”

'This lunatic freak.'
'Does she have guts, or does she have a death wish?' Helene cursed her inwardly.
* * *

After Helene left, during dinner:
“What did you shout out the window earlier? I couldn’t quite hear it.”
As they neared the end of the meal, Masera asked.

He had heard her shouting something out the window with great excitement, but it had been too far to catch the words.
“It sounded like a passionate love confession.”
“Or maybe a request to buy something.”

It had sparked an intense debate among the officers.
Cynthia poked at her beans with her fork and shook her head.
“It was nothing.”

Judging from the shape of her mouth, it looked like she’d been asking someone for a favor.
And the expression she wore—he had seen it before, whenever she was teasing someone.
'She must have been provoking the Duchess.'

Masera already knew the two were rivals. He had witnessed Helene belittling Cynthia more than once, and decided not to pry further.
'…!'
Then he looked at Cynthia’s plate and widened his eyes.

'She… left food?'
The same person who used to clean up even the decorative vegetables?
This was serious. She must be either sick—or deeply troubled.

Looking down at her meal with no appetite, Cynthia finally spoke.
“You should go to bed first tonight. I have something to do.”
“Is there anything I can help with?”

“It’s fine.”
She shook her head, her expression noticeably subdued.
Suddenly, Masera remembered: when he had confessed that he wanted to be a truly kind husband, she had only given him a strange look—and said nothing.

He gazed at her, concern and unease growing in his chest.
'Could it be… because of me?'
Maybe she had only meant to show basic courtesy as a person, and he had foolishly taken it as sincerity—and now she was uncomfortable.

Masera wiped his face with both hands in a slow, weary gesture.
* * *
After the meal, Masera saw Cynthia walking toward the study with a heavy, troubled expression.

He’d recently received a report through Diego that she had privately brought in some books.
“She covers the titles for discretion when they go on the expense reports… One of them was… I believe, ‘How to XXX Your Husband’?”
…Husband?

What the hell is she planning to do to me?
Whatever books she’d bought in secret, Masera suddenly felt a wave of unease.