The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *
After the meal, I went straight to the study.
Ever since I heard that Anna was dead, I’d found it impossible to keep a straight face.

‘I thought she’d just been relocated—dead?’
I already knew Anna had disappeared.
Considering the Duke’s power, he could’ve easily hidden her away somewhere no one would ever find. I thought he’d done just that.

‘If she really is dead, it couldn’t have been Helene’s doing.’
The Duke had said Helene kept Anna alive to use her as leverage against me. There’s no way she would’ve killed someone that useful—and she wasn’t the kind of person to commit murder without forethought.
Most of all, Helene had come to me herself and asked if I’d killed Anna. The slight tremble in her eyes and expression seemed to suggest she truly believed I had done it.

‘Is she really dead?’
Couldn’t she have been declared dead and then escaped overseas to live under a new identity?
I flipped through books on sea routes, world geography, and tracking methods, lost in thought.

‘I’ll ask the Duke on our next volunteer day.’
Bottom line, Helene was planning to expose my secret someday. Probably when she’s cornered and desperate.
There’s no such thing as an eternal secret.

Ever since I stepped into this farce, I’d been preparing myself to survive alone.
In the original story as I remember it, the male lead knowingly pretends not to realize that the female lead is fake. But novels and reality are different.
“If it’s him, he really might pretend not to know.”

I murmured gloomily, thinking of Masera, who had said he would become a ‘truly kind husband.’
But eventually, he’d realize that all my words and actions had been lies just to survive. And that realization would torment him.
Even if he understands, it won’t mean he won’t be hurt.
That thought made my heart throb.

* * *
Late that evening, Masera called Dalia and Diego in for an emergency meeting.
Startled by the sudden summons, the two rushed over in a panic, only for Masera to ask them seriously,

“She seems uncomfortable around me these days.”
“Who does?”
“My wife.”

Masera raised his chin and spoke with a lofty expression.
At the cringeworthy title, Dalia and Diego exchanged glances, their shoulders sagging. Then, turning toward Masera, they spoke in unison.
“Did you mess up again?”

Again? What, do I look like some villain scheming how best to torment her?
…Then again, thinking back, maybe I did.
Masera interlaced his fingers and rested them under his chin with a sigh.

“No, I meant it. I said I’d stop pretending and really become a good husband.”
Diego had sensed things between them were tense lately, but this was beyond what he expected. He looked visibly startled.
“Out of nowhere?”

“It’s a decision I came to after a long time of reflection.”
Cynthia was a good person, but to him, she carried the blood of the royal family—his enemy.
Even if she meant no harm, the real problem was the Count of Queensguard. He might treat a sincere Masera like a gullible fool of a son-in-law.

“I support you.”
At that, Dalia clenched her fist with a solemn expression.
Whatever secrets the Count of Queensguard held, whatever betrayal his officers might feel—Masera had surely taken all of it into account before making his decision.

Better to try than to live the rest of their lives resenting each other.
Diego cautiously opened his mouth.
“I think Her Highness may be unsettled by the Brigadier’s sudden change in attitude. Until ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ now, you’ve kept your distance and expressed resentment toward the royals in various ways…”

He trailed off, remembering past events.
Masera nodded without protest. He already knew.
“True.”

He’d been cold, said harsh things often, and was emotionally unavailable. Making her write a will had to be a felony, not a mere misdemeanor.
“What should I do to make up for it?”
At Masera’s question, Dalia, hands politely folded, answered.

“Just match Her Highness’s efforts.”
“And do as much good as the wrong you’ve done,” Diego added.
Then Dalia suddenly clapped her hands as if she had a good idea.

“According to Eugene, before he apologizes sincerely to someone, he writes down everything he did wrong.”
“Isn’t there a more grown-up way?”
“Then write a formal letter of apology, adult-style. Regardless of age, when you’ve done wrong, you should reflect and promise not to repeat it.”

Diego looked very pleased to be putting his superior in the position of writing a formal apology.
Masera stared at Diego’s calm smile for a moment, then waved his hand to dismiss them.
After they left, he waited for Cynthia in the bedroom, pulling out a notebook and fountain pen.

“…What was there again?”
Masera rotated the pen thoughtfully, brows furrowed.
The googly eye sticker on the pen looked like it was glaring at him disapprovingly.

When had that been put there?
scratch scratch
As Masera wrote out his list of offenses, he eventually found himself blankly staring at the now-crammed notebook.

[On December 16th at approximately 3:00 PM, the defendant insulted the plaintiff by saying, “You resemble it,” after the plaintiff said she had found a “funny-looking furry mushroom.”]
In the end, it was less an apology letter and more a deposition.
Listing every minor offense made him feel like a trash heap of a man worthy of a firing squad.

[Minimized her trauma by comparing it lightly to other cases, causing emotional harm.]
“You don’t even know everything about me.”
“……”

At the time, Cynthia had worn an expression unlike any she usually showed. As if someone had violently ripped open a carefully buried wound.
“Our relationship was based on a deal. Having a child won’t change that.”
…How does one even begin to apologize for that? She seemed like she wanted a child.

Masera shut the notebook, sat on the edge of the bed, and looked at the wall clock.
It was already 3 a.m.
She still hadn’t returned, and worried, he headed to the study.

“……”
She had told him she had something to do and to sleep first—but she was slumped over the desk.
He approached her quietly. Her soft breathing told him she was sound asleep.

‘Is this revenge for all the nights we slept in separate rooms?’
If so, that was a relief. Better that than her avoiding him out of discomfort.
He wondered what she had been working on so intently and glanced at the books on the desk.

- World Geography for Travelers
- How to Survive as an Immigrant
- How That Phantom Thief Escaped

- The Road to Success to Escape Life’s Script
They were clearly must-reads for someone planning to run far away and start a new life.
Then Masera’s eyes fell on a novel lying at the corner.

- How to Throw Your Husband in the Trash (Rated 19+)
‘……?’
As soon as he saw the title, Masera realized—it was the book Diego had mentioned. The one Cynthia had smuggled in secretly.

So she does want to throw me in the trash?
And given the 19+ rating, it probably involved brutally killing him before discarding the body.
‘Why would she leave it out so openly in the study?’

Was this… a silent warning?
Masera backed away quietly, his expression serious.
‘She must’ve been really angry.’

He gently draped his coat over her slumped form, then exited the study with a lonely look.
* * *
The next day, Masera saw Cynthia heading toward the shooting range.

‘Why is she going there?’
She usually avoided even going near the place.
‘Don’t tell me… she’s practicing to shoot me?’

Then he noticed her shoulders, hunched in tension, and her nervous, hurried steps.
Suddenly, he remembered what the doctor had once said—that frequent exposure to the source of trauma could help one overcome it.
She’s going to face her pain. To overcome it.

Her curled-up back looked like someone setting off alone to figure out how to survive.
‘Is she trying to leave me so she doesn’t wither by my side?’
That thought made Masera leap to his feet.

“I won’t let you go.”
And besides… she’s not the kind to wither anyway.