The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

‘I’ve been exposed.’
Masera sighed inwardly.

Still, thanks to his masterful control over his expression, he managed to keep a perfectly blank face.
Meanwhile, Cynthia had both hands over her mouth as she stared at him. She recalled how every dress she had tried on had been adorned with pearls and gemstones.
“Don’t tell me… all the dresses were custom-made? And each one takes years… Then when did you even start… for me…?”

Just as her mind was about to fabricate a romantic backstory—We actually met once when we were children…—Masera shut it down.
“No. The designer at Merisiren’s atelier owed me a favor and made them quickly, that’s all.”
Cynthia’s swelling emotion vanished instantly.

But then, someone nearby exclaimed in surprise.
“No wonder. I heard ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) someone recently swept up all the top-grade Mediterranean pearls and high-purity diamonds. So it was Brigadier Visente.”
“Looks like even a stoic soldier can have his heart melted by a kind princess. I’m jealous.”

Before he realized it, Masera had earned a reputation as a lovestruck husband who was head over heels for his wife.
Please, for the love of god, stop saying things like that—Masera rubbed his aching head and sighed.
“I’m sorry for pushing the honeymoon idea. I didn’t know about all this…”

Cynthia spoke with genuine remorse.
She must’ve assumed they couldn’t afford a honeymoon after spending so much on the dress.
Masera looked at her with weary eyes.

“Our finances are not that strained.”
“I know. There are plenty of wealthy people who still live frugally. I’ll be modest too. I’ll cover the windows with newspaper and only burn a little firewood.”
She’d misunderstood badly.

Apparently, he was now either a struggling breadwinner or a stingy penny-pincher.
Then someone nearby voiced a question.
“But did the duke’s house buy the canceled dress, or did they intercept it somehow?”
“I heard custom orders can’t be canceled. So they must’ve stolen it. Their body types are similar anyway.”

“Surely not… I mean, a sister stealing the dress made for her younger sibling? Even knowing what it means when a groom prepares the bride’s dress?”
No one imagined the Duke of Recanosa did it out of some petty inferiority toward Masera.
Everyone assumed it was simply a case of the older sister snatching something meant for the younger one.

“…Your Grace, don’t you think an explanation is in order?”
“I’ll speak on it later.”
Helene, her face pale, demanded an explanation, but the duke immediately brushed her off and moved on to greet the politicians.

By walking away and refusing to answer, he had effectively admitted it.
“Honestly, what kind of sister does something like that?”
“Tsk, tsk. A wedding dress is so important. Her poor little sister must be crushed.”

A wave of criticism descended on Helene.
She was wracked with unbearable humiliation and fury.
You’re throwing me under the carriage to save your own pride? What kind of petty bastard…

She wanted to scream that she had no reason to covet something from that low-born maid.
But she couldn’t explain it away as the duke’s inferiority complex toward a war orphan like Brigadier Visente either.
Because protecting her pride in this moment meant losing far more in the long run. She still had the rationality to know that.

Helene clenched her jaw, eyes flashing with venom.
I’ll never forgive you. The day I restore royal power, I’ll pay you back a hundredfold.
Cynthia understood the resentment Helene must’ve been feeling—but she didn’t feel any obligation to explain.

She merely observed, just as Helene always had: with detached composure.
* * *
“Brigadier. I didn’t realize you’d gone to such trouble. I spoke too lightly before. You must’ve been upset, seeing the dress stolen like that.”

At Cynthia’s apology, Masera slowly shook his head.
“As you said, we can make another. I’m lucky enough to get the final product in just one week.”
“But why did you go through so much trouble for the dress?”

Masera’s brow twitched slightly. It was the one question he didn’t want to answer.
“The heart is like a box. If you fill it with treasures, it becomes a treasure chest. If you fill it with garbage, it becomes a trash bin. Masera, make sure your bride’s heart is full of treasures.”
“…I just followed my late mother’s advice. A wedding lasts only a day, but for a lifetime…”

It remains either a treasure you can open and cherish—or a wound you never touch again.
But still, why did I even do it?
Was there any reason he needed to give Cynthia a good memory, following his mother’s advice? He couldn’t explain it even to himself.

Just as he was about to say something corny and sentimental, the irritation overwhelmed him and he gave up.
“Oh, I get it.”
Cynthia nodded as if she understood completely—and then suddenly grabbed his hand.

“I’ll try to give you good memories too. I don’t have money now, so this is all I can give… but I’ll spoil you someday.”
She spoke like a poor youth proposing to their lover and slipped something onto his finger.
Masera looked down at his middle finger.

It was a ring made from the gold twist-tie of a bread bag. She had even stuck a tiny candy on it like a gemstone.
“…What is this?”
“A gem ring that brings wealth.”

“I told you—I’m not poor.”
Masera was completely dumbfounded. So that’s what she’d been fidgeting with under the table.
Cynthia said,

“Material things don’t last forever. In the end, what matters is the heart. Like being able to laugh someday when you remember this ring.”
The kind of thing only someone who’d lost everything could say.
To be precise, it sounded just like his mother’s last words—she had lost everything, including her husband, to the war.

Masera stared at Cynthia with a dazed look before catching himself and running a hand through his hair.
“Brigadier, where’s that ring from? It’s quite unique.”
A businessman who had approached for conversation noticed the ring on his finger and asked.

Masera replied with a straight face.
“It’s a… wealth-bringing ring.”
“Oh, is that from an upcycled edition? Some luxury brands have been doing eco-conscious lines lately.”

Masera just nodded, pretending that was the case.
Later, while networking with politicians, he noticed something odd—they were all subtly avoiding Cynthia’s eyes.
“Is it just me, or is no one able to meet my gaze?”

Cynthia asked aloud. Someone finally clued her in.
“You didn’t know? Your Highness has become quite the public sensation. After reading that, it’s hard to look you in the eye. Not that I did anything wrong, ha ha!”
At some point, the awkward title “Your Highness” had attached itself to Cynthia. Every time someone used it, she visibly cringed.

She looked at the newspaper article the man handed her and her eyes widened.
“Ugh.”
『The Beautiful Princess Cynthia Queensguard, Heir to the Legend of the Frost Queen.
Having inherited the exact appearance of the First Frost Queen, she proved the legend of dodging ten thousand arrows.
She deftly avoided a giant chandelier that fell from above, detected traps hidden throughout the venue, and stood boldly in the crossfire of bullets, suppressing her enemies with sheer presence.
Most astonishing of all was her ability to read hearts just by looking into someone’s eyes.
Disguised as a guest at the engagement party, she saw through the assassin’s plot and swapped out the poison-laced drink, causing the attacker to drink it instead.
Has the blessing of the Goddess of Fortune returned to the Bariesa royal bloodline?』

What is this—an action sci-fi movie? Cynthia stared at the paper, utterly baffled.
Meanwhile, Masera was stuck in another dull round of conversation, occasionally glancing at the “wealth-bringing jewel ring” on his finger.
She really does love assigning meaning to things…

Was that her secret to living so freely?
Just then, the Duke’s butler approached with a courteous smile.
“It looks like we’ll be getting heavy snow this afternoon. Perhaps Your Highnesses would like to spend the night here and catch up. We’ve prepared a room for the Brigadier and the Princess.”

Masera looked up at the clouded sky, then turned to Cynthia as if seeking her opinion. She rubbed her unusually red eyes under her parasol and said,
“I’ll go rest first. I’ve been outdoors too long—it’s cold and exhausting.”
“I was thinking the same.”

And so the two were guided to their room, a quiet awkwardness settling between them.
“You’ll be sharing a room, yes? Since you’re to be married soon?”
Neither of them gave an answer.

So, inevitably, they were assigned the same room.
A large room—with only one bed.