The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

As befitting the wedding of a war hero who made his name during the world war, many dignitaries from both Lutemia and the Federal States were in attendance.
In the bridal waiting room, Cynthia sat with a translucent veil over a plain A-line dress, free of any decoration.

Dalia, who was helping smooth Cynthia’s fine hair, glanced out the window at the heavily overcast sky, her thoughts uneasy.
‘It better not snow too much.’
Since the Lutemia Republic was a cold, snowy land, it had long been believed that sunlight on a wedding day meant the blessing of the goddess.

This was especially true among military officers, who valued physical and mental strength and often held outdoor weddings—making the weather a major factor.
Meanwhile, Cynthia was preoccupied with an entirely different concern.
‘It must be cold out there, right? If it starts snowing during the ceremony, do we have to start a “Survival in the Frozen Wasteland” training or something?’

After completing her final check, Dalia spoke.
“Miss Cynthia, it’s time to move to the bride’s chamber.”
What is marriage?

Even in her second life, and even for someone like Cynthia, who rarely felt nervous, /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ this was her very first wedding—and even she felt tense.
* * *
The Count of Queensguard entered the bride’s chamber, accompanied by Carlos and Edford.

“That’s your dress? You were so thrilled to marry some rich officer,” Edford sneered at Cynthia’s modest gown.
Cynthia fiddled with her veil and tilted her head.
“This is more expensive than the one my sister wore.”

“That thing doesn’t even have a single gem. How is that more expensive?” Edford laughed mockingly.
The rumors that her relationship with the brigadier was merely an act and that she was being mistreated now seemed to be true.
Edford slipped into a delusion, imagining Cynthia clinging to him, apologizing for her mistakes.

Meanwhile, Carlos stood silently, his face tight with displeasure.
The Count leaned toward Cynthia and whispered.
“Cynthia. Be careful after the wedding so you don’t get kicked out. Let me give you a tip on pleasing your husband. Start with small compliments and a warm smile—”
“Yes.”

Cynthia cut him off with a flat, disinterested answer before he could finish.
A servant entered to inform them that the duke and duchess had arrived.
“We should go greet them,” the count said, straightening his clothes and exiting with Carlos.

Edford, still seated with a face full of things left unsaid, asked,
“You regret not running away with me, don’t you?”
Cynthia stared at him blankly.

“Out of nowhere?”
“Hmph. Pretend all you want, but it’s obvious. I hear the brigadier despises royalty.”
For once, he said something accurate.

A punch-worthy truth.
Seeing Cynthia’s look of disgust, Edford seemed to think he’d struck a nerve and puffed up.
“It’s not too late even now. But if you want to win me over, you’ll have to try.”

“There’s no world where I’d ever like you. The only effort I’m willing to make is stopping the world from ending so we’re not the last two left alive.”
“Still keeping your pride till the end?”
He was impossible to reason with. Cynthia mumbled with a look of sheer exhaustion.

“Might as well just trigger a complete destruction flag and kill everyone…”
But Edford clung to her desperately.
“This is a forced marriage for you too. Deep down, you’re hoping I’ll grab your hand and run off during the ceremony, right? I don’t care if I lose everything.”

“Then should I tell your dad everything and have you kicked out with nothing but the clothes on your back?”
Cynthia’s warning came in a chill voice, just as the Count of Queensguard re-entered.
Seeing his father, Edford fell silent with an embarrassed face.

“Your sister’s here, Cynthia.”
The count’s suddenly saccharine tone made it clear the duke and Helene had arrived.
After the duke offered his congratulations with a polite smile, Helene said, in a tone that clearly meant “I want to talk to my sister alone. This is women’s business, so get lost, men.”

Cynthia could already tell Helene was angry.
Sure enough, the moment everyone left, Helene’s expression sharpened.
“You really worked your magic on the Grand Madam and her sisters. All they talked about was your honeymoon plans.”

“Why are you picking a fight with me about that...?”
Helene’s eyes still gleamed with poison as she looked down on Cynthia. The plain dress was clearly meant to make Cynthia look like she had stolen Helene’s rightful gown.
“And for the record, I didn’t covet your dress. The designer mixed things up by mistake.”

“Why are you only clarifying this now...?”
Cynthia’s innocent question was like a series of question-mark arrows, making Helene groan and pinch the bridge of her nose.
“Don’t expect to associate with the duke’s household anymore.”

“Okay. Got it.”
Cynthia agreed with disappointing ease.
‘What the hell is with her? No normal person reacts like that!’

Helene didn’t give up and tried provoking her further.
“You’re a fraud. Just because you were registered in our family and married a war hero, don’t forget your real status.”
“Got it.”

Cynthia barely even pretended to listen.
Helene stared, dumbfounded.
Most people would respond aggressively to such an attack.

This was just bizarre.
Helene had plenty of venom she wanted to unload, but she found herself speechless.
“Don’t you feel sadness? Anger? Injustice?” Helene finally asked.

Cynthia seemed like someone who had long since burned away all feelings of inferiority and rage—utterly detached.
She smiled sweetly.
“I do. But not much moves me anymore.”

‘Was she always this slippery?’
Before their father started this fraudulent marriage scheme, Cynthia had just been another servant. If she’d always had such a strange personality, Helene would have remembered it.
“You... definitely—”

Just as Helene was about to speak, Dalia entered.
“Miss Cynthia, it’s time for your entrance.”
Cynthia stood up and smiled kindly, as though she harbored no resentment.

“If you’re not walking in with me, head to the venue, sister.”
* * *
Rumble—

From the petulantly gray sky, raindrops began to fall.
“Rain instead of snow? How ominous! It’s like a sign of their rocky marriage to come!”
Someone chattered excitedly.

In their beliefs, thunder and rain symbolized divine sorrow—a terrible omen.
The guests beneath the canopy clicked their tongues.
“So much for the blessing of the goddess.”

“Thousands of arrows missing him? That’s not scientifically possible.”
‘And judging marriage by weather is?’
Cynthia’s kitchen staff allies pouted with displeasure.

Journalists in attendance scribbled furiously.
A stormy start to the couple’s married life... Separation and divorce rumors—true after all?
Dalia, watching with blazing eyes from behind, ripped the notebook from a reporter by force.

“Ack!”
“The ceremony hasn’t even begun yet! Stop spreading false rumors.”
At that moment, Cynthia appeared as the announcer declared the bride’s entrance.

“What kind of dress is that?”
Guests murmured, shocked in a different way.
She wore an utterly simple, patternless dress. Only a lavender bouquet caught the eye.

“The bouquet’s the real jewel. Must’ve spent all the money on that.”
Snickers rippled through the crowd.
But their inner thoughts were the same.

‘Only the strong deserve a bouquet like that. Even if it knocks me out cold, I’m catching it.’
Then, something incredible happened.
A single ray of sunlight broke through the dark clouds, illuminating Cynthia like a spotlight on stage.

As soon as the light touched her dress, its plain surface shimmered with a dazzling, multicolored glow—like a diamond.
It was all coincidence.
A guest who recognized the material gasped.

“That... That dress is made from diamond thread? Is that even possible?”
“Does that mean the dress itself is... a diamond?”
“The cost must be astronomical.”

Cynthia beamed. A halo-like light appeared behind her head.
The intricately crafted jeweled bouquet reflected the light, making her look like a saint with a glowing halo.
“...Dear God.”

Someone muttered, entranced by the radiance—so beautiful it felt divine.
“Maybe it wasn’t the gods who were saddened... Maybe it was us, for failing to truly bless someone.”