The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

Meanwhile, Cynthia—completely unaware that she looked like the embodiment of divinity and nobility—was quietly suffering.
‘Never mind the cold—it’s painful! My eyes! I feel like an ant being scorched under a magnifying glass!’

Unfortunately for her, sunlight was her weakness.
Luckily, the light wasn’t strong enough to cause burns.
The beam of light illuminating Cynthia stretched down the wedding aisle and eventually reached Masera, who stood opposite her in his resplendent formal attire.

Masera looked at the glowing-white bride—who seemed to emit light herself—with his usual emotionless face.
To him, Cynthia was simply someone who cast a shadow over his life.
‘If the day ever comes when that bright face of hers turns dark because of me… will I feel relieved? Or disgusted?’

As such unsettling thoughts swirled through his mind, the heavy clouds above began to part, and beams of sunlight cascaded down like curtains.
“I’ve been watching with a deeply blessed heart, I’ll have you know.”
“I was the only one who recognized the value of that dress while everyone else mocked it!”

Worried that their impure thoughts might provoke divine wrath, guests hurriedly shifted their seats toward the sunlight.
Cynthia’s shoes sparkled like glass slippers as she walked down the aisle bathed in light.
“She must be the reincarnation of the Frost Queen!”

“A princess truly blessed by the gods! Please, let me win the lottery!”
“She’s the embodiment of luck! Let me get a boyfriend!”
The kitchen staff began shouting their wishes aloud, creating a sanctified atmosphere. Others joined in, calling out their desires.

The designer from Meriseiren, who had crafted the dress, clapped in awe.
They were truly lucky—had the day remained overcast, his masterpiece would have looked like nothing but a plain dress.
At the end of the aisle, Masera stood with a solemn expression and extended his hand to Cynthia.

“Ah—”
He instinctively winced as the reflected light from her jeweled bouquet hit his eyes.
Cynthia approached with a smile.
‘You’re the one who insisted on this. Not my fault. This thing is heavy as hell.’

Masera, conscious of the onlookers, forced a faint smile.
‘I think I’m going blind. I should’ve ignored that designer’s nonsense about the bouquet enhancing the dress’s features.’
To the audience, however, the moment appeared sublime: a groom moved to tears by the beauty of his bride.

Moreover, with Cynthia’s radiant dress and jeweled bouquet, a divine halo seemed to spread behind them both.
“The goddess is surely blessing this union,” said the Grand Madam of Recanosa, smiling in satisfaction. Her sisters, Madam Hills and Madam Beraché, nodded in agreement.
Helene—Cynthia’s “sister” in name only—kept her smile intact.

‘She’s just a fake from the servants’ quarters, and yet everyone’s convinced she’s a princess. What fools.’
“Our wedding day was sunny too,” Helene remarked.
The Grand Madam nodded.

“Yes, your union was also blessed by the gods.”
No one mentioned how a blizzard had begun the moment their ceremony ended.
Meanwhile, Duke Henry of Recanosa watched Cynthia and Masera with a strange expression.

‘How does she always manage to cause a stir?’
Despite being a true Bariesa royal, Helene had never drawn such attention.
As the saying goes, when you're famous, even pulling your pants down in public earns applause. Fame brings wealth and power—that was how the incompetent Bariesa royal family had ruled for so long.

The duke, who had married Helene to gain proximity to the throne, let out a sigh.
From a showbiz perspective, Cynthia was a perfect fit.
Not only did she have a unique appearance, but her radiant smile, casual attitude, and the extraordinary things constantly happening around her made her magnetic.

Masera del Visente, too, had that “star quality.” His good looks and legendary achievements had turned even his humble origins into part of his heroic mythos.
That’s why Charlotte of Medeia—Duchess of Yorkshire and member of the royal branch—had sent him a marriage proposal.
Now attending the ceremony, Charlotte sat upright with a noble expression.

‘I turned down for... this? I was curious to see just how extraordinary his choice would be.’
Rejected by a commoner, her pride had taken a blow. She had planned to use Masera to boost her own royal status.
“You may now seal your vows with a kiss,” the Supreme Commander officiating the ceremony said, his tone a bit giddy.

As Masera drew close and began to lift her veil, Cynthia whispered,
“Are we doing it for real? Or just faking it? Or…”
“Keep your mouth shut.”

Masera sighed under his breath, irritated by her misunderstanding.
They couldn’t deceive all the guests watching—especially not with reporters present.
‘Ah, so if he’s telling me to keep my mouth shut, we’re faking it!’

That’s roughly how Cynthia interpreted it and firmly clamped her mouth shut.
“Close your eyes.”
Masera’s voice was low. Cynthia gently lowered her gaze.

‘How do you even fake a kiss?’
Having never kissed anyone in either life, Cynthia wondered for only a moment before catching the warm scent of fresh wood and the subtle heat brushing the corner of her mouth.
Even a man this stiff had soft spots, apparently. Just as the thought crossed her mind, she realized the warmth was his lips and flinched slightly.

‘So it’s neither fake nor full-on—a high-level technique?’
As his lips withdrew and the sound of applause filled the air, Cynthia felt a little dazed.
All her senses focused on the strong arms wrapped around her waist.

At that moment, Masera’s closed eyes slowly opened.
From this close, his eyes looked even more mysterious. Like a sea glowing with shifting, multicolored light.
“You’re beautiful,” she blurted out before she realized.

Startled, Masera immediately pushed her away in a panic.
‘But your behavior isn’t very pretty…’
Cynthia, mumbling inwardly, spun gracefully and turned to face the officiant.

As for the highly anticipated bouquet toss—it was skipped due to safety concerns.
* * *
By the time the ceremony ended, the weather had cleared as if nothing had happened.

I could feel that people were looking at me differently now.
It was the look you’d give a mystic who could float through the air or teleport across the ground.
“Miss Cynthia, let’s change into your reception dress.”

Back in her room, Cynthia changed into a pale pink dress with a cape, preparing for the reception—when Carlos approached.
“As your brother, I’ll escort you to the banquet.”
“Sure.”

She nodded without resistance.
Carlos gestured for Dalia to leave, and the maid quietly bowed and stepped away.
Escorting her with a lowered voice, Carlos said,

“It must be hard to accept this marriage to another man. But seeing how hard you're trying—I’m grateful, even a little sorry.”
“Trying?”
“Trying to win that man’s heart, of course.”

Carlos smiled and grasped her hand, as if rewarding a woman doing her best—for him.
Would even the real Cynthia have been pleased by those words?
“I guess I did try. But it wasn’t all that hard.”

Looking up at him with a neutral face, she added,
“And I’m not the only one putting in effort. Brigadier Masera is, too. Relationships take mutual effort—not using the other person just because they’re devoted.”
Carlos fell silent at her pointed remark, then finally responded.

“You’re letting a bit of kindness get to your head. Are you seriously mistaking the brigadier’s actions for sincerity?”
His voice held bitterness.
“There are rumors he plans to divorce you after getting what he wants… and remarry the Medeian duchess.”

* * *
As Major Rodriguez rounded the corner of the hallway, he spotted Carlos and Cynthia—and froze.
Unintentionally, he overheard their conversation.

“…You’re just a disposable tool once you’ve served your purpose. To the brigadier—and to Father.”
Not something a brother should say to his sister.
Rodriguez /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ had always felt a strange kinship with Cynthia. Not just because of external similarities.

They were both people struggling to survive in a world where there was no place for them—offering their usefulness just to keep going.
That’s why he knew: Cynthia was not so different from himself.