The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *

From that moment on, Carlos continued spouting absolute nonsense.
But I was too fixated on the phrase “divorce and remarriage with the duchess” to really hear any of it.
In a typical romance novel, the female lead would be devastated at hearing such an early warning of a future betrayal from the male lead.

But me? I clapped my hands.
“Jackpot!”
Carlos looked at me like I was insane—but for me, there couldn’t be better news.

So Masera would use me thoroughly, protect me sweetly, and then even divorce me?
For a fraud like me who could be exposed at any moment, that was the best possible ending.
All I had to do was survive until then without dying, get my alimony, become rich, and live abroad surrounded by hot younger men!

“Hehe, men are everywhere.”
Muttering to myself, I turned away and left Carlos standing there in a daze.
Hold on… If this is a healing romantic comedy… then maybe this is just a temporary misunderstanding to stir up conflict?

Besides, it’s not like a noble duchess with nothing to lose would want a divorced man.
‘…So this ends with me winning over the cold cat after all, huh.’
Trying to overanalyze and process everything gave me a headache.

Plus, the wedding sunlight had fried my face, my blood sugar was crashing, and I was already woozy.
“Gotta go get some cake.”
So that was my conclusion: I needed cake. I hurried my steps.

Looking back, from Carlos’s perspective, I must have looked like a shameless glutton who, despite a soul-crushing truth, cared only about dessert.
* * *
On my way to the reception hall—leaving Carlos behind—I ran into Major Rodriguez, dressed neatly in his uniform.
“Congratulations on your marriage, Princess.”

He gave a slightly melancholy smile.
So, he must’ve found out by now that I was Princess Margarita of Bariesa.
“Are you going alone? Let me escort you to the reception.”

There was a noticeable shift in his tone compared to before. Even his speech had changed—more formal and distant now.
“We agreed to be friends, remember? Please speak to me as you did before. And I’d prefer you use my name, not ‘princess.’ That title feels like an ill-fitting outfit.”
At my request, his blue eyes widened slightly before softening with the familiar smile from our first meeting.

“Yes, Miss Cynthia.”
On the way to the banquet, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
“So the village chief got so angry at the boars eating his sweet potatoes that he tried to buy a gun and ended up tangled with an arms-smuggling ring…”

“Ahaha, haha…”
He was the type of man who reacted well—someone chatty people love, because he could follow a topic even when it jumped around with zero context.
But just before we reached the entrance, the major suddenly stopped.

There, speaking with a woman with long, flowing black hair, was Masera.
“The brigadier… why is he escorting her instead of you, Princess?”
I looked up at the major and replied evenly,

“Well, I was escorted by you, not the brigadier.”
“Ah. That’s true.”
“Exactly. Now let’s go.”

With full confidence, I strode right past the two and entered the reception hall.
I made sure not to make eye contact—just in case.
This way, I managed to avoid the cliché misunderstanding and conflict that usually plagues rofan heroines—and made it to the dessert table.

‘If I had to go through a whole misunderstanding arc, I would’ve passed out from exhaustion…’
I didn’t have the energy to boil sweet potatoes just to serve up some cathartic soda. Besides, sweet potatoes go with milk.
“Well then, please enjoy your time. I’ll take my leave.”

With a polite bow, Major Rodriguez stepped away.
Alone, I sat at a table and was about to take my first bite of cake when people began approaching me.
Most were wives of Masera’s fellow officers or noble ladies around my age.

“I heard you’re someone blessed by the goddess of fortune. Could you tell us more? I’m so curious.”
“They said your dress today was made from diamond thread. It was absolutely stunning.”
Wow.

It wasn’t every day that people approached me kindly.
Before this, I’d mostly been avoided—my appearance considered inauspicious rather than regal.
It probably helped that the noblewomen of House Recanosa were sitting across from me with warm smiles, giving social permission.

Whatever their true motives were, it didn’t matter.
What mattered was that someone was reaching out to me—someone who had always been alone.
“You’re like Snow White. Have you thought about studying Medeian? Helene is learning it too.”

“I’d love that.”
I nodded immediately at Madam Beraché’s suggestion.
I already knew Medeian fluently—this was a golden opportunity to be called a language prodigy.

“Will you be all right, Cynthia? You used to struggle with even basic grammar.”
Helene’s smile was both mocking and gentle as she looked at me.
The message was clear: Don’t ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) overstep, you former maid.

But I wasn’t bothered.
“Isn’t that exactly why people study? Because it’s hard?”
“I believe you won’t give up even if it takes time. You’re very diligent.”

Her aristocratic phrasing masked a jab, but she sipped her tea with poise. Then, as if something occurred to her, she smiled and asked:
“Where did your husband run off to, leaving the bride all alone?”
“No idea.”

“Well, he is a soldier. They tend to be emotionally distant. Try to be understanding.”
“Mhm.”
I was too busy enjoying my cake to care.

“I saw him speaking with Duchess Charlotte.”
One of the ladies—whether clueless or intentionally spiteful—blurted out what no one needed to say.
Everyone knew Charlotte had proposed to Masera. The air grew cold.

Clearly part of Helene’s circle, the lady gleefully added,
“Well, noble marriages are arranged. You have to accept that, don’t you?”
So it was intentional. A clumsy attempt to look innocent—amateurish.

“Everyone is someone’s precious person. There’s nothing normal about having to accept that. And why would the daughter of a grand duchy chase a married man?”
I asked, and the lady twisted her lips and replied,
“Well, when a groom leaves his bride alone to be with another woman—”

Of course, I didn’t listen to the rest. I hadn’t asked because I was curious.
“If the duchess heard she’s being blamed for just a brief conversation, how upset do you think she’d be?”
As the lady faltered, I sighed and touched my forehead. Then I clasped my hands with a gentle smile.

“You must’ve only met truly terrible people to carry such bitter assumptions. That breaks my heart. I hope you meet someone virtuous who can heal your wounds and restore your faith in others.”
The lady who had tried so hard to stir drama turned red and muttered awkwardly,
“I just heard the two of you don’t get along… I was worried…”

How did she know?
I was certain our acting had improved. Or so I’d thought.
As I blinked in surprise, something soft dabbed at my lips.

It was Masera, holding a handkerchief.
Unable to tolerate anything messy, he had wiped the cream from the corner of my mouth.
“I’m not a child, you know.”

“How long do you plan to keep treating me like a baby?”
I twisted his dry tone into the classic tsundere script.
“….”

Normally, he’d respond with a flat stare—but maybe this time, he’d expected it. Silently, he tucked the handkerchief into his coat.
* * *
30 minutes earlier, in front of the banquet hall.

Masera had been waiting to escort Cynthia—when he encountered Duchess Charlotte.
They’d spoken briefly at previous events. That was the extent of their acquaintance.
“Brigadier, congratulations on your marriage.”

“Thank you.”
“I heard you’ve recently started a frontier development project.”
They were exchanging casual talk about business—no different from typical entrepreneurs—when he caught sight of Cynthia walking briskly into the banquet hall.

Her expression was far more resolute than usual for someone always smiling.
‘Did she misunderstand something?’
He felt a strange unease, especially as he saw Major Rodriguez following her in. They had clearly arrived together.

‘Why… is she being escorted by that man? I’m her husband.’
In the end, it was Masera who misunderstood.