The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

I stared at the child’s back as they slapped the back of my hand and ran away.
That little cutie must be the mascot of this residence, right?

As I was thinking that, Masera added a comment.
“I’ve raised him poorly.”
What is he on about? I looked up at him with eyes full of question marks.

“Do you mean you don’t discipline him?”
“I don’t know how.”
Masera handed his removed coat to a servant and continued slowly.

“All the ways I know are too harsh.”
His voice was gentle, but cold like thin ice.
I tried to guess what he meant.

Maybe he was harshly raised, with spankings as a child? Even if he looks like a noble pampered in luxury, maybe there’s a hidden tragic backstory I don’t know.
I shook my head.
“It’s fine. He must’ve just been startled by how I look.”

I smiled brightly, trying to lift the heavy mood.
“General, show me around the mansion. I also want to see the bedroom we’ll be sharing.”
At the words ‘♥the bedroom we’ll be sharing♥’, ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) Masera’s eyebrow twitched ever so slightly.

Then, he turned to look at a man wearing glasses.
A brown-haired man, looking like the epitome of a nerd, greeted me politely.
“I’m the General’s adjutant, Diego. I’ll guide you through the interior.”

Looks like that was a sign for Diego to go instead of him. Typical romance-fantasy male lead behavior, being shy and reserved.
“Sure! Let’s go quickly!”
House tours are always fun! And now this is our house!
As I showed my excitement, the servants’ faces revealed awkward confusion.

Oh, should I have acted more reserved?
“Tch.”
Feigning disappointment, I pinched Masera’s arm lightly, then followed Diego with obviously excited footsteps.

“There are a few things to keep in mind while staying at the residence.”
Diego began speaking in a cautionary tone.
“Is this going to be a Napolitan ghost story?”

“Pasta, ma’am?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
I guess they don’t have Napolitan ghost stories here.

Diego looked at me like he was thinking, ‘What kind of question is that?’, then continued with his cautionary remarks.
“This is a mansion, but also the official residence of the Army Chief of Staff, a military security zone and a military base. Taking photos or drawing pictures to leak externally is prohibited…”
In short, it was a high-security house befitting a high-ranking official. No wonder there were so many soldiers around.

“And you may not enter the General’s office or private spaces without permission.”
The way he said that only makes it more certain I’ll eventually have to go in. So I must absolutely never do that.
While grabbing the doorknob to a certain room, Diego said:

“This is the bedroom the two of you will be using after the wedding.”
I peeked through the opening door with anticipation.
The spacious room was completely empty—no bed, no furniture, just barren.

“Wow.”
They’re practicing asceticism in the bedroom.
To my deflated remark, Diego responded with words he seemed to have prepared in advance.

“There’s still time before the wedding, so…”
“Oh, so you’re giving me the privilege of decorating it?”
A quest, perhaps, to test whether I can fill it with an appropriately luxurious dowry?

Sounds fun.
* * *
After finishing the grand tour of the mansion, Cynthia followed Diego to the dining hall.

There, sitting at a long marble table and pouring himself wine, was Masera.
“General, did you come early to wait for me?”
Maybe he intended to join me for dinner since it was my first day.

But Masera dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and rose from his seat. As he moved with quiet elegance, the chandelier light shimmered across his platinum blond hair like rippling waves.
“I’ve already finished eating.”
His gentle voice was followed by a brief silence.

Cynthia’s red eyes blinked blankly a couple of times.
“Oh dear, you must’ve been starving…”
Masera said nothing.

Cynthia just smiled sweetly and met his gaze.
“Go on and rest. Thank you for coming all the way to pick me up.”
“……”

Was that smile a sign of the kind of cluelessness that only the well-bred have? Or a mask of innocence hiding pure malice?
His gaze settled on her slender fingers, gloved in silk.
She looked like the only person in a black-and-white world who had color. Yet ironically, the only color she had was red.

She smiled as though she had never been tainted, as though she didn’t even know what filth was.
He suddenly felt the urge to make that woman cry.
Diego, who witnessed the cold gleam in Masera’s eyes as he left, swallowed dryly.

‘How long can the Lady endure being treated this way…?’
To him, Cynthia looked like a snow rabbit thrown onto a glacier.
Just then, a maid arrived with Cynthia’s dinner. Her attitude was curt, and she placed the dish down with a sharp clatter.

“Where did you learn such disrespect, putting down tableware so noisily? And top blade steak? Serving this kind of garbage is an insult to royalty.”
Those words didn’t come from Cynthia.
They were spoken by Roje, one of the Queensguard family’s servants who had followed Cynthia, frowning with displeasure.

Though it was a fake identity, Cynthia was publicly considered of royal blood.
“Tastes good to me. And there’s a lot of it.”
Unlike Roje, who was trying to assert authority, Cynthia was cutting into the steak with a look of utter satisfaction.

Even if it was a cheap cut, meat was meat. To her, who had never even seen meat while living as a maid, this was one of the four delicacies of the world.
The maid who served the food sneered and glared at Roje.
“Are you the Lady’s official complaint representative?”

Roje folded her arms and snapped back coldly.
“Our lady is too soft-hearted to speak ill of others. Isn’t it those who exploit that gentleness who are truly wicked?”
A fierce verbal sparring match unfolded between the two.

Then Cynthia slowly rose from her seat with a forlorn expression.
“It’s because of me, isn’t it. I’ll step away, since I’m the cause of the discomfort…”
“But Miss Cynthia, because of that rude servant you haven’t even—!”

Roje trailed off, staring in disbelief at the now-empty plate.
‘When did she eat it all?’
Cynthia, basking in the rare pleasure of a full belly, brushed past Roje and whispered in her ear.

“Miss Roje Pasta. If you really want to help me, shouldn’t you start by unpacking my neglected luggage? Your half-baked imitation of a royal handmaiden isn’t helpful.”
Her tone was soft and gentle, but Roje felt suffocated, her face turning stiff as stone.
* * *

Cynthia walked down the corridor, lost in thought.
In romance-fantasy novels, it was typical to scold disrespectful servants and establish dominance, but she wasn’t in a position to do that.
Lies never last forever—one day, the truth would come out.

‘That’s why I need to build a good reputation, for when that time comes.’
Just from the way they all used military-style speech and moved with precision, it was clear these weren’t ordinary servants.
Above all, Diego had said this place was a military security zone—clearly not just anyone could work here.

‘That means most of them are probably military personnel.’
She could tell just by the calluses formed from holding guns.
Having experienced war in her past life, Cynthia quickly recognized traits unique to soldiers.

Just then, the white-haired butler, Milchenko, passed her and greeted her. A long scar ran across his wrinkled face.
‘I get why they treat me this way.’
Soldiers were victims of war too. They must harbor deep resentment toward the royals who waged reckless wars in the past.

Thud.
Lost in thought, Cynthia bumped her head into something hard.
“Sorry…”

She rubbed her forehead and looked up at the man towering over her.
Masera, wearing suspenders over a shirt, looked down at her expressionlessly.
“Oh, General. I was just about to ask you something. Are most of the workers here from the military?”

At her question, Masera’s lips twisted slightly in a mocking smile.
“And why do you ask that?”
“I want to get along with everyone. There might be lingering trauma from the war…”

“No need to bother.”
“Pardon?”
Cynthia’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You, who’ve lived comfortably without knowing war, how could you possibly understand?”
Masera added in a frigid tone.
“This marriage is nothing more than an arrangement of interests. Don’t expect anything more from me, Lady.”

He thought she would burst into tears and run away.
But Cynthia didn’t cry. Instead, she simply looked at him and smiled with her eyes.
“Ah, got it!”

From her perspective, it had been a highly informative conversation revealing the male lead’s personality traits.
‘Tsk, typical. In the end, he’ll regret it, bawl like a baby, and cling to me anyway.’