The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

“What… is this…”
Helene felt all the blood drain from her body. Her knees almost buckled beneath her.
Her husband was kissing another woman.

That was the moment she saw, with her own eyes, that her choice had been a mistake.
Over the Duke’s shoulder, the woman who had been kissing him met Helene’s gaze with a startled expression. It was the same woman who had earlier flashed her that subtly condescending smile.
“Oh my, I beg your pardon.”

The woman broke away from the Duke, picked up the coat that had fallen to the floor, and walked out of the room.
The Duke slowly turned toward Helene, wiping his lips with his hand.
Watching him, Helene managed to ask with trembling lips:

“…What is the meaning of this?”
“You’ve seen it. Isn’t it obvious?”
He didn’t even try to look guilty—instead, he responded shamelessly. His calm expression held not a trace of remorse.

Helene’s eyes moved to the marks on his exposed collarbone and unbuttoned shirt.
“So you’ve been cheating on me all along?”
She had chosen this man to be her husband. And now—seeing him like this—she could barely contain the nausea rising within her.

“Cheating?”
The Duke scoffed as he straightened his disheveled clothes.
“That word implies betrayal. But we were never in love, were we?”

No matter how much she argued or expressed her indignation, all she would get in return was mockery.
She couldn’t even threaten him with divorce or scandal. Her power didn’t stem from royal blood, but from the influence of the Duke’s house—power she needed, not the other way around.
The Duke, now seated on the edge of the bed, smiled as he poured wine into a glass.
“Are you curious why I seek out other women? It’s because I find no joy in a relationship that exists solely for procreation. That’s all political marriages amount to.”

To hear him speak of it so casually, without the slightest hint of guilt, left Helene dumbfounded.
“Everyone’s like that?”
“There may be exceptions. Brigadier General Visente, for instance. Perhaps because his wife isn’t a block of wood.”

Being compared to others was, to Helene, the ultimate insult.
And to be compared to that low-born maid? Someone who didn’t even deserve to touch the hem of her skirt?
‘He’s trying to provoke me. He wants to see me crumble.’

Helene, proud and dignified to the end, clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms and drew blood.
“I was just surprised, that’s all. I’d only ever heard rumors of men fooling around with other women in someone else’s house. It’s the first time I’ve witnessed it in person.”
“If the problem is that it happened in someone else’s house, then I’ll make sure to do it at home from now on.”

He smirked and gestured behind her.
Helene turned—and her face went pale.
“Cynthia…”

Through the open door, Cynthia was standing there, looking in.
‘Why her, of all people…’
Helene’s fingertips trembled with cold fury.

As the Duke had said, she wasn’t angry because she felt betrayed as a wife.
She was angry at the humiliation of being reduced to such a pitiful sight—and at the fact that it was witnessed by the one person she loathed most.
That woman she considered the lowest of the low.

* * *
“……”
Cynthia stood there, wide-eyed and stunned, looking at the two of them.

She was still recovering from a cold, and had been on her way back from the infirmary when she’d seen a woman with tousled hair pulling on her coat as she exited the annex.
“Having a good time, are we?”
At Cynthia’s question, the woman gave an awkward smile and nodded.

“Almost.”
Cynthia noticed the woman’s buttons were oddly fastened, as though hastily closed.
It was obvious to anyone: she had just been with someone.

‘In someone else’s house? Is this for real?’
She had already seen the woman’s face. Now she just needed to confirm the man’s identity so she could ban him from ever setting foot in her house again.
Cynthia followed the path the woman had taken—and overheard everything through the open door.

Helene, overwhelmed by mortification, stormed out and slammed the door behind her—then turned her rage on Cynthia.
“Where did you learn your manners, eavesdropping like a rat?”
“I can’t even walk around my own house in peace? At the very least, close the door if you’re going to fight.”

Cynthia sighed and gently took Helene’s hand.
‘I thought she was living well as a duchess, but she’s starring in a third-rate melodrama instead.’
It was pity—simple, human pity—that moved her.

The Duke’s glass-shard-like words reminded her of Masera’s cold expressions, and for some reason, that made her heart ache too.
“If you want to report this to the Grand Madam, I’ll go with you as a witness.”
But Helene yanked her hand away with a scoff.

The idea that some imposter dared to offer advice was laughable enough—but she also knew that if she went to her mother-in-law, she’d only be blamed for failing in her duties as a wife.
“What do you know…”
She didn’t know what it was like to live in a world where no one could be trusted—where survival [N O V E L I G H T] was a competition.

Helene pressed her lips together, then said:
“You just want to look like the bigger person, don’t you? Your whole act of helping others—it's just you trying to comfort yourself by looking down on those worse off than you.”
“What are you talking about? I’m the most pitiful person in the world.”

Cynthia scowled, indignant. She was surrounded by dead flags like a minefield—how was she supposed to be anyone’s savior?
Helene, lowering her voice, issued a warning:
“Don’t you even think about using this to gain leverage over me.”

“Don’t worry,” Cynthia replied with a sweet smile. “As long as you don’t commit any more crimes, I won’t.”
Helene frowned at the loaded implication.
“Who do you think you’re calling sister? Are you trying to negotiate with me now? How long do you think I’ll keep your secret?”

So that’s why she messed up the negotiations with the Dias residents, huh. With that attitude, no wonder nothing worked out. Cynthia sighed.
“I’m saying this for your own good. If you keep going like this, you’ll end up completely alone.”
Helene stared at Cynthia silently, then turned and walked away.

Cynthia watched her go, recalling all the people who had wronged her in her previous life.
When those people met tragic ends, she used to think it was fitting for villains to suffer.
But after seeing it happen dozens of times, she realized there was no more unpleasant ending than that.

‘None of them ever repented.’
A villain who dies unrepentant is less satisfying than one who lives long enough to feel remorse and repay their debts.
That, she had come to understand, was the best kind of ending.

Just then, the Duke reappeared from the room, now tidied up.
“Did you see all that? What a perfectly timed accident.”
What were the odds of someone stumbling upon such a compromising scene?

Not that he thought it would ever become his weakness.
‘To be exposed to that fake princess… Helene, who thinks she’s the center of the world, will probably calm down for a while now.’
Cynthia looked at him with a somber expression.

“It’s not like I set it up.”
“Then perhaps it was the will of the gods.”
To spout such pious nonsense after getting caught doing something so shameless…

‘Is it so easy for a man in power to justify anything, as if breathing?’
Cynthia sighed.
“I always thought the Duke was a gentleman. A respectable person.”

She didn’t lash out at him. She didn’t take pleasure in Helene’s misfortune either.
“I admired your policies, the welfare programs you implemented, and the regional development initiatives. I never said it aloud, but I really respected you. You and the Grand Madam were my role models…”
But Cynthia also knew what would strike the pride of someone high and mighty.

“…I’m really disappointed.”
As Cynthia lowered her head, her voice soft and full of hurt, the Duke of Recanosa felt his heart sink like a stone.