The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *
Helene stared at the photo Capitano had handed her. It was a picture of Anna and the Duke together.

“So the Duke of Recanosa was the one who smuggled Anna away…?”
Her face turned pale. She had at least believed him to be on her side, even if not offering help. It was now clear—he meant to rob her of her most valuable card and leave her powerless.
Betrayal and fury surged within her.

“Who’s the one he’s sincere toward?”
Helene rubbed her wrinkled brow as if to smooth it out and asked.
Capitano nodded toward the photo in her hand.

“She’s right there.”
“What are you saying? You think you can get away with vague innuendo over a simple picture?”
“You don’t trust me? Don’t rush. Look more carefully.”

Helene returned her gaze to the photograph.
The Duke was walking with a pleased expression, as if in a good mood over something exciting, and just behind him, Anna stood smiling in satisfaction.
Helene’s eyes caught on the clothes Anna was wearing. It was a design Helene herself often wore.

Capitano, noticing the narrowing of Helene’s eyes, added calmly,
“And she smelled like the perfume the Duchess used to wear.”
Is she trying not only to imitate me—but to pass herself off as the Duchess?

Helene closed her mouth, drawing in a long breath as she furrowed her brow.
'Even if I confront him about this, nothing will change.'
When a duke has an affair, it’s not he who is blamed. It’s the wife—humiliated for being less than even a maid.

Through her spiraling thoughts came a low whisper like the voice of a devil.
“What shall I do, Your Highness?”
“What…?”
“Should I take care of it? Consider it your revenge.”

Helene hesitated, her expression darkening.
'If it’s discovered that the Duchess ordered a hit… I’ll be finished.'
The dignity and grace she had upheld as a member of the royal family would be gone forever.

After a pause, Helene raised her chin with aristocratic poise and gave her order in an elegant tone.
“Capture the maid alive.”
She fully intended to make her pay the price for daring to insult her and covet her position.

'If she’s important enough to the Duke that he’s meeting her in secret, she’ll make a perfect weakness.'
Helene’s lips regained their composure, curving upward like a poised bow.
At that moment, Capitano stepped closer, one hand behind his back as he bowed respectfully.

“If you prefer a gentler kind of revenge—”
With a smile on his lips, he brought her hand to his mouth and lightly kissed the back of it.
“Use ‘one evil to subdue another’. Men who cheat with ease still can’t bear the thought of their wives looking at other men. Especially if that man is attractive.”

“What are you implying?”
As Helene tried to pull away, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her close.
“Use me. For now, I’m yours. Do with me as you wish.”

Helene made a displeased face.
“You’re suggesting I cheat in return? How vulgar…”
“I know you prize your royal dignity above your own life. But you know it’s useless if you're the only one staying noble. A little jealousy couldn’t hurt.”

Capitano pulled her closer, their faces nearly touching as he whispered,
“Wouldn’t a man like me be enough to stir some jealousy?”
Helene locked eyes with his.

They sparkled like a predator’s in the dark—or like sunlight reflected off pure gold.
'Why did he start calling me ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) ‘Your Highness’ instead of Duchess…?'
She had lived her whole life without knowing men. The flirtation of a handsome man like this was unfamiliar.

“I don’t usually do things like this. But I’ll make an exception for you, Your Highness.”
A breathy, languid voice grazed her ear.
Helene turned her head, withdrawing.

Capitano smiled with his eyes as he continued,
“Honestly, I’m just indulging my own desires. Vulgar, right?”
* * *

Capitano—or rather, Makia—exited the Duke’s estate, brushing off his coat collar as he adjusted his appearance.
The smile vanished from his face. He pulled out a handkerchief, wiped his lips, and discarded it in the street.
Conquering someone who had lived her life proudly as royalty had been easier than expected.

That was precisely why he told her the Duke’s lover was a maid—to make his own involvement appear justified.
Suddenly, he recalled the cause of his father’s death.
Many were entangled in it.

“They paid a fortune to avenge the Princess Margarita, his wife.”
The one who commissioned the assassination of his father—Blake—was Count Queensguard.
And the operatives abandoned after the Empire’s collapse—those who now chased profit—sold their intel to the military and betrayed his father.

“Isn’t this place built on selling out comrades for money?”
In the end, the one who killed his father during the operation… was Masera.
Makia remembered his father as a cold, indifferent man.

“If you’re weak, you die. That’s how it’s always been. Learn to survive on your own.”
He didn’t recall ever being loved—but one thing was certain.
“My father didn’t abandon us. He risked his life to cross into enemy lands—to save us.”

Just as his late mother had said. In giving them life, his father had done his duty.
'Then I must do mine—as his son.'
At a large, opulent estate, Makia was greeted by men in black suits—all large-built and armed.

“You’ve arrived.”
Makia raised his hand wordlessly and walked past.
He headed straight to the bathroom, washing away Helene’s scent as though to scrub off the contamination.

He wiped the steam from the mirror. Reflected back in his palm was not black hair—but shimmering silver-white.
With a chilling gaze, he looked into the mirror and murmured with a blank expression,
“I want to see a face that’s been utterly destroyed—ruined in a hell worse than death.”

In his view, to die at another’s hands was a blessing.
Throwing oneself into the abyss of ruin—that was the perfect revenge.
The Princess that Count Queensguard treasured most was already dead. All that remained was to destroy her children.

As for Masera del Visente… maybe it would be enough to make him lose his princess—Cynthia.
'Or maybe I’ll just take her. They say she’s unnaturally lucky.'
What if he locked her away and treated her like a lucky charm?

Even as his adjutant gave a full report, Makia remained lost in thought.
With a serious face, the adjutant concluded,
“…All former executives have now been eliminated. Commedia dell’Arte is ready to begin a new performance.”

He bowed respectfully.
“Congratulations, Representative.”
As he dried his damp hair with a towel, Makia’s lips curved faintly.

The child who once crawled through filth had grown into a man skilled in destruction and vengeance—and was now the head of Commedia dell’Arte, kingpin of the arms trafficking syndicate.
The chain of revenge was far from over.