The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *
Anna stood before the mirror, twirling once in a dress she had perfectly replicated from one of Helene’s.

Helene, since childhood, had hated wearing anything identical to others and always altered her clothes through tailoring. The sewing room where Anna worked had always been busy because of this.
For a girl like Anna, who loved fashion and dressing up, being surrounded daily by exquisite gowns was like a dream.
'I want to wear a dress I made myself someday.'

She had lived while nursing that unattainable fantasy.
“You’ve got real talent, Anna. A great eye too. If you’d gone into fashion school, you might’ve become a famous designer.”
“That’s a place for rich people.”

But the world wasn’t one where talent could overcome birth. Anna’s dream was far too lofty—unrealistic.
And then, the Duke of Recanosa had appeared before her.
'If the Duke supports me… I might get a chance to study abroad.'

She wanted the opportunity to see and learn more.
Though Cynthia had reminded her of the “problem of adultery,” she shook her head.
So he’s helping me, just like that? When he never even properly explained what he did to Anita?

The idea that living submissively in your assigned place is “virtue” was just a lie fed by the privileged—afraid the talented might surpass them.
“I don’t care if people criticize me for wanting a luxurious life. Who doesn’t dream?”
As she muttered, rationalizing to herself, a voice suddenly came from behind—playful, male, unfamiliar.

“Lucky you. I don’t even have a dream.”
Startled, Anna turned to see a man behind her.
A man with jet-black hair and sharp eyes was smiling sweetly.

It was Makia, here to carry out Helene’s command.
“Even if you knew who I was, it wouldn’t change anything.”
Anna shivered at the cold sensation pressing beneath her chin. The barrel of a dark gun was aimed at her.
“No matter how desperate your dream is, the world never changes.”

Realizing who had sent him, tears welled in Anna’s eyes.
“Please… don’t kill me…”
“Ah, I remember. What my dream used to be.”

Makia tapped his head a few times with the hand holding the gun.
“To survive. That was my dream. Thanks to you, I remembered.”
Terrified, Anna collapsed to the floor.

Makia looked down at her with a relaxed smile.
“I’ll treat you like a gentleman would. On one condition—don’t try anything stupid.”
Anna glanced toward the slightly open door.

Men in black clothes stood waiting outside, looking brutal.
In desperation, she begged,
“You were sent by Miss Helene, weren’t you? I know something important. If you let me meet her—”

Makia swept his faded black hair back and shook his head.
“I can’t tell you who the client is.”
But Anna had already guessed.

“Just tell her there’s another maid who survived besides me. That’s all. I’ll explain the rest in person.”
Makia stroked his chin, pretending to think, then shook his head.
“Not sure what you mean.”

Though he knew there had been a purge in the Queensguard household, he played dumb.
“Miss Helene’s father—the Count—killed all the servants to silence them.”
“Oh.”

Seeing his lukewarm reaction, Anna added more, grasping at survival.
“Because… Miss Cynthia once lived as a maid. They say she was taken away by a servant right after she was born.”
When she saw the flicker of interest in Makia’s eyes, she gained a bit of courage.

“Also, they say the surviving maid is currently with Miss Cynthia. Please pass that along.”
Makia smiled and holstered his gun.
“I won’t kill you. Just follow me quietly.”

He had been ordered from the start to keep her locked away in a secluded location.
'Count Queensguard… your grand marriage scam may have been a hit, but how long will it last?'
Makia began composing scenarios, thinking of what would be the most entertaining approach.

'Should I expose the truth only once Her Highness becomes an irreplaceable presence to Brigadier Visente?'
It still didn’t feel like enough to shatter them just yet.
Even the Count’s feelings for Cynthia—he suspected they were tangled in some twisted obsession with the dead princess.

“When will the moment of realization come?”
The information Makia held was enough to bring destruction to Masera, Cynthia, and the entire Queensguard line.
He hummed a cheerful tune as he walked out.

* * *
Masera, having completed his inspection of Nox, boarded the train.
Seated, he idly fiddled with the scarf wrapped around his shoulders.

“I don’t wear this kind of thing. It’s cumbersome.”
“I’m the one who bought you that cumbersome thing. Better than a ‘hand-knit scarf full of love’, right?”
Forced onto him by Cynthia’s threats and insistence, the scarf was surprisingly warm. And it had even earned him compliments.

“You always looked good, but now that your wife’s touched it, you look even better. There’s even a nice scent to it…”
“Out of my face.”
Masera, who had been watching the snowfall outside the window, now looked at the people sitting across from him.

“Papa, what’s that?”
“A tree.”
“What about that big, round man lying over there?”

“A mountain.”
Listening to the child and his father talk reminded him of old conversations with Cynthia.
“Papa, why does it snow?”

“I wish it wouldn’t.”
The noblewoman sitting beside him glanced sideways at her husband for his lazy reply.
Only then did the man respond properly.

“Because droplets in the clouds freeze and fall as snowflakes.”
Masera leaned his elbow against the window sill and rested his chin on his hand.
Soft piano music drifted through the train. The same piece that had played at their wedding—the same one Cynthia had clumsily tried to play herself.

'So in your country, it wasn’t called ‘Dream of Love’ but ‘Anemoia’? Like the title says, it really does make you yearn for a past you never lived… like someone else’s memories from a history book.'
'A past never experienced…'
Masera looked at the child across from him again.

He saw the loving hands of the parent fixing the crooked cap and putting the fallen shoe back on.
“Adults are supposed to give children good memories.”
He recalled Cynthia’s chatter and stared at the ceiling of the train.

'Do I even have any memories worth sharing? Did I ever have any to begin with?'
The train, running endlessly down the tracks, finally pulled into the station.
“This!”

The child across from him stretched out a small hand. In his palm was a piece of candy.
“Thanks.”
As Masera popped the candy into his mouth, the boy laughed and waved brightly.

Just as he stood to get off, his eyes caught something outside the window—and widened slightly.
Cynthia and Eugene were standing on the platform, waving at him.
“Looks like your family’s here to meet you. Must be nice.”

The boy’s father smiled as he lifted their luggage and gently made conversation.
“…”
Masera felt something stir deep within ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) him. Something warm and unfamiliar.

A present moment he had never experienced before—one that he might long for someday.
“Yes. It is.”
He nodded and stepped off the train.

Cynthia approached first, chattering as usual.
“How was the trip? We came to meet you—and also swung by Eugene’s doctor. You won’t believe what happened there—!”
“Noona wouldn’t stop talking, so the nurse had to warn her.”

Eugene summarized bluntly.
Cynthia held out a bag of bread in one hand.
“Brigadier. I couldn’t resist the smell of these custard buns—they only sell them at this station. Want to try one?”

“I’ll have it later—mmph.”
Cynthia shoved a small custard bun into his mouth before he could finish.
Masera looked down at her and suddenly felt a wave of anxiety.

'Am I even allowed to feel this way?'
He didn’t know whether fate was finally offering him peace—or whether it was simply pausing before striking harder.
'What if she leaves me?'

Hope always came with betrayal and pain.
It was a fear born of experience.