The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

There’s a saying that when you die, the rofan novel you finished last comes to escort you to the afterlife.
Normally, I thought this just meant that when you sympathize with a character and shout, “They don’t deserve this! If it were me…!” you get hit by a truck and possess that character.

But I had been living in a war-torn region, and the last thing I saw was a fighter jet’s bombing run.
Then I opened my eyes… and found myself in the body of a maid named Cynthia, working in the noble House of Queensguard.
Cynthia had worked here from a very young age, and her life was as tragic as they come.

At this point, anyone else would have gone off the deep end—but Cynthia was a genuinely kind person by nature.
“Just like me… pathologically nice.”
Assigned such a miserable role without even knowing the original story, I placed one hand to my cheek with pathetic resignation.

The reason I was convinced this world was inside a novel was the faint familiarity—it reminded me of one I had read briefly.
The genres I enjoyed were always romcoms, healing stories, salvation arcs. The typical "sunshine FL heals a broken ML” kind of plot.
So this must be one of those too.

“Phew. At least it’s not some miserable angst-fest.”
I sighed with relief while sitting in my room—until the senior maid suddenly burst through the door.
“Hey, you damn Essat mongrel.”

The household staff of the count’s mansion called me the “Essat mongrel.”
The Essat were a persecuted people, now reduced to a dwindling minority. I had white hair—so everyone just assumed I was mixed-blood.
“I’m not a mongrel, I’m a mutation, actually.”

I politely corrected her.
The white hair, nearly translucent pale skin, and faint red eyes—I had albinism.
At my innocent response, her eyebrow twitched, and she barked harshly.

“Still a damn white rat! Lord Carlos is calling you, so get ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) moving.”
“Got it.”
Annoying bosses exist in every genre.
I stood up and headed straight for Carlos’s room.

* * *
Carlos Queensguard.
Eldest son and heir to the count’s family.

Ash-gold hair with a smoky sheen, eyes like the sea. A handsome man who lived for debauchery.
Definitely not the male lead.
“Cynthia, it’s time to repay the favor. You promised me your life.”

He wasn’t even the abusive type you could ‘rehabilitate’—just a straight-up bastard.
According to the remaining memories in Cynthia’s mind, she had committed manslaughter at the age of seventeen.
There had been a gambler and drunkard who called himself her father, exploiting her. Sometimes he beat her. One day, Cynthia pushed back—and he cracked his head and took a one-way swim across the Styx.

Carlos found out by chance, covered up the murder, and in her gratitude, Cynthia gave him not only her life but her heart as well.
It had become an even more toxic relationship of exploitation.
“How long do I have to keep repaying this indefinite debt…”

I muttered bitterly.
By the way, debts of love and blackmail can’t be repaid—not until one of you dies.
“Just one last time, Cynthia.”

This bastard, no different from her deadbeat father, continued with a smug voice.
“We received two marriage proposals.”
“For you and Lady Helene?”

I didn’t even bother mentioning Edford, the younger son.
He didn’t inherit the family’s looks or ability—he wasn’t even qualified to get a proposal.
“No. Both proposals came from the grooms’ side. Since there’s only one daughter in the family, we’d normally pick one…”

He took my hand gently and smiled.
“But both offers are incredible. We’re the last living descendants of the royal bloodline, after all.”
The late countess had been a princess of the fallen Bariesa royal family, more than twenty years ago.

A revolution wiped out the royal lineage, but she had run away with the count before that—and left behind heirs of royal blood.
Carlos came to the point.
“You’ll become the lady of the Queensguard family and marry the other one.”

Forcing me to marry someone else? After I gave him everything out of love?
“Is he handsome? I want to know what I’m working with.”
If he’s good-looking, maybe he’s the male lead.

Based on all the rofans I’d read night and day, I guessed he might be the Northern Duke—but that turned out wrong. The Northern Duke was 95.
Still, the setup felt familiar. It reminded me of a novel I skimmed once: I Was the Fake Bride but Became the Real One.
The male lead figures out the FL’s identity is fake, but pretends not to know because he’s afraid she’ll run away—classic adorable romcom.

Carlos frowned slightly as I stared off in thought.
“You’ve been acting strange lately. Anyway, once we get his wealth, we’ll be together forever. Just endure it a little longer.”
Seriously?

“Oh, okay!”
I responded vaguely with a nod.
First, I needed to find the male lead to kickstart the plot. That was my only real option.

With such a massive proposal, refusing meant death. Better to live and search for another way.
Besides, I’ve always been weirdly lucky.
Sure, I died poorly in my last life—but waking up in a romance novel with a shot at happiness? That’s gotta count as fortune.

I decided to believe in my luck.
It’s just… too bad it doesn’t work on lotteries or gambling.
* * *

The one who first came up with the idea for a “bloodline scam marriage” was none other than Carlos’s father—the Count of Queensguard.
He looked down at Cynthia standing before him and said,
“This is your chance to rise in status and bathe in luxury.”

They lived far from the capital, out on the fringes.
The Queensguard children hadn’t debuted in society for their own protection, and their identities were mostly unknown. All it took was silencing a few servants.
He gave her unique features a thorough once-over and spoke.

“If anyone starts questioning, just say you lost your memory in an accident as a child. I’ll handle the rest.”
“I really don’t remember my childhood, though?”
It had been three months since I possessed this body. Only fragments of the original Cynthia’s memories remained—I didn’t know the full picture.

The count made a face like he was fed up and changed the subject.
“The man you’re marrying is a war hero of the Republic. Incredibly wealthy. The best catch out there.”
Cynthia asked,

“Why send me instead of Lady Helene?”
Helene was his real daughter and Carlos’s younger sister.
Sharp question—but he always assumed Cynthia wasn’t clever.

“Helene’s going to marry a duke.”
“Why?”
“You’re not cut out for the etiquette required of a ducal house. It’s not something a few days of lessons can fix.”

He didn’t bother mentioning the rumors that Colonel Visente was a cruel, murderous lunatic.
Even with all his money, I can’t send my daughter to a monster. Especially one with such low birth.
Still, he couldn’t reject the proposal.

After the war, the industrial revolution had caused a boom. In the marriage market, deals were struck between rich capitalists and bankrupt nobles clinging to their bloodlines.
So even the disgraced Bariesa royal lineage had skyrocketed in value.
The last remaining royal descendant. A top-tier product for bloodline sales. No wonder both a capitalist colonel and a duke were desperate.

Given the huge offers, it was clear they were gambling on a royal restoration in the future.
The count couldn’t pass up those two golden geese.
And Cynthia, the foolish girl who’d do anything Carlos said, was perfect for the role.

Besides, she had that rare appearance—like a long-lost princess out of a painting.
“So, this is a scam marriage, right?”
Cynthia asked, and the count rummaged in his coat pocket.

“As long as we don’t get caught, it’s the truth.”
He handed her a red diamond necklace. It resembled the hue of her eyes.
“It belonged to my wife. A royal heirloom. No one will question you with this.”

It was important, but he’d get it back eventually, so it didn’t matter.
“Just keep your mouth shut. If we’re found out, you’ll be the one who dies.”
Not that you’ll live long enough for that to happen anyway.

The count smirked as he hid his thoughts.
Cynthia’s lips curled faintly as she accepted the necklace.
I’m betting my life on this being a rofan filled with warmth, healing, and laughs.

She had no idea that this wasn’t a fluffy romcom, but a notorious tragedy with a “mutual death” ending.
Not healing romance—hazardous material.