The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *

From a distance, Carlos watched as Valeria, atop her white horse, disappeared with a disappointed look on her face.
It was too perfectly timed to be a coincidence.
“Apologize.”

Cynthia’s cold voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
Facing her furious gaze, Carlos ran his hands down his face as if trying to wipe away his irritation.
'Why did I do that?'

Up until now, he hadn’t considered Cynthia’s feelings to be important.
To Carlos, women were trivial. He never had to work hard to win them over—they came easily. That was why he never cared for romantic games.
Everything had always felt under control—until Cynthia, whom he thought was beneath him, started changing.

'Has she not only fallen out of love… but come to hate me?'
Even before her marriage to Brigadier Visente, she had begun acting distant.
She carried herself like someone with nothing to lose.

And at some point, that had started to bother him immensely.
“I said apologize.”
Cynthia’s voice trembled with anger.

Seeing the hatred rising in her red eyes, Carlos let out a hollow laugh.
The girl who used to blush when he spoke to her, whose heartbeat had once thundered whenever they got close, had clearly vanished.
“No.”

He stepped closer to her horse and reached out his hand.
“Let’s go back.”
Cynthia turned her head sharply.
“Go alone.”

She flinched at the faint sound of gunfire echoing in the distance.
'When did she start fearing gunshots?'
Carlos was still thinking when Cynthia, who had been smoothing her disheveled hair, suddenly widened her eyes.

“Ah—?”
She’d just realized that the hairpin Masera had given her was gone.
Did she drop it while shoving Carlos away? She looked around in a panic.

“I can’t lose it…”
“What is it?”
Carlos asked as he watched her closely.

Then he noticed it too—the opal hairpin was no longer in her hair.
“You lost your hairpin? I’ll just buy you a new one—”
But Cynthia didn’t even acknowledge him, frantically scanning the ground.

“Was it that important?”
Still, she said nothing.
She was nearly squatting in the sunlight now, her pale skin growing red and flushed.

“…It was a gift. From the brigadier.”
Her belated answer made something tighten in Carlos’s chest.
She had never once worn the dress he gave her, yet she looked devastated over a single hairpin?

Frustration burned in him, twisting his mood—but he swallowed it.
“I’ll help you look. We’ll probably find it if we head back slowly.”
Carlos, trying to appear generous, tugged at the reins.

But Cynthia didn’t even pretend to hear him.
“Might as well let a squirrel eat it,” she muttered bitterly.
* * *

Deep within the forest, while others hunted birds, Masera sat on a tree stump, silently watching the sky. Gunfire echoed, branches trembled, and flocks of birds scattered into the air.
“Brigadier, there you are.”
A group of ladies approached, carrying a hunted pheasant.

It was Valeria, Carlos’s partner, along with her friend.
“Have you caught anything yet?” Valeria asked.
“Nothing,” Masera replied.

“It’s almost over now. You should at least get one. Wasn’t the reason we came this deep to catch a snow stag?”
Masera had actually insisted on this deep hunting spot to keep Cynthia away from the sounds of gunfire—fearing she might have a panic attack.
“I’m not particularly interested.”

He shook his head, prompting Valeria to smile and flatter him.
“I was hoping to see the elite marksman in action. Everyone knows the stories of your legendary marksmanship.”
Her friend then chimed in, half-joking as she covered her mouth.

“With vision that sharp, I bet you accidentally witness all sorts of things. Forest trysts, for example. Hunting grounds are a popular spot for that, aren’t they?”
“Exactly. There’s a reason they say to beware even falling leaves. Imagine if one stuck to your clothes—what would people think?”
The two women burst into laughter, but Masera—well-accustomed to Cynthia’s brand of biting humor—didn’t even crack a smile.

'Some people can talk about falling leaves for two straight ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) hours.'
That person, of course, was Cynthia.
He rose, slinging his unused shotgun over his shoulder.

Valeria asked quickly, “Leaving already? You don’t need to worry about your wife. I saw her go for a walk with Prince Carlos.”
The moment he heard Carlos, Masera’s lips thinned into a straight line.
Despite being her brother, the man clearly rubbed him the wrong way. Carlos looked at Masera like he was a rival.

“I’ll be going now.”
He offered a curt nod and mounted his horse.
When he arrived at the forest’s edge, he glanced toward the tent where the ladies were chatting—but Cynthia wasn’t there.

Helene, already back and sipping champagne, greeted him.
“Brigadier, did you enjoy the hunt?”
“Duchess. Do you happen to know where my wife is?”

Helene raised Cynthia’s parasol in response.
“I’m not sure. But she left this behind, so I assume she’s inside.”
Masera, feeling a slight frown forming, turned toward the villa.

“I see.”
Inside, he asked the servants—but none knew where Cynthia was.
A creeping unease took root in him.

He wasn’t sure if it came from not trusting her, or from genuine fear that something might have happened.
“…What does trust even matter.”
He murmured this to himself as he stared out at the sunset through the window.

And then—he saw her. Cynthia, her white hair flowing, walking toward the villa.
He immediately turned and rushed to meet her, mind racing.
'Why is she alone? They said she went on a walk with her brother.'

He reached her quickly.
Cynthia looked up at him with a flushed, worn-out face, her hair disheveled. Her dress and white gloves were filthy with dirt, as if she had been wandering the forest alone.
“What happened?”

His gaze fixed on the dried leaves tangled in her hair.
Valeria’s earlier joke resurfaced in his mind, making him irrationally tense.
“I… lost the hairpin you gave me.”

Cynthia, usually so composed, lowered her head in exhaustion.
“I searched everywhere… but I couldn’t find it. I’m sorry.”
She’d gotten herself into this state looking for the gift he’d given her.

Masera felt ashamed of his earlier suspicion, even as relief washed over him.
Whether Cynthia loved someone or hated someone—it wasn’t supposed to matter.
Yet here he was, caring.

He placed his hand on her forehead.
“You’re burning up.”
Her skin was hot to the touch. It was clear she wasn’t well.

“You should rest in your room.”
“But there’s the evening party…”
This estate was far from the capital. The plan was to stay through the weekend and enjoy hunting and parties.

Skipping a party hosted by her husband’s superior would surely raise eyebrows. Cynthia looked worried.
“I’ll go alone.”
Masera guided her, short of breath, back to their room.

After a physician checked her, Cynthia took her medicine and quickly fell asleep.
“Huh? The ceiling’s spinning. Is this one of those high-tech rotating ceilings…?”
She mumbled nonsense from the fever but soon drifted into a deep sleep.

Once sure she was resting, Masera left the room—intending only to briefly appear at the banquet.
But then—
“Brigadier Visente.”

Carlos’s distinctively smug voice came from behind him. Masera turned, face hard.
Carlos narrowed his eyes and pulled something from his coat pocket.
“Our dear Cynthia must’ve been in such a hurry… she left this behind.”

Resting in his palm was the opal hairpin, gleaming faintly.
The moment Masera saw it—paired with Carlos’s mocking smile—his eyes turned ice-cold.