The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

Carlos covered his mouth and sneered at the sight of Masera’s stiffened expression.
“Did something unpleasant happen?”
Masera silently grabbed Carlos’s hand as if to adjust Cynthia’s hairpin.

“No. I’m just grateful. My wife spent the whole day searching and ended up catching a cold.”
Carlos’s brow furrowed as he felt the grip tightening on his hand.
‘Typical soldier. All brute strength, no sense.’

It felt like his bones were about to crack.
“I see. How’s Cindy doing?”
Unable to endure it any longer, Carlos withdrew his hand and asked casually.

Masera tilted his head slowly, lowering his gaze to meet Carlos’s.
“She took medicine and fell asleep.”
“I’ll come visit again once she’s better.”

Carlos waved a hand and turned around.
From Masera’s expression alone, it seemed like he’d won, but a sudden sense of defeat crept over him.
According to Charles, the informant stationed at the residence, although the couple had a brief fight, their relationship wasn’t bad overall.

‘…Anyway, that man is her husband now.’
He hadn’t expected the marriage registration—binding them legally as family—to become a true obstacle.
As he headed toward the ballroom, Carlos sighed, recalling Valeria’s scornful eyes.

* * *
Masera returned to the room and looked down at the sleeping Cynthia.
He tucked the scattered strands of her hair into the hairpin, but she didn’t react in her deep sleep.
“……”

Under the dim light of the night lamp, cold sweat clung to Cynthia’s flushed face. Her long lashes were damp, making her look pitiful.
He reached out and placed his hand on her forehead to check her temperature.
“You’re cool…”

In her [N O V E L I G H T] hazy state, Cynthia nuzzled against his cold hand and mumbled.
Masera glanced at the basin of cool water and the towel beside the bed.
He wrung the wet towel tightly and began wiping her face and neck.

“Ah! That’s cold!”
The moment the cloth touched her collarbone, Cynthia jolted awake in alarm.
“My apologies.”

Masera quickly withdrew the towel, clearly flustered.
Blinking as if trying to focus, her red eyes fixed on him.
“Has the banquet started?”

“It’s not too late.”
“I still feel like I should go, since you’re a brigadier…”
Cynthia let out a groan as she tried to sit up, but Masera shook his head.

“You still have a fever. It wouldn’t be wise in your condition.”
“I’m sturdier than I look. Even when I had enteritis, I went out to buy a sandwich.”
How strong is her appetite…?

Setting down the towel, Masera tried once more to dissuade her.
“I’ll bring you food and dessert separately. There’s no need to strain yourself.”
But before he realized, Cynthia had already stepped off the bed, standing proudly.

“See? I took the medicine and I’m already better. Besides, the brigadier personally nursed me…”
Then, her vision spun.
As Cynthia began to collapse from dizziness, Masera caught her in his arms just in time.

Thud!
Masera fell to the ground, clutching Cynthia tightly to his chest as they landed.
Cynthia, now sprawled awkwardly on top of him, blinked in surprise.

‘Ah, crap.’
The large hand on the back of her head, the solid arm around her waist—her senses were suddenly overwhelmed.
“Are you doing this on purpose?”

Masera’s resigned voice drifted up.
Cynthia awkwardly raised her upper body.
“I messed up like an overly enthusiastic rookie. Sorry.”

Even sick, she still had that sharp tongue.
Masera stared up at her in silence, his eyes gradually darkening.
Feeling a sudden discomfort, Cynthia glanced down—

“Wait… what’s that on your pants…”
Realization struck, and her face turned crimson.
Masera, just as startled, sat up straight.

It was his body’s instinct, disobedient to reason or command.
“If you could just move—”
Then he saw her face up close and everything stopped.

That familiar fresh peach scent immobilized him.
Their breathing grew louder in the silence, the ticking of the table clock the only sound in the room.
Masera’s gaze fixated on her lips. Cynthia’s shoulders visibly rose and fell with her breath.

‘This atmosphere…’
Flustered, Cynthia leaned back and averted her eyes, trying to suppress the racing of her heart.
Meanwhile, Masera slowly closed and opened his eyes. His pupils looked as if violet dye had been dropped into a blue lake.

‘What should I do?’
Before she could think further, the hand supporting her back pulled her in, their upper bodies pressed together.
Then his lips, warm and burning, touched hers.

“Mm—”
Cynthia’s eyes widened in shock.
‘Wasn’t kissing just something we did for show?’

The fleeting doubt vanished in an instant.
Masera pulled back after the brief kiss and turned his head.
He took a deep, shuddering breath before meeting her eyes again.

“I warned you… again and again. I’m a man, and…”
His voice trailed off.
Even in the dim room lit only by the night lamp, Cynthia could see the corners of his eyes tinged red.

Running a hand through his platinum hair, he sighed and added,
“You’re beautiful.”
Cynthia stared at him, mouth slightly open, stunned.

Beau… tiful?
He’d been thinking that all along?
Then, Masera suddenly lifted her into his arms and gently laid her back on the bed.

“You’re on my mind. So much it makes me angry.”
Leaving her with that cryptic line, he walked out of the room.
Left lying in bed, Cynthia curled up slightly. That brief moment lingered far too long.

‘Was it just a man’s impulse? Or could it be that he actually…’
Masera falling for her.
That had been her plan all along—her survival strategy, what she wished for.

‘But what if he finds out the truth?’
She had once thought that if he liked her, he wouldn’t kill her.
That had been the idea, in the beginning…

But now, Cynthia felt a deep ache rise from within.
Only now did she realize—she was afraid of disappointing him.
She rubbed her lips, troubled.

‘What do I really feel about him?’
Her mind, dulled by the remnants of the medicine, couldn’t sort itself out.
Cynthia exhaled a long, heavy breath as she stared into the dark.

* * *
Masera was just as conflicted.
As soon as he reached the ballroom, he downed a stiff glass of whiskey.

‘Why did I act on impulse like that? No better than a common lech chasing skirts.’
He’d sworn to never let himself care for a princess of Bariesa. He’d promised to ruin her, just as he’d been ruined.
Instead, he alternated between guilt and bitter self-ridicule.

“Brigadier, did you come alone?”
A lady approached him, breaking his thoughts.
Masera, refilling his empty glass, looked at her with an uninterested expression.

“I don’t have a partner either, you know.”
She was quite beautiful, but Masera’s mind was elsewhere.
‘Why did I do that?’

Despite her repeated attempts at conversation, he simply drank, offering no replies.
Across the room, he spotted Helene dancing and laughing with a gentleman—not her husband.
It was normal to dance with other guests at a ball, and yet…

‘Unpleasant.’
He imagined Cynthia dancing with another man and instinctively clenched his hand.
“Brigadier!”

Startled by the concerned voices around him, Masera looked down.
He was holding a broken crystal glass, blood dripping from his hand.
“Are you alright?”

The lady who had been talking to him pulled out a handkerchief, trying to help.
Masera firmly declined, retrieving his own handkerchief from his coat and wrapping his hand.
‘What the hell is this cursed emotion?’

He felt both rage and confusion at this unfamiliar feeling he had never allowed himself before.
But answers eluded him, so he stepped out onto the terrace for some air.
An officer already smoking a cigar offered him one.

“I quit.”
“When was that?”
“Before the wedding.”

“Ah. Because the princess doesn’t like it? That’s a common reason.”
Masera looked up at the night sky, streaked with soft green auroras, and replied,
“…Yeah.”

Now that he thought about it, that probably was why.
A maid in uniform quietly watched the lost-in-thought Masera, then silently withdrew.