The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *

Since most of the staff here were former soldiers, they all calmly surrounded Stephan and tried not to provoke him.
“Please release the Princess. You’re still young—don’t become a criminal. Think of the rest of your life.”
“If you surrender now, you may be shown leniency.”

Milchenko and Dalia tried to persuade Stephan, but he too was already standing at the edge of a cliff.
Meanwhile, having heard the commotion and come outside, Count Queensguard hastily stepped forward when he saw the hostage situation.
“You want money, right? Then first let go of my innocent daughter and negotiate with me instead!”

Helene frowned as she watched the Count trying to save Cynthia.
Cynthia was certainly an important figure, but the Count seemed unusually emotional today, unlike his usual self.
Stephan, sweating, spoke.

“Innocent? Your daughter is a murderer.”
“What kind of bullshit is that?”
Count Queensguard scowled and snapped back.

‘Does he really believe I killed the Visente family?’
Cynthia turned her gaze toward Stephan. Something—whether sweat or tears—was dripping down from his chin.
Consumed by rage, Stephan was gradually losing his ability to reason.

“When you think about it, it’s all because of Brigadier Visente! That bastard stole everything from the Visente family!”
“Ugh!”
As the glass edge slowly dug into her skin, Cynthia tightly shut her eyes.

At that moment—
Bang!
There was the urgent thudding of military boots rushing over, followed by a loud crash as someone slammed into a display cabinet.
“Guh!”

Immediately, the hand holding Cynthia let go.
Eyes wide open in surprise, she saw Masera, who had tackled Stephan.
“Brigadier… sir?”

Masera, who was supposed to return next week, was suddenly here?
Cynthia’s eyes widened as she saw his hardened expression. Blood was flowing from his hand, which was clutching a shard of glass.
Crash!

The butler, Dalia, and the soldiers, who had been waiting for an opening, all rushed in at once and pinned Stephan down, slapping handcuffs on him.
“Stay still!”
“Argh! Let go of me!”

Masera put down the glass shard and immediately pulled Cynthia into his arms.
Then, with a chilling tone, he commanded the soldiers who were aiming their guns at Stephan.
“Put your guns down. Now.”

He was worried that Cynthia might fall into another panic episode.
Everyone immediately lowered their guns and stepped back.
Masera quickly pressed a handkerchief to Cynthia’s neck.

“Are you all right? This much blood…”
But the rest of his sentence didn’t come out.
His pupils were trembling like a candle flame flickering in the wind.

This was the first time she had ever seen him like this—normally so composed and calm, but now with the face of someone who had nearly lost something precious.
Was he really someone whose heart could beat this fast? Cynthia pressed the handkerchief to his palm and gave a tearful look.
“It’s not my blood. You’re the one who’s hurt, Brigadier.”

Only then did Masera realize the blood was coming from his own hand, and let out a sigh of relief.
Helene watched the scene, eyes wide open.
‘Brigadier Visente? Why did he return early?’

And of all times, today—right now. It was so absurdly well-timed that she almost laughed out loud.
Masera, in contrast to how he looked at Cynthia, turned his now sharp and lethal gaze to the soldiers.
“Take him. Lock him up in the basement.”

Masera scowled fiercely as he glared at Stephan.
Back when Masera was a powerless child, Stephan had bullied him. Even after growing up, Stephan continued to provoke him for money and ended up severely beaten.
But now, Stephan, who had been subdued, suddenly began to scream in a fit of rage.

“Masera! Your wife is a murderer! She killed your adoptive parents, the Visente couple, and my father! I’ll keep quiet about all of it if you take responsibility for our debts!”
At those words, Masera’s eyes turned frighteningly cold.
He was # Nоvеlight # staring at the figures who appeared behind the collapsed Stephan.

“Stephan? What are you doing here?”
Helene turned at the sound of a familiar voice, only for her face to twist.
It was Stephan’s father, Oliver, and the Visente couple—standing before Masera with frightened expressions.

‘They were staying perfectly fine at the official residence?’
They looked a bit thinner, but otherwise unharmed.
The soldiers who had hastily brought them under Stephan’s coercion immediately saluted Masera and stepped back.

Stephan turned to Helene with a look of complete bewilderment.
“…Duchess, what is the meaning of this?”
Hadn’t she said that Princess Cynthia had killed the Visente couple and Oliver Visente?

Helene sharply turned her head to glare at Charles, who had informed her that the Visente family had been dealt with.
Charles also looked confused, as if he didn’t know what was going on.
Biting her lip over the unraveling plan, Helene quickly switched to shameless denial.

“See? I told you it wasn’t true. Isn’t it a relief that they’re unharmed?”
Then Stephan, now realizing he’d been tricked, turned his anger toward Helene.
“Duchess! You knew that adoptive children have no obligation to repay their guardians’ debts, and yet you deceived me to make me a criminal?!”

‘What’s he talking about now?’
Helene suddenly looked down at a piece of paper that had fallen at her feet. It looked like a torn page from a book, scattered during the commotion.
Her face froze as she read it.

“An adopted child has no legal obligation to repay the debts of adoptive parents.” — it was a revised law.
‘…The law changed? Just a week ago?’
How could this be real?

Why was fate always on that demon’s side?
Helene ground her teeth in frustration.
* * *

Having received a brief report from butler Milchenko, Masera stared silently at the Visente couple for a long time. His expression was emotionless—like cold metal.
‘Should I just kill them? This is all becoming too tiresome.’
That was what he was thinking when he suddenly felt someone carefully grasp his hand.

Cynthia, holding the handkerchief, gently cupped his injured hand and looked up at him.
Strangely, the moment their eyes met, the storm inside him calmed.
Masera looked again at the Visente couple, who were trembling all over.

“So you crawled back in the end, even going so far as to lay a hand on my wife.”
His voice was calm and subdued—but all the more chilling for it.
Madam Eleonora shook her head and clasped her hands together as if pleading. She had already realized that all their schemes had crumbled to dust.

“No, it’s a misunderstanding. We came to apologize for the past.”
There was only one option left—to beg for forgiveness. Tears fell as she spoke in a pitiful voice.
“Masera, I’m truly sorry about back then. We were just so devastated from losing our son… I’ve lived ever since in bitter regret.”

Masera’s eyes still held no emotion.
“A confession made just before death is called a last will. Most of those are lies too.”
He had seen too many people on the brink of death.

Humans often fabricated their final words just to be remembered kindly by those left behind.
“What can I do to ease your heart? Please, I beg you.”
Having no hope of escaping their debts and facing a miserable death, she fell to her knees.

In contrast, Count Visente remained standing stiffly and never apologized.
“What do we have to apologize for? I don’t remember anything.”
Even as Madam Eleonora gave him a sharp look, he stubbornly feigned ignorance.

“When is the repayment due?”
At Masera’s question, Count Visente quickly replied.
“In two days. If you just pay it off, we’ll leave quietly. We’ll even keep quiet about what your fierce wife did to us.”

Masera gave a simple command—one that was devastating for the other side.
“Detain them for three days, then send them to the gambling house our group runs.”
Their faces turned pale as ash.

If they returned empty-handed after the deadline, no one could predict what might happen to them.
Dying in prison or right here might be a better fate.
Madam Eleonora desperately turned to Helene.

“Duchess! Now you must help us!”
“What?”
“You promised to support us in every way possible, didn’t you? It’s written in the Grand Madam’s letter too!”

Helene’s face went deathly pale.
Her gaze involuntarily shifted toward Cynthia.
Cynthia, wearing her trademark innocent expression, mouthed the words:

‘I told you I wouldn’t sit still.’
[“Humans often fabricated their final words just to be remembered kindly by those left behind.”]
*Quote: Giovanni Boccaccio, Decameron, First Day