The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *
News that oil had erupted in Nox didn’t just shake Lutemia—it rocked the entire world.

It was nothing short of a miracle for something predicted to take at least ten years to happen so quickly. And with such massive reserves on top of it.
「Was the royal family’s golden legacy Nox all along? A string of unbelievable coincidences… In the end, Lady Luck sides with Princess Cynthia」
「Medeian royal investment proves accurate once again」

Thanks to the Dias carpenters who had relocated and the full support of Count Hert’s household, the construction facilities were established with remarkable speed.
People were stunned by Cynthia’s foresight, but their reactions were divided.
“Is this even real? Damn, is she seriously some kind of lucky princess?!”

“Didn’t I tell you? I said it’d work!”
Those who had pulled their investments clawed at their heads wishing they could turn back time, while those who held out until the end became rich overnight.
Even those who had ridiculed her for suggesting they start in the completely random western mountains were left speechless.
Many sent congratulatory letters, but Masera didn’t feel anything particular.

He’d believed her from the beginning, when she said there was treasure hidden there.
‘She’ll come running in high spirits when she hears.’
He was prepared to endure her chatter, even if it made his ears ring.

He stared quietly at the firmly closed door of his office.
“Ta-da! A lemon battery that powers a mini lightbulb! This is totally a groundbreaking invention, right? The science society’s going to faint!”
“…You're referring to the principle of lemon as an electrolyte?”

“Ah! What a petty world, refusing to crown me a genius!”
He wasn’t sure why that bizarre conversation popped into his head—but by now, it felt like it was about time she’d show up wearing that carefree smile again.
Masera glanced down at the dessert plate he had prepared in advance.

Then he shook his head, realizing he’d been waiting for her without meaning to, and turned toward the window.
Outside, Cynthia was playing tennis with Major Rodriguez and Dalia.
‘I want to be good enough to enter tournaments. There’s someone I have to beat.’

Her mouth seemed to form words along those lines.
It felt like she was living in a world that kept turning just fine without him.
‘So I was the one left behind.’

He swallowed the bitterness and lifted a document from his desk.
Telling Cynthia she could do whatever she wanted—it had been a desperate appeal, dressed up as parting.
* * *

Helene paced her room with a face full of anxiety.
The avalanche in Dias. The discovery of oil in Nox.
It felt as if fate itself had turned its back on her—an unbearable reality that left her breathless.
She tried to interpret the ducal family’s silence in a positive light.

She couldn’t afford a divorce yet. After turning her back on her father, she had nowhere to return to.
‘Still… he won’t go as far as divorce, right?’
That faint hope was the last thread left for her, slowly fraying under her nerves.

‘I have worth just from being of royal blood.’
At that moment, the door flung open without a knock, and the Duke entered.
His expression was not angry or flustered—just coldly devoid of emotion.

“Half of Dias is buried. Wasn’t the plan to proceed only after completing the avalanche prevention facilities?”
In contrast to the original plan, ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) Helene had pushed the operation forward on her own, in her impatience.
She tried to stay calm as she replied.

“Once recovery is complete and extraction begins, public opinion will shift…”
“Extraction? Do you not understand what this means?”
He scoffed and shoved the newspaper at her.

「Joint Command issues avalanche disaster alert: All development in Dias suspended, recovery work underway. Lapses in safety preparations—administrative punishment inevitable.
Local authority Count Hert’s household: ‘We issued multiple warnings’」
“Even if diamonds, not gold, were buried there, that place is gone for good. The military won’t approve any further development.”

To make matters worse, most of the residents who could have aided recovery had already left for Nox.
“And this only arrived today.”
Helene’s eyes widened as she saw the rejection letter from the Medeian royal family in the Duke’s hand.
His aide, now seeing Helene as a fallen kite, had secretly passed it to him.

The Duke’s eyes gleamed with a composed kind of fury.
“You dare deceive me with barren land unworthy of investment? The real prize was Nox! The oil buried there was beyond imagining!”
But Helene still clung to hope.

“You saw the royal family’s record, didn’t you? Cynthia must have sent false information to Medeia. If we explore it again, it’ll be different. I’m the true heir of the Frost Queen’s bloodline…”
I’m the true successor. I’m the real princess.
Her lips turned blue—Helene could not accept reality.

Had she lost all grip on it?
The Duke’s blue eyes sank with a cutting chill as he clenched his fist to restrain his fury.
“Our arrangement ends here.”

Helene, suddenly sobered, asked in panic.
“You’re divorcing me? You married me to become regent—how could you be thinking of marrying Cynthia instead? There are still undisclosed assets the family doesn't know about—”
“Even if you had both the bloodline and the legacy, a useless monarch has no value. And who I remarry is none of your business.”

“You’re going to put a lowborn maid on the throne? You’re insane!”
Bam!
The Duke slammed his palm down on the desk, his voice sharp and threatening.

“I could overlook the part where you brought men into your bed night after night—but the fact that it was someone from an organization? That I cannot tolerate.”
Helene’s face turned ghostly pale as she thought of Capitano, who had visited her nightly.
“If you won’t accept the divorce quietly, I’ll have to pursue charges of embezzling trade guild funds and additional crimes tied to that organization.”

This was not a negotiation. It was a verdict.
Helene looked like time had stopped around her.
‘How did it come to this?’

Cynthia is the one in the wrong.
Some wretched maid, daring to surpass the real thing—that’s where everything went wrong.
* * *

Carlos headed toward the Queensguard family’s capital estate.
He was sick of the endless rounds of banquets.
Now, staring down a lifetime bound to someone he didn’t love, his unease was nearing its peak.

“I hear your sister and her husband are now oil tycoons? They say the reserves are massive.”
People showed more interest in the oil in Nox than his upcoming marriage.
“Seems the princess skipped tonight’s banquet out of consideration for Lady Valeria. Not like her sister, who ruined her own engagement party.”

The person who had publicly denounced Cynthia at the engagement now tried to paint her as noble by contrast.
That was how politics and high society worked—loyalties flipped like coins with every change in fortune.
Carlos was already sick of it all.

“Father’s probably going to give me the railway company CEO seat, right?”
Arriving at the estate, Carlos glanced at the pompous Edford and thought:
‘Father seemed to be planning to reclaim Nox. So what’s his next move?’

Now that oil had been discovered there, it surpassed any success from railway development.
Maybe he meant to expose Cynthia’s identity and have the marriage annulled to get it back.
As long as intent couldn’t be proven, the possibility remained open.

And with the kind of revenue that was expected, paying off Masera’s sunk costs wouldn’t be hard.
“Where’s Father?”
“He’s in the study. Helene came to speak with him.”

Carlos headed upstairs toward the Duke’s study.
Just as he was about to knock, he heard Helene’s raised voice from inside.
“Weren’t you planning to kill that girl as we agreed? If she dies within a year, we can take Nox back.”

The moment he heard it, Carlos understood everything.
Marriage law. The grace period.
His face stiffened in an instant as he slowly stepped back.

‘So the plan from the start was to kill Cynthia and seize Nox?’
Shock turned his mind white—then slowly brought clarity.
Carlos now realized his father had deceived him.

He turned urgently.
Even the faintest shred of hope was gone now. His father… was a madman capable of killing even his own son if he became a liability.
‘After everything I’ve done…’

Carlos thought of Cynthia—filthy, thin, soot-covered—when they were children. He remembered how his father forbade him from getting close to her, even then, despite her royal blood.
‘After all the compromises I’ve made…’
He’d even repressed his own emotions to survive.

He was about to marry someone he didn’t even want.
Then he caught sight of the portrait of Princess Margarita hanging on the staircase wall.
The couple’s painting, hanging as if to show off, was excessively perfect. Beautiful beyond reason.

“…”
The face of the mother he only remembered from paintings now looked terrifyingly unfamiliar.