The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *
“Eeeeing…”
Startled by a distant gunshot, Cynthia flinched—only to spot the baby bear, now alone.

The little bear whimpered and clung to her leg with its front paws.
“You shouldn’t touch a cub.”
Carlos knew better than anyone: a bear cub was more dangerous than a full-grown bear. The mother could return at any moment and come swinging with fiery wrath.

“So cute.”
Despite Carlos’s warning, Cynthia picked up the baby bear like an infant and gently rocked it.
“I said, don’t touch it.”

“It’s just… too cute. Look—it likes me too.”
“If you can still do this a year from now, fine. Otherwise, put it down.”
“By then, it’ll be the one rocking me.”

Just as Cynthia carefully set the bear down, she froze—eyes widening.
Masera was standing before her, breathing heavily.
His hair was disheveled, his gaze sharp with restrained fury. Someone’s blood was splattered across his face.

“General?”
Masera stepped forward and took off his wool coat.
“Ah—”

He then yanked Carlos’s coat off Cynthia’s shoulders and flung it aside irritably.
“Why is he angry?”
Carlos, glaring at the coat now lying on the ground, asked in a displeased tone.
Masera, now draping his own coat over Cynthia, turned to face Carlos.

With precise, unhurried steps, he closed the distance. His face remained emotionless [N O V E L I G H T] as he raised one hand.
Smack—!
With a heavy sound, Carlos’s head snapped to the side. His cheek swelled instantly, and blood beaded at his split lip.

Masera stared coldly at Carlos, speaking in a terrifyingly calm voice.
“Don’t cross the line.”
“What line?”

“Are you really asking because you don’t know?”
His voice scratched low, abrasive.
Then, turning away from Carlos, Masera lifted the bewildered Cynthia into his arms.

Cynthia, curled up in his embrace, stared at him in silence as he walked.
“Um, General, if I may explain—I took some medicine, fell asleep, and then I woke up… to an unfamiliar ceiling? Suddenly I was locked in a basement?”
“I know you were kidnapped.”

“Then why are you angry…?”
Masera’s lips pressed into a flat line.
The answer came only after a long pause.

“Being kidnapped together means you were in your room with him.”
“I was asleep at the time. And besides, we’re family, so why—”
Haa. He exhaled, his gaze flicking upward with visible displeasure.

“That’s exactly the problem. Crossing the line between family.”
Cynthia clutched the coat tighter, visibly flustered.
“I think you’re misunderstanding. It’s not like that, not at all.”

But explaining at length that she had zero interest in Carlos—and in fact actively disliked him—would have sounded ridiculous.
Masera said,
“Then act properly and don’t create misunderstandings. It’s not you—but that ‘man’ approaching my wife without reason.”

Cynthia felt his arms tighten around her.
A low, hoarse voice, tinged with breath, followed.
“I can’t exactly lock you up, can I.”

What kind of possessive tyrant thing was that to say?
Cynthia shrank at the sharp glint in his eyes.
As someone who had to constantly interact with people—an extrovert at heart—the idea of being a captive was practically a death sentence.

Still, she had to explain the whole situation about being in the same room as Carlos.
“He said he got a note asking him to come to my room. I didn’t send it, so I don’t know what it said.”
“I have that note. Found it in your room first.”

He seemed extremely tense, and Cynthia had the feeling asking what was written on the note would only piss him off further.
So she kept her mouth shut and stayed quietly in his arms.
But the silence didn’t last long for someone as talkative as she was.

“Are you hurt? You’ve got blood on your face.”
As she reached out to wipe it, Masera turned his head away, avoiding her hand.
‘Tch…’

That man was definitely sulking!
It felt like walking on a thin layer of ice—or rather, like she was about to be thrown onto one.
Whether it was guilt or the emotional whiplash, she couldn’t even pin down how she felt.

As the two of them moved forward in uneasy silence, she noticed a foot sticking out from the thick bushes.
Suddenly, Masera’s large hand covered her face, blocking her view.
“What was that just now?”

“What do you mean?”
“There was a man lying in the bushes?”
“No talk about other men in front of me.”

“…?”
In the end, she never found out what—or who—she had seen between the bushes.
* * *

Carlos, watching the pair walk off into the distance, spat blood from his mouth. His bruised cheek throbbed.
“Pride? Or just petty rivalry.”
So he found out we were in the same room. And judging by how wary he is of me…

Carlos let out a mirthless laugh and began hobbling away on his injured leg.
Two soldiers searching the forest spotted him and helped him walk.
Once back at Major Isaac’s villa, Carlos received first aid from the physician.

Around lunchtime, Helene visited his room, looking worried.
“What happened? Kidnapping? You were with Cynthia at the time?”
“Yeah.”

Lying in bed, Carlos glanced down at his bandaged ankle.
“I got a note asking me to come to her room.”
“A note from Cynthia?”

Carlos shook his head.
“Doesn’t seem like she sent it.”
“Do you still have the note? That’s evidence.”

“I lost it.”
“What did it say exactly?”
“What I just told you. That’s all.”

Helene clenched her fists tightly. She’d already searched every corner of Cynthia’s room.
‘Did it fall during the kidnapping? The evidence of the scandal is gone—this could get pinned on me now.’
Unlike a fake scandal, a kidnapping was a serious crime. Whoever delivered the note would be tracked down. Worst case, she could end up accused of orchestrating it.

‘And it just had to happen the moment Carlos went to her room.’
Anxious, Helene left the room, biting her nails.
With the kidnapping incident, all remaining schedules had been canceled. The guests at the villa were expected to verify alibis and give statements before leaving.

She had to act before then.
Helene headed straight to the dining hall.
The guests gathered there were discussing the kidnapping.

“The fact that Prince Carlos happened to visit the Princess’s room at that time… seems deliberate.”
As Director Isaac brought up the possibility of an inside accomplice, Helene stepped forward.
“Oh, I know about that. I just spoke with my brother.”

Ahem. Clearing her throat, she spoke with calm poise.
“Cynthia sent Carlos a note asking him to come to her room. He’s someone she relies on, and since she was sick, she probably just wanted someone by her side.”
By planting a misunderstanding early, even if they denied it later, it would only look like they were making excuses.

People seemed to accept her reasoning. After all, Masera had come to the banquet alone the night before, leaving Cynthia behind because she was unwell.
And a few already knew of rumors that the siblings were unusually close.
Then a sharp-eyed investigator asked,

“Where is the note? Could it not have been forged?”
“He said he lost it. But victims have no reason to lie about something like that. Of course, if it causes misunderstanding, I suppose they could try to deny it.”
Helene’s confident answer made Valeria’s face turn red as whispers swelled around them.

“Calling her brother to her room at that hour instead of her husband?”
“Could that rumor be true after all?”
As the talk started morphing into a sibling scandal, Masera—who had been silent until now—finally spoke.

“I have the note. Found it on the floor in her room.”
All eyes turned to him.
Helene smiled sweetly and asked,

“Could you tell us what it says?”
Masera, face unreadable, pulled the note from his coat pocket and began to read.
“‘Come to my room without anyone knowing. This is our chance to run away together.’ That’s what the note says.”

The contents sent a ripple of shock through the crowd. It sounded like a husband publicly exposing his wife’s affair.
Valeria stood up, humiliated and furious.
“Ha! There’s a limit to how much you can toy with people.”

Her friends supported her as she shook in outrage.
Helene covered her mouth to hide her ever-rising smirk.
‘It’s all going according to plan. But who added that part about running away together?’

Whoever it was, the situation was unfolding in her favor. As Helene silently celebrated—
Masera spoke again.
“But this note was not written by my wife.”

The room instantly fell silent, as if doused with cold water.
“And how can you be so sure?”
Valeria, voice tight with emotion, glared at him.

Masera held up the note, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“What kind of husband doesn’t recognize his own wife’s handwriting?”