The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

Masera clearly remembered the rounded handwriting Cynthia had used in her itinerary during their honeymoon.

‘Such cute handwriting.’
Not that he would ever admit that he’d thought so at the time.
In any case, the sharp, angular writing on the note was completely different from Cynthia’s usual penmanship.

“Handwriting…”
Helene murmured to herself.
Were they really that close—close enough for him to recognize her handwriting? One of the watchers said they barely even shared a bed.

‘Well, it’s not like he can prove the handwriting is mine.’
She had always been meticulous in making her letters and invitations elegant and consistent.
Just then, Masera pulled out a piece of paper from inside his coat.

“This is my wife’s handwriting.”
An officer began to read the densely written paper aloud.
“…Central blast cells, Pohor Glacier, harmonica, cadmium, myumyummi? Is this some kind of code?”

“We were playing a word chain game. This was my proof of victory.”
Masera answered proudly.
It was the sheet from the word game they’d played on the way from the military residence to the villa.

Judging by the ink blot around the words “cadmium” and “myumyummi,” a serious internal conflict must have occurred there. One had to wonder what kind of stakes they were playing for.
“Couldn’t she have deliberately changed her writing?”
Valeria, still skeptical, questioned sharply.

A government investigator stepped in to answer instead.
“No matter how one tries to disguise their writing, traces of their unique script always remain. As the saying goes, habits cannot be hidden.”
“And how would you know that?”
With a serious expression, the investigator introduced himself.

“I hold a Ph.D. in script design, with a specialty in comparative handwriting and world languages. I currently serve as a forensic handwriting analyst for the Intelligence Bureau.”
‘Why is an expert of that level here of all places?’
Helene’s hand trembled slightly as she lifted her teacup.

Because the host of the current social gathering was a senior military figure, elite professionals from various fields had all gathered here.
Masera carefully folded the word chain paper and tucked it into his coat like it was a precious item. Then, with a glance, he signaled the investigator to continue.
The investigator understood and went on.

“The note contains handwriting from two different individuals. The ink density and pen thickness differ slightly. The second sentence appears to have been written at a later time.”
Helene blinked rapidly, immediately understanding what that meant.
She hadn’t written the “let’s run away together” sentence—maybe this was her chance to redirect suspicion.

Just as she had that thought, she felt someone tap her shoulder and turned around—only to widen her eyes.
“Unnie.”
Cynthia had somehow appeared beside her and held up an envelope that looked unmistakably like an invitation.

‘…!’
Helene’s face turned pale the moment she realized what it was.
It was the invitation Cynthia had previously demanded from her—the one from a duke’s household. She must have had Dalia retrieve it quickly.

“You wrote this before the wedding, remember? The handwriting looks very similar to the one on the note. Would you care to explain?”
Helene’s natural handwriting, written carelessly and without effort, was fully exposed.
And it closely resembled the writing on the note Masera held.

“…You—!”
Helene grimaced, but quickly composed herself as she felt the stares from those around her.
The people who had seen the invitation now looked at her in shock.

Even Valeria turned to Helene with an expression that demanded an explanation.
Helene clenched her fists so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
Even if she claimed from the beginning that this was the work of the kidnappers, it would be just as troublesome—if the Intelligence Bureau launched a full investigation, her involvement could easily be exposed.

‘I just need to buy time, silence people with power and money, and get rid of the evidence.’
Determined to change the topic immediately, Helene said,
“Cynthia, then could you write a sentence I’ll dictate to you in the cultural language? We’ll need multiple samples for verification.”

There was no way a former maid like Cynthia could write in the cultural language.
‘Everyone will doubt that someone like her, lacking noble education, could pull it off.’
“Fine.”

Cynthia answered without hesitation, causing Helene to scoff quietly.
The cultural language was so difficult it had to be taught from a young age. A few months of studying wouldn’t even scratch the surface.
Helene smiled and said,

“Then write a famous quote from author Tolstey. One from his most renowned book.”
‘I’ll expose her bluff and humiliate her.’
There weren’t even cultural language translations of foreign authors like that. No way Cynthia would know.

At the end of Helene’s mocking gaze, Cynthia was already writing, calmly holding a fountain pen.
And then, she raised a sheet of paper, filled with her signature rounded handwriting.
「All happy families are alike, but every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.」
*Quote: Lev Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

‘What the… She translated that naturally in the cultural language?’
Helene stared in disbelief.
“…You said you weren’t fluent in the cultural language.”

“When did I ever say that?”
Cynthia retorted confidently.
The handwriting specialist stepped up and examined Cynthia’s writing.

“There’s no doubt. The note was not written by the Princess. The handwriting does not match.”
He then compared the note to Helene’s invitation and declared with certainty,
“The first sentence on the note matches the Duchess’s handwriting.”

The banquet hall fell into instant silence. The murmurs among the crowd split into two schools of thought.
“So the Duchess and the prince were… and they pinned it on the youngest princess to cover it up?”
“Maybe they were trying to undercut Prince Carlos. We should consider who stands to benefit.”

Helene, sensing where things were headed, gritted her teeth.
All that was left to defend herself with now was authority.
“What would a Duchess gain from orchestrating something so childish? I find this extremely insulting.”

She crossed her arms and scowled. The murmuring guests went quiet, unsure of what to say.
Cynthia looked around the room with a concerned expression.
“I think this may be the work of radicals trying to divide our family. So…”

She spoke seriously.
“Could you please gather the note, the invitation, and the handwriting I wrote here today, and submit them all to the Intelligence Bureau? I want them to fully investigate and clear my sister’s name.”
‘That wicked little—!’

So she wanted to take this to the end, did she?
Helene glared at Cynthia with a fury barely concealed behind her composed expression.
* * *

While Carlos was preparing to return to the capital, Helene came to visit him.
“Brother, did Father ever secretly have Cynthia educated?”
Maybe they had kept her status as a maid hidden and educated her in secret. If not, then today’s events made no sense.

“Why are you asking me?”
Carlos tugged on his loosened tie as he replied.
“You were always the one who looked out for her when she was young. Even took Father’s beatings for her, didn’t you?”

Carlos tilted his head slightly, as if lost in memory.
“She probably picks things up fast. She’s not stupid.”
“It’s more than that.”

As she smoothed down her pale golden hair, Carlos turned to her with cold eyes.
“What are you trying to say?”
“What?”

“Are you asking me to stay quiet? Trying to make it sound like I’m the one spreading rumors about me and Cynthia?”
Helene narrowed her eyes, and Carlos spoke again.
“Lena, you’ve always obsessed over being unique and special. Now that I think about it, the ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) servant who delivered that note—he smelled faintly of your perfume.”

Helene used a custom fragrance made by a private perfumer—one of a kind.
If another person carried that scent, it meant they were someone close to her. A personal maid, for example.
“Fine, say I did send it. So what?”

She added in a lightly mocking tone,
“It’s not like it’s a lie.”
Carlos stared at her silently.

Helene laughed behind her hand, then quickly turned serious and asked in a cold voice,
“You were in the woods with Cynthia when the Prime Minister’s daughter showed up. You really think that was a coincidence?”
That was when Valeria happened to walk by and saw Carlos and Cynthia embracing.

It was too perfectly timed to be an accident.
Suddenly, Carlos remembered how he’d been beaten by their father every time he secretly did something for Cynthia as a boy.
Even Cynthia didn’t know about those times.

How had Helene known?
Finally realizing the truth, he let out a bitter laugh and rubbed his forehead.
“Figures.”

So his cunning little sister had tattled every single time—just to make herself look better in their father’s eyes.
‘We were never a normal family. We were competitors, raised to crush each other.’
“Carlos, I’m a powerful woman backed by a duke’s house. You’d better think carefully about what you do from now on.”

With a smile that looked more like a mask, Helene turned away.
If Cynthia was someone who received fortune by chance, Helene was someone who weaponized coincidence with terrifying precision.