The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

"I'm… I'm fine."
The Duke quickly stepped back, afraid his pounding heartbeat might be heard.

He unconsciously avoided Cynthia’s gaze, which was fixed on him.
It was because her earlier comment resurfaced in his mind—that she had a special ability to discern people's true feelings.
‘Why am I reacting like this… to a woman who was just a lowly maid?’

He struggled to identify the root of this absurd emotion.
And eventually, his spiraling thoughts led him back to memories of playing in the royal palace gardens as a child.
“When I grow up, I’ll marry Princess Margarita.”

“Oh dear, I’m already engaged to a prince from another country.”
“Then please contact me when you break off the engagement.”
“Oh! You know what a breakup is? Smart boy.”

The dazzling image of Princess Margarita’s smile flashed in his mind.
She had always been kind, freely offering praise even for small things, and had a way of speaking that made people feel special.
She had been his ideal type since the days of his innocent youth.

‘Ah… it’s because they look alike. Where on earth did the Count dig up someone like her…?’
Cynthia and the princess were nearly identical, aside from their hair and eye color.
It was then—

“Lady Cynthia, would you like a ride?”
Major Rodriguez, riding past on a white reindeer-drawn sled, waved at Cynthia. Her eyes sparkled as she ran over.
“Wow! I’ve wanted to ride one since earlier, but no one offered!”

The Major cast an awkward smile toward the Duke, who stood off to the side.
“But… there’s only one seat.”
“I’ll pass.”
The Duke refused to ride along and stood there, quietly watching Cynthia ride off into the distance.

Cynthia, seated in the sled, looked giddy, her nose pink from the cold.
The Major, clad in a white military uniform and looking like a herald of snow, spoke.
“Snow clearing for the day is complete. Though by tomorrow, it’ll return to its usual state.”

“You’ve worked hard. Do we get to ride these home, too?”
“If that’s what you’d like, I’ll gladly take you.”
As Cynthia beamed and chatted, she caught sight of a tall young man with black hair walking toward them, carrying a box.

It was Makia, returning with the cake.
“It’s nearly lunchtime. Come quickly.”
“Yes, ma’am.”

At her words, Makia smiled and waved lightly.
“……”
Major Rodriguez turned to look at him, then asked Cynthia,

“Who is that?”
“I met him for the first time today at the orphanage. He says he works in sales. Do you know him?”
Rodriguez shook his head.

“No.”
The soldier’s instincts from the battlefield were flaring—he sensed danger from the man.
* * *

Upon arriving in Nox, Masera looked out at the vast snowfield /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ where the railway construction was underway.
The entire place seemed to be made of nothing but white—earth and sky indistinguishable. Only construction workers and hunters passed through here.
“With the Medeian royal investment, the project may finish earlier than expected. Possibly by next summer,” said the site director, then asked,

“Have you chosen a name for the station?”
Masera thought for a moment, then slowly shook his head.
“Not yet.”

“Nox means ‘night’ in the cultural tongue. The nights here are especially long. Ah, and doesn’t your wife’s name relate to the moon goddess?”
“Does it?”
Masera showed faint interest—he hadn’t considered the etymology before.

“The moon goddess Artemis’s nickname is Cynthia. In other regions, she’s also called Diana—which, incidentally, is the name of the crown princess of Medeia, the royal investor. This land must surely be a place chosen by the moon goddess herself.”
“Ah.”
Lacking any more romantic commentary, he let out a short sound of acknowledgment.

He was remembering the time he’d purged the imperial remnants in this place.
The target back then had been Blake, who had entered Lutemia to assassinate Princess Margarita and later became the head of an arms smuggling ring.
What made Blake notable was that his wife had been an Esat, and his son had inherited Esat features—but both were reported as dead.

‘If the son survived, he’d be about my age.’
Even if he had lived, he would’ve disappeared into the Esat population—finding him would be nearly impossible.
‘Unless he came seeking revenge for his father…’

Masera sipped his cold coffee in silence.
* * *
Over the weekend, Helene was enjoying a modest tea time with her guests when someone said,

“Duchess, the newspapers have published corrections and formal apologies about Princess Cynthia.”
Another lady tilted her head.
“That’s unusual, unless someone powerful applied pressure.”

“Who do you think intervened? Brigadier Visente doesn’t seem particularly concerned about his wife…”
They were subtly tearing Cynthia down in hopes of winning favor with Helene.
Then a lady connected to the press shook her head with a troubled look.

“No, he cares about his wife a lot. The first paper that ran the story was hit with an enormous fine and had its business suspended. That’s why all the others followed with apologies.”
The questioning lady looked surprised.
“Brigadier Visente did that?”

Noticing the growing stiffness in Helene’s expression, someone else chimed in,
“As always, it’s just for show. He doesn’t want to look like a neglectful husband.”
Helene recalled how the Duke never once shielded her from criticism—always indifferent, always flaunting his goodwill.

Since then, she had cut off all communication with him.
She despised being compared to others. Even if it meant being the villain, she wanted to stand above the rest.
She had sought her father’s exclusive approval for that very reason.

As her silence stretched, a perceptive lady shifted the topic to the business managed by the Duke’s household.
“Anyway, I hear the perfume ‘The Duchess’s Scent’ launched by your trading company is a massive hit. It’s famous for being worn exclusively by the Duchess of Recanosa.”
“Advertising it as the one and only scent of the Duchess—what a brilliant idea. It was in magazines and papers, too.”

Everyone chimed in with praise for her business acumen.
But the Duke himself had never acknowledged her achievement.
“It would’ve been impossible without the Recanosa name in the first place.”

Helene had always understood that theirs was a political marriage. Still, spending her life with a man who didn’t love her felt profoundly lonely.
In the late afternoon, after seeing her guests off, she returned to her room and sank into her armchair, exhausted.
Maintaining perfect posture all day had drained her.

“…What do other people do in their leisure time?”
According to the other ladies, they typically spent it with family.
But her lavish room, while elegant, felt oddly hollow. As she listened to the ticking of the clock, she dozed off without realizing it.

How much time had passed?
Startled by a presence, she awoke and—
“…!”

She nearly screamed at the man standing before her, staring intently.
“You changed your perfume. No wonder I kept smelling it on other women.”
The man smiling lazily with crescent eyes was Capitano.

Helene straightened up at once.
“What are you…?”
Why was he here?

And more importantly, hadn’t he said he didn’t work on weekends?
Seeing the question on her face, Capitano added,
“True, I never work on weekends. But you, Duchess, are special.”

He leaned closer to meet her eyes.
“We found the runaway maid.”
“What? Where is she? Is she in custody now?”

“You never said to bring her back. I just found her. The address is written here.”
He pressed a note with an address into her hand.
“And also…”

He gently clasped her hand, the one holding the paper, and whispered,
“I found someone the Duke actually cares about.”