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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: The Broken Male Lead Picked the Wrong Partner
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After that, Karos kept spouting nonsense.
But I was hooked on the phrase "remarry the Grand Duchess after divorce" and didn't really listen.
A typical heroine would be devastated and heartbroken by the male lead's transfer announcement, but instead, I clapped my hands.
"Jackpot!"
Karos stared at me with eyes that screamed, Is that a normal reaction? But for me, it was the best news possible.
Masera looks after me meticulously, protects me... and even plans to divorce me?
For a fake like me who could be exposed at any moment, it was the perfect ending.
Just survive until then without dying, and I'd get alimony, live large abroad, surrounded by hot young studs!
"Hehe, plenty of fish in the sea."
I muttered to myself and turned away, leaving the dazed Karos behind.
Hold on. But if this is a healing romcom... maybe it's just a misunderstanding meant to spark some brief conflict?
Besides, why would a Grand Duchess with everything going for her want a divorced guy?
'...So it's the classic "win over the prickly cat" arc after all.'
My head throbbed from overthinking it.
Truth be told, the wedding sunlight had scorched my face, and my blood sugar was crashing.
"Gotta get cake, stat."
That was my final conclusion. I quickened my pace.
Looking back, from Karos's abandoned perspective, I must have seemed like a total glutton—utterly unfazed by the shocking revelation, single-mindedly obsessed with cake.
On my way to the banquet hall, leaving Karos in the dust, I bumped into Major Rodriguez, looking sharp in his pristine uniform.
"Congratulations on your marriage, Princess."
He offered his well-wishes with a smile tinged with faint melancholy.
He must've just found out I was Variesa's princess.
"Going alone? Allow me to escort you to the hall."
There was a new distance between us. Even his speech had shifted from casual to formal.
"We're friends, remember? Treat me like before. And Princess feels off—call me by name. It's like wearing clothes that don't fit."
His blue eyes widened briefly at my request, then crinkled into that warm smile from our first meeting.
"Got it, Cynthia."
My mouth ran nonstop the whole way to the banquet hall.
"So the wild boar kept raiding the sweet potatoes in the field, and the pissed-off village head goes to get a gun... ends up tangled with an arms smuggling ring..."
"Hahaha, haha!"
He was the ideal audience for a chatterbox—seamlessly following wild topic shifts with spot-on reactions.
As we neared the entrance, the Major halted abruptly.
Masera was deep in conversation with a woman boasting waist-length, wavy black hair.
"Why is the Brigadier General... escorting her instead of the Princess?"
I glanced up at the Major's incredulous mutter.
"And here I am, getting escorted by the Major instead of the Brigadier?"
"Fair point."
"Yeah. Let's head in."
I strode past them boldly into the hall.
No eye contact, just in case.
And just like that, I dodged the misunderstanding-fueled drama straight out of a romfantasy trope and made it to the desserts.
'Any actual conflict, and I'd have passed out...'
Too wiped to stew sweet potatoes for that fizzy payoff. Sweet potatoes pair with milk anyway.
"Enjoy yourself. I'll be off."
Major Rodriguez bowed politely and departed.
Shoving aside my regret, I plopped down at the table alone and raised a forkful of cake—when people started approaching, striking up conversations.
Mostly wives of Masera's direct subordinates and ladies my age.
"I heard the Princess is favored by the Goddess of Luck. Care to share? I'm dying to know."
"That dress—diamond thread, right? Stunning."
Wow.
Friendly approaches like this were rare.
Before the disgraced royal stigma, most had shunned me, calling my looks ominous.
Probably thanks to the Lecanosa Duke family wives opposite me, beaming with motherly smiles.
Whatever their angle, after a lifetime alone, just having people suggest we hang out filled me with joy.
"Snow White, why not learn Media? Helen's taking lessons too."
"Love to!"
I nodded eagerly at Madam Verache's nudge.
Perfect chance for me—already fluent—to shine as a language prodigy.
"Cynthia, you sure? You always struggled with refined tongues."
Helen gazed at me with a smile blending mockery and faux sweetness.
Clear message: Know your place, uneducated maid.
I brushed it off.
"That's exactly why we study, no?"
"I trust you'll stick with it, even if you're slow. You're diligent like that."
She sipped her tea after that elegantly barbed noble jab, then smiled as if struck by a thought.
"Where'd your husband vanish to, ditching the bride?"
"Dunno."
"Military life's rough—men can be thoughtless. Cut him slack."
"Mm."
I was too busy refueling on cake to care.
"Saw him chatting with Archduchess Charlotte."
Deliberate or dense? Some lady dropped an uncalled-for line.
Everyone knew about Masera's past proposal from the Archduchess—the mood iced over instantly.
The lady, clearly one of Helen's cronies, blabbed on excitedly.
"Arranged family unions—you gotta stomach that much."
Deliberate, and her fake-clueless act screamed amateur.
"Everyone's precious to someone. Saying it's 'just how it is' to endure that? And why would a grand ducal heiress stoop to a married man?"
The lady curled her lip smugly.
"Abandoning his bride for another woman—"
I tuned it out. Wasn't asking out of curiosity anyway.
"Think how crushed the Archduchess would be, getting suspected over a quick chat."
I sighed, pinching my brow at the flustered lady, then clasped my hands in a beatific smile.
"You've only crossed paths with trash who think that way. Breaks my heart. I pray you find a pure soul to mend your scars and rebuild your faith."
Her face beet-red, the discord-stirrer mumbled weakly.
"Rumors say you two aren't close. Just worried, is all."
How'd she know? We'd been so sure our acting had leveled up.
In my shock, something abruptly dabbed at my mouth.
Masera, handkerchief in hand.
Germaphobe as always, wiping the cream from my lips.
"Not a child."
"How long you gonna baby me?"
I reframed his curt tone as classic tsundere.
"......"
He'd normally bristle, but—premeditated?—he just pocketed the handkerchief in his coat pocket silently.
30 minutes earlier, outside the banquet hall.
Masera, waiting to escort Cynthia, crossed paths with Archduchess Charlotte.
Their history? A few banquet chats, nothing more.
"Congratulations on the wedding, Brigadier."
"Thank you."
"Heard you're diving into development ventures lately."
Mid-business banter—like any entrepreneurs—when he spotted Cynthia breeze past him into the hall.
Her usual grin was gone, face grim.
Misunderstanding something?
As it nagged at him, Major Rodriguez followed her in. Clearly together.
Why that guy's escort? I'm her husband.
In the end, Masera was the one left misunderstanding.
