TTMLPTWW – Chapter 132

“You weren’t… unconscious?”

Helene muttered in a trembling voice as she stared at Count Queensguard, who looked perfectly fine.

The Count, sitting casually at the edge of the bed, smoothed out his clothes before opening his mouth.

“I came to my senses two days after drinking the poison. Looks like the bastard you hired didn’t really intend to kill me, huh?”

When someone tries to assassinate someone using poison, it’s standard to pick a lethal one that can kill with just a sip.

But when they analyzed the substance, it turned out to be a mixture of two toxins that neutralized each other—and in the end, all it did was put Helene in danger.

The Count sneered at Helene, who had stumbled back in horror.

There had been plenty of reasons to bribe the physician and pretend his condition was hopeless.

He wanted to see who would try to kill him, betray him, or use the opportunity for their own gain while he was unconscious.

Cynthia, of course, had been part of that test as well.

The Count asked,

“Were you really that clueless about being used like a pawn in someone else’s game? Or were you just pretending not to know? Don’t tell me you actually had feelings for that deceiving bastard? I’ve said it again and again—love’s no different from a damn curse.”

“Who are you talking about?”

Helene asked, even though she knew perfectly well he meant Capitano.

“The young head of Commedia dell’arte. I killed his father, you know. Ever since, he’s been obsessed with destroying everything I have. Did you actually think any of his lies were sincere?”

“What…?”

Now, the puzzle pieces finally clicked into place.

Or rather—it was more like she’d had the last piece in her hand for a while, just too afraid to place it. Too scared to accept what the finished picture would be.

“Father.”

Helene looked straight at the Count, her shoulders sagging in resignation.

“What was I supposed to do? You never taught me anything except how to win, so I…”

She never learned how to get back up after falling. All she’d ever known was how to drag others down with her. She never learned how to open her heart to anyone.

In response, the Count narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.

“And why would I teach you that? I’m not even your father.”

Helene’s gaze slowly swept over the Count—who shared the same eye color and hair as her. She didn’t care what that was supposed to mean. She had known, for a long, long time, that he had never once thought of her as his daughter.

* * *

Helene was ultimately imprisoned and subjected to an investigation.

She had been caught red-handed trying to kill Count Queensguard, and with everything else that had happened so far, she could no longer avoid a death sentence.

Cynthia, on her way to the Duke’s estate at the invitation of the Dowager Duchess Rukanosa, stared blankly at the newspaper in her hands.

The press, which had once praised Helene as a ‘beautiful and wise Duchess,’ now mocked her by printing an image of a witch being burned at the stake.

‘It’s not like Helene is the only one responsible.’

Helene had readily confessed to harming Carlos, but his body still hadn’t been found.

How had Helene ended up being fooled by the Organization?

Maybe it was because life, full of thorns like a rose, with no one to trust, had just been too unbearably lonely.

Cynthia, who had wanted to see Helene punished appropriately but ultimately redeemed, ran a dry hand down her face.

The moment Cynthia arrived at the estate, Duke Rukanosa came out to greet her with impeccable manners.

“It’s snowing quite a bit. You must’ve had a rough time getting here.”

He was dressed with noticeable care, and as she stepped out of the carriage, he held an umbrella over her head with a gentle tone.

“Yes, I think this is probably the most miserable day of my life.”

Cynthia replied with biting sarcasm that clashed sharply with her pleasant expression.

Because she walked off at a brisk pace, the Duke ended up awkwardly hurrying after her, umbrella in hand.

“Before you meet my mother, may I have a word with you?”

Seated alone with him in a sitting room, Cynthia’s face still wore a smile—but it felt more like a mask than anything sincere.

The table before her was set with colorful, pretty desserts she’d normally like.

‘Is this supposed to be a first birthday party?’

Since Cynthia’s favorite thing was missing, she wasn’t particularly moved. With her officer husband feeding and pampering her plenty, she wasn’t in any position to be tempted by this sort of thing.

Still, the Duke asked her a question in a serious tone as she politely continued to eat.

“Do you still feel the same as back then? About remarriage, I mean.”

“Yes.”

The Duke looked disappointed at how bluntly Cynthia shot him down.

“If I may clarify—Brigadier General and I are not the same. He married you out of ambition, to seize Nox and block the restoration of the monarchy.”

“And what makes you any different, Your Grace?”

He had also married Helene because he needed royal blood. And clearly, he had hoped the lucky Cynthia would turn out to be a model wife.

“It would be a lie to say I never weighed the gains. But now, I find myself drawn to you—not to your title, not to your background. Just you.”

Cynthia, who was sipping her black tea, tilted her head.

“So you started with a goal, but your feelings came first in the end… Well, that applies to the Brigadier General too. From my point of view, it’s the same, isn’t it?”

The Duke had to prove that he was a better man than the Brigadier General, no matter what.

“But he would never support the Princess taking the throne. In contrast, I could be a reliable ally—someone you can trust.”

“And it just so happens to coincide with your goal of becoming regent.”

Cynthia had a knack for calmly slicing through conversations with sharp precision.

“Do you think I want the throne, Your Grace?”

“Well, you are royalty, so—”

“What matters is that every choice is mine. Whether it’s the partner I spend my life with, the status I hold, or the future I want.”

At that, the Duke decided to play his final card.

“You will never find the last legacy of the Bariesa Royal Family. Not in this lifetime.”

“Why not?”

“According to the records, only the real one can uncover it. And you’re a fake.”

A heavy silence settled.

The Duke, not wanting it to come off as a threat, hurried to add—

“I asked for your hand knowing you were a maid pretending to be someone else. Isn’t that the key difference between me and the Brigadier General?”

So he knew all along but pretended otherwise. Cynthia lowered her eyes with a faint smile on her lips.

“Cynthia, I will be the perfect husband who understands and covers up even your lies and flaws.”

It sounded moving. Sweet, even.

But wasn’t that the same man who divorced Helene because they couldn’t accept each other’s differences?

Cynthia let out a small sigh and spoke.

“I prefer stories where love happens in spite of imperfection. The Brigadier General knows me as a royal who he should hate, but in the end, he acknowledged me as a person.”

The relationship between Masera and Cynthia was as imperfect as a broken music box.

One small part was missing, so the toy soldier and the princess couldn’t dance, and the bird couldn’t sing.

But isn’t love the process of fixing what’s broken? You don’t throw something away just because it’s flawed.

“So in the end, you’re saying I’m not the one?”

The Duke couldn’t understand her at all.

To him, overlooking lies and bridging class differences was a massive gesture of devotion.

It should’ve earned him gratitude. Even love.

“What will you do if I reveal that you are fake?”

And just like that, his rejection turned into a cliché threat people resort to when their feelings are rejected.

Cynthia covered her face with both hands and bowed her head. A trembling, tearful voice slipped out.

“How could you say something so scary…? So if I marry you, that threat just goes away?”

Her delicate shoulders trembled like a frightened child.

Startled by her pitiful display, the Duke quickly lowered himself beside her and tried to soothe her.

“I’m truly sorry. That was a terrible thing to say. I didn’t mean to coerce you into marriage.”

“Hic… Then I’ll probably never forget the man I love and cry every day for the rest of my life, right? Even while I’m with you, I’ll be thinking about the Brigadier General the whole time…”

At that, the Duke’s hand—midair, about to pat her shoulder—froze.

Then Cynthia peeked through her fingers and smiled brightly, like she was playing peekaboo.

“This is the shackle you’ll wear forever if you marry me.”

If you want to chain yourself to a ‘fake princess,’ then you’ll have to wear the shackle of ‘a wife who can never forget her ex-husband’ too.

“…Are you that sure the Brigadier General won’t abandon you? Then why haven’t you confessed the truth to him yet?”

The Duke looked dazed as he asked, and Cynthia shrugged in return.

“Why would I tell you that? You’re obviously the type who’d weaponize someone’s pain.”

Her gentle tone slid right into the gaps of the Duke’s hesitation—sharper than any knife.

“Go ahead and expose me as a fake. It’ll give the Brigadier General a chance to prove his sincerity. And it’ll show that your own feelings weren’t love, but greed.”

Cynthia smiled as she stared straight at him, waiting for an answer.

The Duke felt like he was being tested.

And in the face of her unwavering gaze, he felt utterly powerless.

He realized he’d gotten completely swept up in the need to prove his sincerity.

Now he understood why the fake had beaten the real.

And why the Brigadier General was so helplessly in love with her.

‘I can’t have her.’

Because from the start, the choice was never his. It was always hers.

“I’ll be on my way. The Dowager Duchess is expecting me.”

With a relaxed smile, she rose from her seat.

‘I’m going to run and tell your mommy every nasty little thing you just said.’

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