She took out a handkerchief and gently wiped the sweat from Don Baste’s forehead.
“Are you alright, Don Baste?” she asked softly.
“Would you like some water?”
Don Baste froze.
He had expected disgust — but instead, he saw compassion.
Care.
“Water,” he whispered.
Throughout the ceremony, Clara stayed by his side.
When it was time for photos, she didn’t step away.
She held his hand—large, rough, and trembling.
THE TEST
After the wedding, they were taken to Don Baste’s mansion.
“You’ll sleep on the sofa,” Baste ordered inside the bedroom.
“I’m too big—you won’t be comfortable in the bed. And one more thing…
Clean my feet before I sleep. And feed me.”
Don Baste was testing her.
He pretended to be lazy.
Messy.
Rude.
Cruel.
“This food is awful!” he shouted, throwing his plate.
“You’re too slow! Wipe my back!”
For three months, Clara became his caretaker.
And yet, she never complained.
“I’m sorry, Don Baste. I’ll try harder tomorrow,” was always her gentle reply.
Every night, while Baste slept—or pretended to—Clara softly spoke as she massaged his swollen feet.
“I know you’re kind,” she whispered.
“Maybe you’re hurt because people wounded you with their words. Don’t worry. I’m here. I’m your wife. I won’t leave you.”
Baste heard every word.
And beneath his thick “skin,” his heart slowly softened.
THE GRAND CHARITY BALL
The night of the Grand Charity Ball arrived—the first time Baste would introduce Clara to high society.
He dressed her in a stunning red gown and expensive jewelry.
He himself wore a tuxedo, still tight around his massive body.
All eyes turned toward them as they entered the ballroom.
A woman approached—Vanessa, Baste’s former girlfriend from before he became “fat,” according to rumors. In truth, Vanessa was the one who shattered Baste’s trust in women.
“Oh my God, Sebastian,” Vanessa laughed.
“You’ve gotten even bigger! Is this the woman you bought? How much did she cost? She looks like a gold digger.”
Vanessa’s friends laughed.
“The perfect match—the beast and the paid woman.”
Baste lowered his head.
He waited for Clara to cry.
To step away.
To feel ashamed.
But he was wrong.
Clara released the wheelchair and stepped forward.
“Excuse me,” she said firmly.
“Do not call my husband a monster.”
Vanessa froze.
“Excuse me?”
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