“Yes, he’s big. Yes, he’s not as polished as your husbands,” Clara said loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“But this man has a heart bigger than all of yours combined. I married him because of debt—I admit that.
But I stayed because for three months, I saw the kindness you’re blind to because you only see appearances.”
Clara placed her hand on Baste’s shoulder.
“I am proud to be Mrs. Montemayor. And I would rather spend my life with this ‘pig’ than with plastic people like you.”
The entire ballroom fell silent.
Vanessa stood humiliated.
Baste looked at Clara—and saw courage, loyalty, and love.
She was the woman he had been waiting for.
“Clara,” Baste whispered.
“Let’s go home.”
THE TRUTH
Back at the mansion, Clara guided Baste into the bedroom.
“Shall I prepare your tea, Don Baste?” she asked gently.
“No,” Baste replied.
His voice changed.
It was no longer hoarse or raspy — it was deep, smooth, and undeniably captivating.
“Clara… look at me.”
Slowly, Baste stood up from the wheelchair.
Clara gasped.
“Y-you can stand?”
“There’s a lot I can do, Clara,” he said with a smile.
He turned to the mirror, reached behind his neck, and peeled away a thin strip of silicone.
Clara’s eyes widened.
Slowly, Baste began removing his disguise.
He took off the prosthetic mask that made his face look scarred and swollen.
He removed the 50-kilogram fat suit wrapped around his body.
He pulled off the bald wig.
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