The “miraculous transformation” wasn’t just a shock to Clara; it was a siren call to every vulture in the country. Within forty-eight hours, the mansion gates were besieged.
First came Clara’s father, Ricardo. He didn’t come with an apology for selling her; he came with a grin and an open palm.
“My son-in-law!” Ricardo shouted through the intercom. “I knew there was greatness in you! Now that the debt is settled and you’re… well, looking like a movie star, surely you can spare a few million for your father’s new
business venture?”
Sebastian stood in the monitoring room, his jaw tight. He looked at Clara. “Do you want me to let him in?”
Clara looked at the screen—at the man who had traded her like a commodity. “No,” she said, her voice trembling but certain. “He didn’t sell me to a billionaire. He sold me to a ‘monster.’ He doesn’t deserve the man behind the mask.”
Then came Vanessa. She didn’t come for money; she came for the prize she thought she had lost. She appeared at a high-society gala a week later, wearing a dress that left nothing to the imagination, sliding toward Sebastian like a serpent.
“Sebastian, darling,” she purred, ignoring Clara entirely. “What a delicious trick. We all knew you were eccentric, but this? It’s genius. Now that the joke is over, we can stop pretending with this… little servant girl, can’t we? You need a woman
who matches your new face.”
The room went silent. Sebastian didn’t pull away. He looked at Vanessa with a cold, terrifying smile.
“You’re right, Vanessa,” he said. “The joke is over. But you’ve misunderstood the punchline. I didn’t wear that suit to find a woman who matched my face. I wore it to find a woman who didn’t.”
He turned to Clara and kissed her hand in front of everyone. “My wife is the only person in this room who is beautiful on the inside. Most of you… you’re just wearing a different kind of silicone.”
The Cracks in the Mirror
But drama isn’t always found in enemies; sometimes, it’s found in the mirror.
As the weeks passed, Clara began to withdraw. She felt like an ornament. When Sebastian was “Baste,” she was his strength, his hands, his caretaker. Now that he was Sebastian, he was the sun, and she
was just a moon reflecting his light.
One night, she found him in his private gym, lifting weights with a ferocity that bordered on pain.
“Why do you still work so hard at it?” she asked. “The suit is gone. You’ve already won.”
Sebastian dropped the weights with a thunderous clang. He turned to her, sweat slicking his chest, his eyes dark. “Because I can still feel it, Clara. I can still feel the weight. I can still hear the laughter of people like Vanessa. I spent three years being a ‘pig’ to see who would stay, but the truth is, I became that person. I’m afraid that if I stop, the mask will become my reality again.”
Clara realized then that Sebastian’s disguise hadn’t just been a test for others—it was a prison for him. He was obsessed with perfection because he was terrified of being rejected again.
“You’re
