“The doors of this mansion are open only to those with genuine hearts,” Sebastian said in an interview.
Clara and Sebastian lived happily ever after—
A living proof that true beauty is not seen by the eyes, but felt by the heart.
Part 2: The Price of the Mask
The morning after the revelation, the sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains of the Montemayor mansion felt different—sharper, more honest. Clara woke up not to the sound of a heavy man struggling to breathe, but to the sight of Sebastian sitting by the window, a Greek god in a silk robe, scrolling through a tablet with a focused, piercing gaze.
The “Pig Billionaire” was dead. In his place was a man so strikingly handsome it felt like a new kind of cruelty.
“You’re staring,” Sebastian said, his voice smooth as velvet, without turning around.
“I don’t know who you are,” Clara whispered, sitting up and pulling the sheets to her chest. “The man I cared for was grumpy and smelled of medicinal ointment. You… you look like a stranger.”
Sebastian stood and walked toward the bed. Every movement was athletic, graceful, and deliberate. He knelt by her side, the same way he had the night before. “The soul hasn’t changed, Clara. Only the shell. I am still the man who threw his plate to see if you’d yell. I am still the man who listened to you whisper to my feet while I pretended to sleep.”
