The rain battered the tin roof of Clara’s small home in the outskirts of Manila, mimicking the storm raging inside her heart.
Clara de la Cruz was twenty-one, a nursing student with gentle hands and dreams of working abroad to lift her family out of the slums. But tonight, those dreams were turning into smoke.
In the living room, her father, Mario, was on his knees. He was sobbing, clutching the hem of a man’s trousers. The man was Mr. Tan, the head enforcer for the Montemayor empire.
“Please!” Mario wailed. “Give me one more month! I’ll win it back! I have a system!”
“You owe Don Sebastian 50 million pesos, Mario,” Mr. Tan said coldly, kicking Mario’s hand away. “You borrowed against a house you don’t own, for a gambling addiction you can’t control. The Don is tired of waiting.”
Clara stepped out from her bedroom, her face pale. “Stop it! Don’t hurt him!”
Mr. Tan looked at Clara. He looked her up and down, noting her delicate features, her long raven hair, and the fire in her eyes. He took out his phone and snapped a photo.
“Send this to the Don,” he muttered to his subordinate. Then he turned to Mario. “You have two choices, old man. We take your kidneys and leave you in a ditch, or…”
He paused as his phone buzzed. A reply.
“Or,” Tan smiled cruelly, “you settle the debt with a trade.”
“Anything!” Mario cried.
“The Don is looking for a wife. A caretaker. Someone young. Someone… durable.” Tan pointed a gloved finger at Clara. “Her.”
Clara felt the blood drain from her face. “Me? Marry… Don Sebastian?”
Everyone knew the stories. Don Sebastian “Baste” Montemayor. The recluse. The monster. They said he weighed over 300 pounds, that a rare skin disease had left him scarred and hideous, and that his legs had given out under his own gluttony. They called him Baboy Damo—The Wild Pig.
“Dad?” Clara whispered, looking at her father. “You wouldn’t.”
Mario didn’t look her in the eye. He looked at the floor, trembling. “Clara… it’s 50 million. They’ll kill me. Please. You’re young. You can… you can handle him.”
The betrayal hit Clara harder than any bullet. Her father was selling her.
“Fine,” Clara said, her voice dead. “I’ll do it. But wipe the debt. And never come near me again.”
Chapter 2: The Wedding of the Century
The wedding was the talk of the country. It was held in the Montemayor’s private cathedral, a display of grotesque opulence.
Clara walked down the aisle in a gown worth more than her entire neighborhood, diamonds dripping from her ears. She looked like a princess.
Waiting for her at the altar was a nightmare.
Don Baste sat in a reinforced, motorized wheelchair. He was massive, his body spilling over the sides of the seat. He wore a tuxedo that strained against his bulk. His face was puffy, covered in red, angry scars and weeping sores. He was sweating profusely, a sheen of oil coating his skin.
As Clara approached, the whispers from the pews were loud and vicious.
“Look at the beast and the beauty.”
“She’s a gold digger. Why else would she touch him?”
“I give it a week before she vomits on him.”
Clara reached the altar. The smell hit her first—a mix of expensive cologne trying to mask the scent of sweat and medical ointment.
She looked at his hand. It was swollen, the fingers like sausages.
“Do you… take this man?” the priest asked, sounding hesitant.
Clara looked at Don Baste. For the first time, she looked into his eyes. They were small, buried in flesh, but they were dark and intense. He was staring at her, waiting for the flinch. Waiting for the look of revulsion he had seen a thousand times.
Clara took a deep breath. I made a promise.
“I do,” she said clearly.
Don Baste grunted. He reached out to put the ring on her finger, but his hand shook violently. A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead and stung his eye. He winced, letting out a wheezing breath.
Without thinking, Clara reached into her sleeve and pulled out a silk handkerchief.
The crowd gasped. Was she going to cover her nose?
Instead, Clara stepped in close. She gently dabbed the sweat from his forehead. She wiped his cheek, careful of the scars.
“Easy,” she whispered, just for him. “I’m here. Breathe.”
Don Baste froze. His hand stopped shaking for a second. He stared at her, stunned silence radiating from him.
“Why?” he rasped, his voice sounding like gravel in a blender.
“Because you are my husband now,” she answered simply.
She took his swollen hand in hers, not with fingertips, but with a firm grip. She placed the ring on her own finger.
Chapter 3: The Cage of Gold
The Montemayor estate was a fortress.
On their wedding night, Clara was led to the master suite. It was freezing cold—the air conditioning was cranked up to combat Baste’s overheating.
Baste wheeled himself in. He spun the chair around to face her.
“You think because you wiped my face, you’ve won me over?” he sneered. The vulnerability from the altar was gone, replaced by cruelty. “You’re here to work, Clara. You’re a nurse, right? Good. Because I don’t need a wife. I need a servant.”
He threw a towel at her.
“My feet are swollen. Soak them. Scrub them. And don’t use gloves. I want to feel that you aren’t afraid to touch the monster.”
It was a test. A humiliation tactic.
Clara didn’t argue. She went to the bathroom, filled a basin with warm water and Epsom salts. She knelt before his wheelchair.
She peeled off his compression socks. His feet were in bad shape—edematous and sore.
She placed them in the water. She washed them with her bare hands, massaging the pressure points the way she had learned in nursing school.
“Does that hurt?” she asked softly.
Baste stared down at the top of her head. He had expected her to cry. He had expected her to vomit. Instead, she was… thorough.
“No,” he grunted. “It feels… fine.”
“You need to elevate your legs more, Sebastian,” she said, using his first name. “And your diet. I saw the menu the chef prepared. Too much sodium. That’s why you’re retaining water.”
“I eat what I want,” he snapped. “Now get out. You sleep on the sofa.”
Chapter 4: The Slow Thaw
Months passed. The pattern remained the same. Baste was demanding, rude, and physically repulsive. He would eat messy ribs and demand she wipe his face. He would wake her up at 3 AM demanding water.
But Clara never broke.
She took over the kitchen, firing the chef who was feeding Baste grease and sugar. She started cooking lean meals—vegetables, steamed fish, brown rice.
“I’m not eating this rabbit food!” Baste yelled one evening, throwing the plate on the floor.
Clara stared at the mess. Then she looked at him.
“My father sold me to you,” she said, her voice shaking with the first real anger she had shown. “I lost my freedom. I lost my future. But I will not stand by and watch you commit suicide with food. If you want to die, Sebastian, use a gun. It’s faster. But as long as I am your wife, I will try to keep you alive.”
She knelt and began picking up the broken ceramic.
The room went silent.
Baste watched her. He saw the tears she was fighting back.
Slowly, the motorized chair whirred. He moved closer. He couldn’t reach the floor, but he reached out a hand and awkwardly touched her shoulder.
“Leave it,” he muttered. “The maid will get it. Make me… make me another plate. I’ll try it.”
That was the turning point.
Over the next six months, the dynamic shifted. Baste stopped the late-night demands. He started listening to her stories about her nursing rounds. He found out she loved classical music, and suddenly, a grand piano appeared in the living room.
“Play,” he commanded.
When she played, he would close his eyes, and for a moment, the pained expression on his scarred face would vanish.
One night, during a thunderstorm, the power went out. Clara was terrified of thunder. She sat on the sofa, hugging her knees.
Baste wheeled over. He couldn’t offer her a lap to sit on, but he took off his heavy velvet robe and draped it over her.
“I’m here,” he said, echoing her words from the wedding. “You’re safe.”
Clara looked at him. In the dim light of the lightning flashes, she didn’t see the scars. She saw a man who was protecting her. She reached out and held his hand.
“Thank you, Sebastian.”
Chapter 5: The Anniversary Invitation
A year had passed.
Clara sat at her vanity, brushing her hair. Tonight was their first anniversary. Baste had been secretive all week. He had barred her from the East Wing of the mansion, claiming he was preparing a “surprise.”
She wore a red dress—the color he said he liked best on her.
She heard the whir of the wheelchair.
“Clara,” Baste’s voice came from the doorway. “Dinner is served.”
She turned. He was wearing a mask—a Venetian carnival mask that covered the upper half of his face.
“Why the mask?” she asked, walking over to him.
“Humor me,” he said.
They had dinner in the garden, under a canopy of fairy lights. It was beautiful. Baste didn’t eat much. He just watched her.
“Clara,” he said, putting his fork down. “You have been… extraordinary. You have seen me at my worst. You have touched scars that make grown men look away. You have cared for a beast.”
“You are not a beast, Sebastian,” she said earnestly. “You are a man in pain. A man who has been kind to me in his own way.”
“Are you happy?” he asked. “Or are you just fulfilling a contract?”
Clara thought about it. She thought about her father who had sold her. She thought about the world that mocked her husband.
“I am happy,” she realized. “Because I know who you are on the inside. You are intelligent, and protective, and… you listen to me.”
Baste lowered his head. His shoulders shook. Was he crying?
“Sebastian?”
“You passed,” he whispered.
“Passed what?”
“The test.”
Chapter 6: The Unzipping
Don Sebastian backed his wheelchair away from the table.
“Everyone wants the Montemayor money,” he said, his voice changing. It was no longer raspy. It was deep, rich, and baritone. “My father died because his second wife poisoned him for it. My brother was kidnapped by his own girlfriend for ransom.”
Clara stood up, confused. “Sebastian, your voice…”
“I swore I would never let anyone close to me unless I knew—unless I was absolutely certain—that they didn’t care about the face, or the body, or the status. I needed someone who could love the soul in the dark.”
He gripped the armrests of his wheelchair.
“Sebastian, what are you doing? You can’t stand!” Clara cried out, rushing forward.
But he did.
The massive, 300-pound man planted his feet on the ground.
And he stood.
He was tall. Over six feet.
But he was still huge, his shape distorted and bulky.
“Clara,” he said, looking down at her. “I am not paralyzed. And…”
He reached for his neck.
There was a seam there, hidden under the high collar of his tuxedo shirt. A specialized, Hollywood-grade silicone seam.
He grabbed it and pulled.
Clara screamed.
She covered her mouth as her husband began to tear his skin off.
But there was no blood.
The layers of synthetic flesh, the weeping sores, the pockmarked cheeks—it peeled away like a thick rubber suit. He pulled the mask of the “Pig Billionaire” over his head.
Underneath the padding, the silicone, and the makeup, stood a man.
He was breathtaking.
He had a sharp jawline, piercing green eyes, and wavy dark hair that fell over his forehead. He wasn’t obese. He was wearing a weighted suit under his clothes to fake the bulk. As he unbuckled the padding and let it drop to the grass, he revealed a physique that was lean and muscular.
Clara stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The man before her was the most handsome man she had ever seen. He looked like a movie star.
He stepped out of the pile of prosthetics and padding. He walked toward her—a smooth, confident stride.
“I am Sebastian,” he said, taking her hand. His hand was no longer swollen. It was warm and strong. “But the world calls me ‘The Pig’ because I made them see one. I needed to know if you could love the beast.”
He cupped her face.
“And you did. You loved me when I gave you nothing but ugliness.”
Clara was trembling. “You… you lied to me. For a year.”
“I protected us,” he corrected gently. “I had to be sure. And now, I am.”
He knelt on one knee. He pulled out a new ring—not the gaudy one from the wedding, but a delicate, flawless diamond.
“Clara Montemayor. I forced you into a marriage with a monster. But tonight, I am asking you… will you stay married to the man?”
Clara looked at the discarded “skin” on the grass. She looked at the handsome stranger who was her husband.
She slapped him. Hard.
Sebastian didn’t flinch. He just looked at her.
“That,” Clara said, tears streaming down her face, “is for the feet scrubbing. And for making me think you were dying of heart failure.”
Then, she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down into a kiss.
“And this,” she whispered against his lips, “is for the rest of our lives. Yes, you idiot. I’ll stay.”
Epilogue: The Public Reveal
The next day, the paparazzi were camped outside the gates, waiting for a glimpse of the “Pig Billionaire” and his gold-digger wife.
The gates opened.
Clara walked out, hand in hand with a stunning, tall, athletic man in a tailored suit.
The cameras flashed blindly.
“Who is that bodyguard?” a reporter shouted. “Where is Don Baste?”
Sebastian smiled, pulling Clara close.
“I am Don Sebastian,” he announced, his voice booming.
The silence was deafening.
Sebastian looked at the camera lens, knowing the feed was live. Knowing Clara’s father was watching from whatever gambling den he was hiding in.
“And this,” Sebastian said, looking at Clara with pure adoration, “is the only woman in the world who knows what true worth looks like.”
He kissed her, and the image of the “Pig Billionaire” vanished forever, replaced by the legend of the couple who proved that love is the only thing that cannot be disguised.
Chapter 7: The Gilded Cage Shatters
The morning after the reveal, the world had changed.
The Montemayor estate, once a quiet fortress of solitude, was now besieged. Helicopters buzzed overhead. News vans lined the perimeter wall. Everyone wanted a piece of the “Miracle Montemayor,” the man who had shed his skin like a mythical creature.
Inside, Clara woke up in the master bed—a real bed this time, not the sofa.
Sebastian was already awake, standing by the window. He wasn’t wearing the fatsuit. He was shirtless, sipping coffee, looking like an ad for a luxury watch.
But when he turned to look at her, his eyes were guarded.
“It’s a zoo out there,” he said. “They’re calling us the fairytale of the century.”
“It feels more like a circus,” Clara murmured, pulling the silk sheets up. “Sebastian… yesterday was beautiful. But I’m scared.”
He sat on the edge of the bed. “Of what?”
“Of who you are now. I knew how to take care of Don Baste. I knew how to wipe his brow and cook his vegetables. But this man? The handsome billionaire? I don’t fit in your world, Sebastian. I’m just the girl sold for a debt.”
Sebastian took her hand. “You are the only person who fits, Clara. Because you didn’t buy a ticket to the show. You walked into the cage when everyone else ran.”
His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and his expression darkened.
“Get dressed,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “The vultures are circling. And the first one just arrived at the gate.”
Chapter 8: The Father’s Return
It was Mario.
Clara’s father stood in the grand foyer, looking small against the marble columns. He was wearing a cheap, ill-fitting suit he must have rented that morning. He was sweating, ringing his hands together.
When Clara descended the stairs, Sebastian a step behind her, Mario’s eyes lit up.
“Clara! My daughter!” Mario cried, rushing forward with open arms. “Oh, I saw the news! It’s a miracle! God has blessed us!”
Clara stopped halfway down the stairs. She didn’t smile. She didn’t descend further.
“What do you want, Pa?” she asked coldly.
Mario stopped, looking hurt. “What do I want? To see my family! To congratulate you! And… to meet my son-in-law properly.”
He looked up at Sebastian, who stood like a statue, radiating power.
“Don Sebastian!” Mario bowed low. “Or should I say, Prince Charming? Haha! You know, I always suspected. I told my friends, ‘That man has a good heart.’ That’s why I gave you my precious Clara.”
“You didn’t give her,” Sebastian said, his voice slicing through the air. “You sold her. For 50 million pesos.”
Mario wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “A harsh word, Don Baste. It was… a dowry arrangement. But now that I see the true situation… well, 50 million was for the invalid. For the ‘Pig,’ as they said.”
He smirked, a greedy glint in his eye.
“But for a young, handsome, healthy billionaire? Surely, my daughter is worth more? A renegotiation is in order. Perhaps… another 50 million? As a family gift?”
Clara felt sick. She gripped the banister until her knuckles turned white.
Sebastian stepped forward. “Get out.”
“Now, now,” Mario wagged a finger. “If I go to the press… if I tell them Clara was forced… that you bought a human being… it might ruin this pretty fairytale you’ve built.”
It was blackmail.
Sebastian reached into his jacket. Clara thought he was reaching for a checkbook.
Instead, he reached for a gun.
Chapter 9: The Choice
“Sebastian, no!” Clara screamed, running down the remaining stairs.
Sebastian held the pistol loosely at his side. He wasn’t aiming it, but the threat was clear.
“I don’t pay blackmailers, Mario,” Sebastian said calmly. “And I don’t pay men who sell their children.”
“Clara!” Mario squealed, hiding behind a potted plant. “Control your husband! I’m your father!”
Clara stood between the two men.
She looked at Sebastian, the man who had tested her love. She looked at Mario, the man who had tested her worth.
“Put the gun away, Sebastian,” Clara said softly.
“He’s a parasite, Clara. He’ll bleed us dry.”
“I know,” Clara said. She turned to her father.
Mario smiled nervously. “See? Tell him, Clara. Tell him we are family.”
Clara walked up to her father. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a single coin—one peso.
She grabbed Mario’s hand and slapped the coin into his palm.
“What is this?” Mario asked, confused.
“That is your price,” Clara said, her voice trembling but loud. “You sold me for 50 million. That debt is paid. But if you want to be my father? If you want to be ‘family’? That requires love. And you have none.”
She stepped back.
“I am not Clara de la Cruz anymore. I am Clara Montemayor. And my husband owes you nothing. Get out of my house before I let him call security.”
Mario stared at her, stunned. The gentle, submissive daughter was gone.
“You ungrateful—”
“Security!” Sebastian barked.
Two guards materialized and dragged the screaming Mario out the front door.
As the heavy doors slammed shut, Clara sagged. Sebastian caught her before she hit the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed into his chest.
“Don’t be,” Sebastian whispered, kissing her hair. “You just passed the second test.”
“There was a second test?” she asked, pulling back.
“The test of the past,” he said. “I needed to know you wouldn’t let them drag you back into the mud. Because where we are going… the sharks are much bigger than your father.”
Chapter 10: The Ex-Fiancée
A week later, the invitation arrived.
-
The Annual Montemayor Charity Ball.*
It was the first public appearance they would make. And it was going to be held at the very hotel Sebastian owned.
But there was a problem. The guest list included Isabella Valderama.
“Who is she?” Clara asked, watching Sebastian’s jaw tighten as he read the name.
“Three years ago,” Sebastian said, pouring himself a drink, “before I put on the suit… before I created ‘The Pig’… I was engaged to Isabella.”
Clara felt a pang of jealousy. Isabella Valderama was a supermodel. She was on billboards all over Manila.
“What happened?”
“I got sick,” Sebastian said. “A thyroid issue. I gained some weight. Not 300 pounds, but enough to look ‘soft.’ Then I had a car accident that scarred my leg. It wasn’t the monster you saw, but it was enough for her.”
He took a sip of whiskey.
“She left me the day I came home from the hospital. She said she couldn’t be seen with a ‘cripple.’ That was the day I decided to disappear. I built the fatsuit. I hired the makeup artists. I became the monster to see if anyone would stay.”
“And now she’s coming to the ball,” Clara said.
“She heard the news. She knows the ‘cripple’ is gone. She’s coming to claim her territory.”
Sebastian looked at Clara. “She will try to humiliate you. She will try to make you feel like the maid. Can you handle her?”
Clara walked over to the mirror. She looked at her reflection. She wasn’t a supermodel. She was a nursing student from the slums.
But she was also the woman who had scrubbed the feet of a beast and loved him anyway.
“Buy me a dress,” Clara said. “A red one.”
Chapter 11: The Red Dress
The ballroom was glittering with chandeliers and diamonds. When Sebastian and Clara entered, the room went silent.
Sebastian looked regal in a black tuxedo. But all eyes were on Clara.
She wore a crimson gown that hugged her curves, with a slit up the leg that showed just enough skin to be dangerous. She wore the Montemayor rubies around her neck.
She didn’t walk with her head down. She walked like a queen.
They mingled. Clara charmed the investors with her knowledge of Sebastian’s diet and health, spinning it into conversations about wellness and charity. She was doing perfectly.
Until Isabella appeared.
She was wearing gold. She looked like a statue come to life.
“Baste,” Isabella purred, ignoring Clara entirely. She placed a manicured hand on Sebastian’s chest. “You look… recovered. I always knew you’d bounce back.”
“Hello, Isabella,” Sebastian said coldly. “You remember my wife, Clara?”
Isabella turned to Clara, her eyes scanning her up and down like a barcode scanner.
“Oh, yes. The nurse,” Isabella laughed, covering her mouth. “It’s so quaint. Baste, you always did have a charitable heart. Rescuing the help.”
She leaned in close to Clara. “Enjoy the champagne, darling. But don’t get used to the glass. Servants usually break crystal.”
The people nearby tittered nervously.
Clara smiled. It was a sweet, sharp smile.
“You’re right, Miss Valderama,” Clara said, her voice carrying over the music. “I am a nurse. I’m trained to deal with messes. Infections. Waste.”
She took a step closer to Isabella.
“And I also know how to spot something fake. Like your concern for my husband.”
Clara turned to the crowd.
“You all called him ‘The Pig’ behind his back,” she announced. “Isabella here left him because he had a scar on his leg. I married him when he had scars on his face, sores on his back, and 300 pounds of weight on his bones. I washed him. I fed him. I loved him.”
She turned back to Isabella, whose smile had faltered.
“You want the billionaire, Isabella. But you didn’t want the man. I have both. So, please… take your hand off my husband’s chest. You’re getting your bronzer on his suit.”
Chapter 12: The Final Reveal
The room erupted in whispers—but this time, they were admiring. Isabella turned bright red. She snatched her hand back and stormed off.
Sebastian looked down at Clara. He was grinning.
“Remind me never to make you angry,” he whispered.
“Too late,” she winked.
Later that night, on the balcony overlooking the city, Sebastian took off his jacket and wrapped it around Clara’s shoulders.
“You know,” he said, looking at the stars. “There’s one thing I never told you. One last secret.”
Clara looked at him, worried. “No more masks, Sebastian.”
“No masks,” he promised. “But… the debt. Your father’s 50 million.”
“What about it?”
“He didn’t borrow it from me,” Sebastian said. “He borrowed it from a loan shark. A dangerous man. That man was going to kill him—and you.”
Clara gasped. “What?”
“I bought the debt,” Sebastian explained. “I heard about a girl who was studying nursing while working two jobs to pay for her father’s gambling. I watched you from afar, Clara. I saw how you treated people. I bought the debt to save you from the sharks.”
“So… the marriage ultimatum?”
“It was the only way to get you into the house safely,” Sebastian admitted. “I needed to know if you were as good as I thought. I needed to know if you could save me, too.”
Clara looked at him. The “Pig Billionaire” hadn’t just been testing her. He had been rescuing her, in the only twisted, broken way he knew how.
She reached up and touched his face—the real face, smooth and warm.
“We’re a mess, aren’t we?” she laughed, tears in her eyes. “A gambler’s daughter and a man in a rubber suit.”
“We are,” Sebastian agreed, pulling her close. “But we’re a perfect mess.”
He kissed her under the moonlight, and for the first time in her life, Clara didn’t feel like a prisoner, or a nurse, or a daughter in debt.
She felt like a wife. She felt like a Montemayor.
And she knew, with absolute certainty, that no matter what face he wore, she would always recognize him.
THE END
