I was twenty-two when I decided to marry for money.
I grew up in poverty. My mother suffered from a lung disease, and my younger brother couldn’t go to school because we didn’t have enough money. As for me, I was just a simple young woman with dreams of getting ahead in life — even if it meant losing my own freedom.
One evening, news reached our small home. People were talking about a rich old man named Don Armando who was looking for a wife.
They said he was fat, almost the size of a refrigerator, and nearly twice my age. But everyone also said he was kind — and very, very rich.
“Daughter,” my mother said, catching her breath between coughs, “maybe this is your chance. So that we don’t have to suffer anymore.”
Her voice trembled, and I saw the tears in her eyes. Out of desperation, I agreed.
The wedding without laughter
Our wedding took place in a grand mansion in Tagaytay.
Even though I was wearing an expensive gown, there was a weight in my chest — not from joy, but from fear.
At the altar stood the man I was about to marry — Don Armando.
He was fat, sweaty, and his voice was low and heavy. He smiled at me, but I couldn’t bring myself to smile back.
“From now on,” Don Armando said, “I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry about money anymore.”
I just nodded, but inside me, something screamed:
“I did this so Mom could live. For my brother.”
That night, instead of sharing a kiss of love, I sat by the window and cried — my tears falling in rhythm with the rain outside.
Life inside the palace
A few days later, I began to know more about the man I had married.
Don Armando was quiet, always observing, and seemed to measure every move he made.
He was kind, but there were moments when his eyes seemed… different.
One evening, while we were having dinner, I noticed something odd about the way he held his glass.
His hands didn’t look like those of an old man — they were clean, smooth, and strong.
“Don Armando,” I asked curiously, “how old are you again?”
He just smiled.
“Enough to understand what a person’s true worth is,” he said.
I was surprised, but I didn’t say anything more.
Then, one day, the steward quietly told me, “Ma’am, don’t be surprised if there are things that are strange about our boss. Everything he does, there is a reason.”
His words stayed with me, though I couldn’t understand what they meant at the time.
The secret face
One night, I couldn’t sleep.
I stepped out onto the veranda of the big house to get some air. The moonlight poured over the garden below — and that’s when I saw him.
Don Armando was standing at the edge of the garden, removing something from around his neck.
I covered my mouth in shock.
The skin on Don Armando’s face… was slowly peeling off.
My heart pounded as I watched. Beneath the wrinkled, heavy skin was not the face of an old man — but that of a young man who was extremely handsome, muscular, and familiar from news and magazines.
“My God…” I whispered. “What is this?”
The man turned, startled, and quickly approached me.
“Ella, wait a minute. Don’t be afraid.”
“Who are you?!” I shouted, shaking in fear.
He hesitated, then slowly removed the rest of the mask.
And standing before me was Ethan Vergara — the real CEO of the company owned by Don Armando.
“I am Ethan,” he said softly. “I used the form of Don Armando because I wanted to know you — not as a rich man, but as a person.”
The real test
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Why did you do this?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Because everyone I met only wanted me because of my money,” Ethan replied. “So I decided to pretend to be a fat old man — to see if anyone would still love me even if I had no shine, even if I had no form.”
I burst into tears.
“And I… I was really the one you chose to try?”
“Yes,” Ethan said. “Because the first time I saw you, you didn’t reject a life that others didn’t want. I wanted to see how far you could go — and I saw it. You have a beautiful heart.”
But I couldn’t bear to stay.
I ran away — not out of anger, but out of shame.
“The only reason I agreed was for money,” I thought. “But now, I feel like… I’m the poorest person in the world.”
The change
A few weeks later, I left the mansion completely.
I hid in a small apartment and started looking for work.
But one day, a man arrived with an envelope for me.
Inside, there was a note written in Ethan’s handwriting:
“Ella,
I don’t need a perfect woman.
What I want is someone who knows how to love even if she makes mistakes.
If you’re ready, I’ll go back to the old church where we were first married — not as Don Armando, but as me.”
I held the letter for a long time, my tears falling on the ink. I didn’t know what to do, but something deep inside told me to go.
The real wedding
On Sunday, I went to the old church.
The moment I stepped inside, my heart began to race.
There he was — Ethan — standing at the altar, wearing a simple barong. No mask, no wealth, no disguise.
I walked toward him, trembling. Tears blurred my vision.
“I’m sorry…” I whispered. “I don’t know how I’ll pay for all the lies I’ve told myself.”
“You don’t have to pay,” Ethan replied, holding my hand gently.
“Because of love, what’s needed is not change — but courage.”
And there, before God, the two of us embraced.
It was no longer a marriage of necessity. It was a marriage of truth and heart.
Epilogue
A year later, we returned to my village.
Together, Ethan and I established a scholarship fund for women like me — those who were once forced by life to make difficult choices but later learned to choose the right one in the end.
And every time a young girl approached me, I would tell her:
“You don’t have to pretend to be loved. Because your true heart is your best form.”
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