THE SECRET BEHIND THE MASK

Slowly.

Don Severino lifted his fingers one by one, trembling like dry branches in the wind. The sound of porcelain against skin was like the soft cry of glass.

I held the skirt of my dress. I felt my heart beating in my throat. For a few seconds, I couldn’t breathe.

And when he finally removed the mask—

I didn’t scream.

I didn’t flinch either.

Because the face that exposed itself to me… wasn’t wounded. Not rotten. Not a monster.

It looked… normal.

An old man. Pale. Thin. Wrinkles around the eyes and lips. No sign of skin disease. No leprosy. No scars.

But what was scary were his eyes.

Black as black. Not because of the color, but because of the depth.

It seemed like there was no light. It seemed like there was something buried inside that no one should ever see.

“Didn’t you expect it?” he asked softly.

“I thought…” My tongue stuttered. “I thought you were sick.”

“I am sick,” he replied. “But not in the skin.”

He stood up, even though every movement was obviously difficult. He approached an antique cabinet against the wall. He opened it and took something out.

An envelope.

He threw it on the bed, in front of me.

“Open it.”

My hand shook as I took the envelope. The paper was thick, old, and had a yellow tint as if time had sucked it away.

Inside were photographs.

Old photographs.

A man. Younger. Energetic. Smiling.

He.

Don Severino.

With him are different women.

And with each subsequent photo, those women gradually disappear.

In the last photo of each series, there is a picture of a grave.

With a name.

And a date.

“My wives,” he whispered.

My eyes widened.

“They are all,” he continued, “as hungry as you were. They all agreed in exchange for wealth.”

“Where are they?” I asked softly.

He smiled.

It was not the smile of a kind old man.

It was the smile of a person who knew a lot.

“Dead.”

It felt like something tightened in my chest.

“I didn’t kill them,” he added quickly. “Not in the way you think.”

He came closer to me. He took my hand again.

“My wealth is cursed, Mira.”

I took a deep breath. “What kind of curse?”

“This wealth does not come from clean hands. Its first translation is from blood. From deceit. From betrayal.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Anyone who marries me,” he continued, “becomes part of a pact. Not with me. But with what lies behind the wealth.”

“What pact?” I asked, almost in a whisper.

“That you will accept everything. And in return… the wealth will gradually take everything from you.”

“You’re just scaring me,” I said, but my voice was no longer strong.

“My first wife said the same thing.”

He walked back to the chair and sat down. His breathing became heavy again.

“They didn’t die right away. Not in the first week. Not in the first month. But with every day they spent in luxury, something was missing.”

“What’s missing?”

“The people they loved. The friends. The dreams. Their health. Their sanity.”

It was as if a cold wind had passed through the room.

“And in the end,” he whispered, “themselves.”

We were both silent.

Only the sound of the clock on the wall could be heard.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

He looked at me slowly.

“Because tonight, Mira, you’re the last.”

I stood up.

“What do you mean?”

“I won’t live until tomorrow,” he replied. “I can feel it.”

He came over to me and handed me the mask.

“Starting tomorrow, all of this is yours.”

I clutched my chest.

“But remember,” he whispered. “It’s not my face that you should fear. It’s the warning hidden in the treasure.”

He suddenly sat up in bed, panting loudly.

“Don Severino!”

I hugged him, but his body suddenly went cold.

He looked at me one last time.

“If you want to live…” he whispered softly, “don’t love wealth. Use it… to break the curse.”

And his eyes closed completely.

The next day.

The news spread throughout the city.

“THE MYSTERIOUS BILLIONAIRE DIED ON HIS WEDDING NIGHT.”

I was the sole heir.

Houses. Land. Companies. Banks. Everything.

But along with the inheritance, letters arrived.

Many.

The lawyer handed me a box.

“This is from your husband’s previous wives.”

“But they’re dead,” I said.

He nodded.

“Yes. But they left it before they died.”

I opened the first letter.

Mira,
If you’re holding this, it’s too late for me. But hopefully, it’s not for you.

I thought money was the answer to everything. But it was the reason for losing everything.

If you notice the world around you gradually becoming colder, don’t ignore it.

This is the beginning.

My hand was shaking.

I opened the second.

The curse is not a ghost. It’s greed.

If you stay greedy, it will take you.

If you learn to give, you might live.

The third.

Severino didn’t kill us. Our own desires killed us.

I sat down on the floor.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel the joy of wealth.

I felt fear.

And in the mirror in front of me, I noticed—

May bahagyang itim na bilog na ang aking mga mata.

Parang may unti-unting nawawala sa akin.

At doon ko naintindihan.

Ang maskara ni Don Severino ay hindi para itago ang mukha.

Ito ay para itago ang katotohanan.

At ngayon, ako na ang may suot nito.

 ANG PRESYO NG GINTO

Tatlong araw ang lumipas mula nang mailibing si Don Severino.

Tatlong araw na ako ay tinatawag ng lahat na “Mrs. Severino.”

Tatlong araw na ako ang pinakamayamang babae sa lungsod.

At tatlong araw na rin akong hindi makatulog nang maayos.

Tuwing ipipikit ko ang aking mga mata, nakikita ko ang kanyang mga mata.

Hindi galit.

Hindi galit.

Kundi… babala.

Sa unang araw, dumating ang mga banker.

Sa ikalawa, ang mga negosyante.

Sa ikatlo, ang mga politiko.

Lahat ay nakangiti. Lahat ay magalang. Lahat ay handang yumuko sa aking harap.

“Mrs. Severino, ang inyong pirma po ay sapat na para ilipat ang limang bilyong piso.”

“Mrs. Severino, nais po naming ipagpatuloy ang partnership.”

“Mrs. Severino, kayo na po ngayon ang pinakamakapangyarihang babae sa lungsod.”

Dati, ako ang babaeng hindi pinapansin.

Ngayon, ako ang babaeng nilalapitan ng lahat.

Ngunit sa bawat pirma ko sa mga papeles, may kung anong bumibigat sa aking dibdib.

Parang bawat lagda ay hindi lamang pera ang inililipat.

Parang may bahagi rin ng aking sarili ang nawawala.

Isang gabi, habang naglalakad ako sa mahabang pasilyo ng mansyon, may narinig akong boses.

“Mira…”

Napahinto ako.

“May tao ba?” sigaw ko.

Tahimik.

Ngunit muli kong narinig.

“Mira…”

Parang galing sa mismong mga pader.

Binilisan ko ang lakad ko hanggang makarating ako sa dating silid ni Don Severino.

Ang pinto ay bahagyang bukas.

Hindi ko matandaan na binuksan ko iyon.

Pumasok ako.

Sa gitna ng silid, nakapatong sa mesa ang isang itim na kahon.

I hadn’t seen it before.

I approached it and opened it.

Inside was an old notebook.

The leather was faded. The pages were yellow.

On the first page, it was written:

“LIST OF THE MISSING.”

My hands went cold.

I opened them one by one.

There were names.

There were dates.

And with each name… there was a short note.

Isabel — lost her child in an accident.

Lucia — abandoned by her husband, addicted to alcohol.

Marina — went crazy, committed suicide.

And finally:

Mira — ?

My breathing stopped.

It felt like something was pinching my heart.

“This isn’t true,” I whispered to myself.

But at that moment, I heard a scream outside the mansion.

I ran to the window.

At the gate, there was an old woman.

Thin. Her hair was messy. Her clothes were dirty.

“I’m Lucia!” she shouted. “I’m one of Severino’s wives!”

My eyes widened.

I had the gate opened.

As soon as she entered, she immediately knelt before me.

“Don’t wait,” she cried. “Don’t wait until it’s too late!”

“What do you mean?” I asked, trembling.

“I thought I would be saved because I was smarter than her,” she continued. “I thought I could control wealth. But wealth controlled me.”

She held my hand.

“Look, for every penny you accept for yourself, someone dies.”

I felt like I was struck by lightning.

“That’s not true!”

“My child,” she sobbed. “He’s dying while I’m counting money.”

I covered my mouth.

“If you still have a conscience,” she whispered, “give. Save others. Before you’re gone.”

And before I could speak, she ran out the gate and disappeared into the darkness.

The next day, I received news.

A child had died in a fire in a shanty.

I didn’t know him.

But in my heart, I felt guilty.

From then on, I started giving.

Large donations. Scholarships. Hospitals. Homes for the poor.

But no matter how much I gave, the fear didn’t diminish.

Because of the mirror, I noticed that I was paler.

My hands were colder.

My pulse was slower.

And one night, I saw something new in my reflection.

A thin line of gold.

Not in the mirror.

But on my skin.

Like a mark.

Like the beginning of a mask.

And that’s when I understood.

It’s not enough to give.

I have to find the root of the curse.

Otherwise, I’ll be the next name on the list.

THE ROOT OF SIN

I can’t escape.

Not from the mansion.

Not from the wealth.

And especially not from the curse.

So instead of running, I chose to face it.

One morning, I summoned Don Severino’s oldest lawyer.

Atty. Ramon de la Cruz.

Seventy-six years old. White hair. And his eyes were heavy with secrets.

“Atty. Ramon,” I said as we sat in his office, “I want to see all the old papers of my wife’s wealth. Everything. Even the ones that are no longer used.”

He was silent for a moment.

“Mrs. Severino…” he replied weakly, “there are things that are better left buried.”

“Those who are buried,” I replied firmly, “are also the ones who rise to kill.”

He took a deep breath.

“Then, are you ready to know the truth?”

“Yes.”

Inside a secret vault under Severino’s old bank, we found the documents.

This is not about business.

This is about people.

Lands seized.

Factories taken by threat.

Families who lost their homes.

Orphaned children.

“Don Severino’s first wealth,” Atty. Ramon explained, “came from a barrio.”

“What barrio?”

“San Isidro.”

Something felt like a tug in my chest.

San Isidro.

The place where I grew up.

The place swallowed by garbage and poverty.

“This is not an accident,” she continued. “That land used to have gold. But in mining, force was used. Many died. Many were cheated.”

My hands went cold.

“The curse,” I whispered, “is blood.”

She nodded.

“Every cent you hold has a trace of life.”

I returned to San Isidro.

For the first time, not as a child with dirty feet.

But as a woman with power.

But nothing had changed.

The smell of garbage.

The cries of hunger.

The tears of poverty.

And there I saw the old woman.

My mother.

Thin. Still living in a dilapidated shack.

“Mira?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

I knelt before her.

“Mom… it’s my fault.”

“No,” he replied weakly. “It is the sin of gold.”

He touched my face.

“If wealth is the cause of the disease, mercy is the cure.”

That night, I made a decision.

I will return the land.

I will return the wealth.

I will return the dignity.

Not in words.

But in deeds.

But the moment I signed the first document to return San Isidro to the people…

I suddenly felt weak.

It was as if someone had sucked my strength.

And in the mirror, I saw the mask.

Not on my face.

But in my eyes.

And a voice whispered:

“You are not finished paying.”

I thought that if I returned the land, if I returned the wealth, the curse would end.

I was wrong.

Because the curse is not only in money.

It is in the heart.

That night, I couldn’t walk anymore.

I was lying in Don Severino’s bed.

We were both breathing in the same room.

The air was both cold.

Both chests were heavy.

In the mirror opposite the bed, I could clearly see the golden mark on my face.

It was no longer a thin line.

It was now a clear mask shape.

“Look…”

I heard his voice.

Not from outside.

But from inside me.

“Why?” I asked crying. “I’ve given it all back. I’m not greedy anymore.”

“Not yet,” the voice replied. “You still have something left that you won’t give up.”

“Nothing more,” I whispered back. “I don’t want anything more.”

He was silent for a moment.

And then he said the most terrifying word of all.

“Life.”

It was as if I had been struck by lightning.

“The curse,” the voice continued, “began with the taking. It will not end as long as you hold what was stolen.”

“But my life is mine!”

“No,” he replied weakly. “You bought your life with the lives of others.”

I closed my eyes.

I remembered the children who starved.

The families who were driven away.

The wives who were lost.

All of that had paved the way for me to live in luxury.

If I truly wanted to break the curse…

I need to pay back the last debt.

At dawn, I called Attorney Ramon.

“Leave everything that’s left,” I said softly. “To the victims. To the poor. To San Isidro.”

“Mrs. Severino…” her voice trembled. “And you?”

I smiled.

“Finally, I will be free.”

The news came out the next day:

“THE BILLIONAIRE WIDOW, FOUND LIFELESS IN THE MANSION.”

Doctors said, heart.

Others said, curse.

But in San Isidro, something began to change.

There was a school.

There was a hospital.

There was hope.

And in a corner of the village, there was a girl who no longer had to get married to escape poverty.

Sometimes, when the night was quiet, someone said they saw a reflection in the mirrors of the mansion.

A smiling woman.

No mask.

And gold, finally, lost its power.