Chapter 84: The Man Behind the Mask

Matthias froze.

The saucepan continued simmering quietly on the stove, the pasta water bubbling softly, but all of his attention had shifted to the woman sitting on the opposite side of the kitchen island.

No one... no one had ever asked to see his face.

Most people were afraid—their eyes would flicker to the mask, then quickly away, as though even acknowledging it was uncomfortable. The rest simply didn’t want to. They preferred the mystery, the distance, the barrier that kept them from having to confront what lay beneath.

He had long accepted that the mask was easier for everyone. Including himself.

His fingers unconsciously touched the edge of it, tracing the familiar silver surface.

For the first time in years, he was afraid. Not of showing the scars—he’d made peace with those long ago. But of losing the way she looked at him.

What if she looked at him with disgust? What if her smile disappeared? What if the warmth in her eyes vanished the moment the mask came off?

His throat tightened, his chest constricting.

Across from him, Mindy was beginning to regret asking. Had she crossed a line? She only wanted to know whether the burns were something that could still be treated. Maybe the miracle doctor she had met before—the one who’d helped her mother years ago—could help him.

She opened her mouth, her voice soft. "I’m sor—"

Before she could finish, Matthias spoke quietly, his voice steady but careful. "If you see my face..." He looked directly into her eyes, his gaze unwavering. "...you’ll have to take responsibility of me from now on."

Mindy blinked, caught off guard. Then a small smile appeared on her lips, warm and genuine. "Okay."

Matthias stared at her for another second, searching her face for hesitation, for doubt. Finding none, he turned back toward the stove, his movements deliberate. "Eat first."

Twenty minutes later, two steaming plates of creamy mushroom pasta rested on the kitchen island, the aroma rich and comforting—garlic, butter, fresh herbs.

Matthias placed one in front of her, his movements careful. "Try it."

Mindy twirled a forkful, the pasta perfectly al dente, the sauce clinging to each strand. The moment she took the first bite, she stopped. Her eyes slowly widened, her expression shifting from polite curiosity to genuine surprise.

Matthias had been watching her the entire time, his posture tense. "...Well?"

She looked at him, swallowing. "This is..." She paused, searching for words. "...really good."

He chuckled, the sound low and relieved. "I thought you were just being polite."

"No." She immediately took another bite, her fork moving faster. "This is amazing."

Within minutes, she had forgotten every bit of elegance she usually carried, happily finishing the pasta, her focus absolute. Matthias laughed softly, his expression fond. "Slow down. It isn’t running away."

"It might," she answered with complete seriousness, her tone earnest. "You cook too well."

His laughter echoed through the quiet house, warm and unrestrained.

For a while, they simply talked. About Rona Design. About the mess Emily and Missy had left behind—falsified records, abandoned projects, demoralized staff. About the endless files waiting for Layla, stacked in precarious towers on her desk.

Mindy sighed, her expression tired but determined. "If Mother hadn’t built such a strong foundation, Rona would’ve collapsed years ago."

Matthias listened quietly, never interrupting, just watching her speak—the way her hands moved when she was passionate, the way her eyes softened when she mentioned her mother.

After dinner, he carried the plates to the dishwasher, the sound of running water filling the silence. Then he walked back into the living room, his steps slow, deliberate.

Mindy sat quietly on the sofa, her posture relaxed, her expression calm.

He stopped in front of her, his hands damp from the water, his heart pounding.

He had never been this nervous. Not during board meetings. Not during hostile takeovers. Not even when facing his father.

Slowly, very slowly, he reached up and removed the mask. He placed it gently on the coffee table, the silver surface catching the soft lamplight.

Then, almost instinctively, he closed his eyes. Waiting. Waiting for silence. Waiting for rejection. Waiting for the look he had seen countless times before—the flinch, the pity, the carefully controlled disgust.

Instead, he felt something warm. Soft fingertips brushed gently across the scar near his cheek, so carefully, as though she were afraid touching him too hard would hurt.

His breathing stalled, his chest tightening.

He slowly opened his eyes.

Mindy was looking at him. Not with pity. Not with fear. Just... looking. Studying every scar, every healed burn, every part of the man who had hidden behind the mask for so long.

Without thinking, Matthias leaned forward slightly, tilting his face toward the light, making it easier for her to see. Her fingertips traced the burn beside his eye, the skin rough and uneven beneath her touch.

Then, without hesitation, she leaned in. A feather-light kiss landed beside the scar, her lips warm and soft.

"This," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "...must have hurt a lot."

Matthias’s world stopped. His breath caught. His heart stuttered.

No one... no one had ever kissed the part of him he hated the most.

For several long seconds, neither of them moved. The silence was thick, weighted, charged.

Then Mindy suddenly realized what she had done. Her eyes widened, her face flushing. "I... I don’t know why I—"

She couldn’t finish.

Matthias gently cupped her face, his hands warm and steady. Then he kissed her.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t demanding. It was the kiss of a man who had held back for far too long—tender, reverent, filled with everything he couldn’t say.

Mindy stiffened in surprise, her breath catching. "...Matt..."

His forehead rested against hers for a heartbeat, his breath warm against her skin. Then he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hand sliding to the back of her neck.

This time, she slowly responded, her hands moving to his shoulders, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. The hesitation between them disappeared, melting like snow in sunlight.

When they finally separated, both of them were breathing unevenly, their foreheads still touching, their eyes closed.

Matthias smiled—a genuine smile, one that reached his eyes, crinkling the corners, softening the scars.

Mindy looked completely flustered, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide. She quickly stood, her movements jerky. "I... I should go."

She barely took one step before Matthias caught her wrist, his grip gentle but firm.

She turned, her expression caught between panic and something softer.

He gently pulled her back, his movements slow, giving her time to resist. She lost her balance and ended up sitting sideways on his lap, her hands braced against his chest.

"You said," he murmured, his voice low and warm, "...you’d take responsibility."

Her face instantly turned crimson, her ears burning. "Matthias..."

His forehead rested lightly against hers, his eyes searching hers. "I’ve liked you for a long time. I don’t intend to let you run away that easily."

She looked into his eyes—the same eyes she had once thought looked lonely, haunted. Now they were filled with hope, with warmth, with something that made her chest tighten.

She couldn’t help smiling, her expression soft. "...You’re impossible."

"So I’ve been told."

They both laughed, the sound warm and genuine, filling the quiet house.

The heaviness that had followed her from the dinner with Layton had finally disappeared, replaced by something lighter, something that felt like possibility.

Nearly half an hour later, Mindy quietly entered her villa, her movements slow and dazed. She looked completely out of it, her expression distant, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

She walked straight to the living room before dropping onto the sofa without saying a word, her body sinking into the cushions.

Layla was already sitting there, also staring blankly into space, her expression equally dazed.

Neither spoke for almost a minute, the silence stretching between them.

Finally, Mindy looked sideways, her voice soft. "What happened?"

Layla answered without moving, her tone flat. "...Mindy. I kissed Zac."

Mindy’s eyes widened, her head turning sharply. "...What?"

Layla finally turned toward her, her expression caught between shock and disbelief. "Exactly."

Then she narrowed her eyes, her gaze sharpening. "Wait. What happened to you?"

She gestured toward Mindy’s face. "I look like this because I did something." She pointed at Mindy, her finger jabbing the air. "But why do you look like you’ve forgotten how to function?"

Mindy stared at her for several seconds, her mind clearly elsewhere. Then she quietly admitted, her voice barely audible, "...I kissed Matthias."

Layla shot upright, her entire body going rigid. "...WHAT?!"

Layla looked at her for a second, her expression shifting from shock to curiosity. "So... how was it?"

Mindy immediately turned the question back. "How was yours?"

They kept staring at each other, neither willing to go first, the silence stretching between them like a standoff.

Finally, Mindy sighed, throwing her hands up. "FINE! I’ll go first." She took a breath, her face already turning pink. "I asked Matthias to see his face, and I don’t know... when I saw his burn mark, I just kissed it. And then he kissed me"

She looked at Layla, waiting, her expression expectant.

Layla sighed, her shoulders sagging. "We had dinner, and I wanted some fresh air, so we went to the balcony." She paused, her voice softening. "And he just kept flirting with me. Always saying the nicest words. We were talking about Rona Design and how everything there is a mess, and then he said..." She hesitated, her voice dropping. "He said he believed in me. That if there’s anyone who can fix that mess, it’s me. And then he said..." Her voice cracked slightly. "...Maria would be really proud of me."

She looked down at her hands. "Then I don’t know... I just kissed him. And he kissed me back. And then, out of nowhere, we had a full-on make-out session."

Layla groaned, covering her face with both hands.

Mindy looked at her, her expression gentle. "Well, he isn’t wrong. Everyone does believe in you. And Mom would have been proud."

She paused, then asked softly, "And I only see him flirting with you... So how was he?"

Layla peeked through her fingers, her face red. "It’s your turn."

Mindy sighed, leaning back against the sofa. "Well... he said he’s liked me for a long time."

Layla immediately asked, her tone sharp, "Then what’s the problem?"

Mindy looked at her pointedly. "Your turn."

Layla groaned again, her hands dropping. "He was good. Actually, he was great!" She paused, her voice becoming uncertain. "But I don’t know if he really likes me."

Mindy’s expression softened. "I think he does. You can ask him next time."

Layla gave her a look—half skeptical, half hopeful.

Mindy continued, her voice quiet. "I’m still married, Layla. I’m still legally tied to Layton. I can’t just—"

"You can," Layla interrupted, her voice firm. "You’ve already signed the divorce papers. You’ve already moved on emotionally. The paperwork is just a formality."

She smiled gently. "Don’t let the past stop you from being happy."

Mindy looked at her, her gaze steady. "You shouldn’t stop yourself from being happy either."

Then she continued, her voice dropping. "You know what I’m scared of?"

Layla asked, her tone curious, "What?"

Mindy’s voice was barely a whisper. "Seeing him again."

Layla looked at her, understanding dawning in her eyes. "Me too."

Just then, the door opened, and Wade entered, his footsteps echoing in the quiet villa. He looked at them—both lying on the sofa in the exact same position, sprawled out like they’d forgotten how to move, their expressions dazed and distant.

He asked, his tone confused, "What happened to you both?"

They both groaned in unison, not even looking at him.

Wade looked even more confused, his brow furrowing. "I can’t understand girls."

He shook his head, muttering under his breath as he walked toward the kitchen, leaving them to their existential crisis.