On the fifth night of Ceres's wake, the Clarks finally made their appearance.
Ryzel looked like hell. It was obvious he had been forced to come. Though his clothes were neat, the stench of alcohol clung to him, impossible to ignore. He had been drinking non-stop since the day of his wedding.
He, the Clarks, and Ciena had been at the Aurora Vineyard for additional wedding photo shoots before the program proper when the news reached them, that there had been an accident at the church. And Ceres… Ceres had died.
Ryzel had rushed to the hospital where she had been taken, only to find the Monteverdes and Zeus already there. Cielo was crying hysterically. The doctor confirmed it, Ceres was gone.
Right then and there, Ryzel lost control. He blamed Zeus, yelling at him, and accusing him of blackmailing Ceres into marriage. He screamed that if not for Zeus's manipulations, Ceres would never have agreed to the wedding. That he wouldn't have married Ciena. That none of this would have happened.
Amid Cielo's sobs, she turned to Zeus. So did Romos, Mr. and Mrs. Clark, Ryza, and even the others present, Narciso, Ciera, and Nissan. The disbelief in their eyes was unmistakable. Could it be true? Had Zeus really blackmailed Ceres?
But Zeus only laughed, the sound hollow and unhinged.
"Did you really believe that lie?" he asked Ryzel, his golden eyes burning with mockery. "Me? Blackmail Ceres?" He shook his head and stepped closer, his voice dropping to a chilling calm. "I was there that night when she called you 'crying'." His lips curled in amusement. "She was sitting on my lap, looking straight into my eyes when she told you, 'I love you' over the phone." He tilted his head toward Ciena. "Ask her. She begged Ceres to help her make sure your wedding would happen."
Then Zeus laid out the truth, every painful, humiliating detail.
It had all been Ceres's plan. She knew exactly how Ryzel would react. She knew he was delusional, that he would believe whatever she told him, that he would fight tooth and nail to keep their connection alive. She played him like a puppet, making him pay for his lies to the Monteverdes.
Zeus revealed he had been in the powder room when Ryzel and Ceres were 'scheming' about how he would win her back. And the moment Ceres left Ryzel, she had laughed her heart out, entertained by how easily he had fallen into her trap.
Ryzel didn't want to believe it. His gaze flickered to Ciena, desperate for reassurance, but she wouldn't look at him. That alone was his confirmation.
Since that day, Ryzel had drowned himself in alcohol, night and day. He had been furious, furious at Ceres for lying to him, for manipulating him so cruelly. But over time, the anger faded.
Now, all that remained was regret.
If only she were alive.
He would have accepted all her lies, her deceit, her cruelty. He would have endured everything just to have her back.
Ceres was the most ruthless woman Ryzel had ever known, and yet, he loved her all the same. And now, he could only watch her through her glass casket, forever asleep.
Ciena approached her mother, unsure how to console her. She knew no words could ease Cielo's grief. Silently, she sat beside her, taking her hand in a quiet offer of comfort. This time, Cielo was a little calmer.
Meanwhile, Ryza remained seated with her parents, solemn and quiet. She and Ceres had been bitter rivals for years. More than once, she had cursed Ceres, even wished her dead in moments of fury. But never had she truly wanted this.
Guests from high society continued to pour in, offering their condolences. The Monteverdes had decided to extend the wake for seven days.
"Mr. Monteverde."
Romos turned at the sound of his secretary's voice. Trudis stood beside him, waiting respectfully while he spoke with another guest.
"What is it, Trudis?" Romos asked, his tone formal. Though he still carried himself with dignity, grief was evident in his eyes.
"There are some people at the entrance who wish to pay their respects and see Ms. Ceres for the last time," Trudis informed him. "But the guards at the village gate won't let them in since they're not on the guest list."
This was an exclusive community, and it was clear that the people waiting outside did not belong to high society.
But at this moment, he didn't care.
"Tell the guardhouse to let them in," he said firmly. "I will take responsibility for them."
Right now, it didn't matter who they were or why they had come. Many people despised his daughter, but if Ceres could see them from wherever she was, Romos wanted her to know, that there were still those who remembered her.
Trudis nodded and quietly excused herself to relay the message to the guards. From this point on, anyone who wished to pay their respects would be allowed in, regardless of their status.
And one by one, they came.
People that no one in high society would have ever associated with Ceres.
A family arrived first, a father and three children. It was immediately clear that they were not from the elite circles. Their clothes were simple, their demeanor humble. The father, holding the smallest child in his arms, stepped forward and spoke in a quiet, emotional voice.
He told them that they had lived in an apartment under Ceres's name just outside the city. His wife had passed away after a long battle with cancer, and their financial situation had crumbled. They had been behind on rent for months, expecting eviction at any moment. But instead of being thrown out, they were allowed to stay. Later, he learned that it was Ceres herself who had personally instructed the building's management to let them be until they could get back on their feet.
More people followed.
Former classmates and schoolmates from high school and college, many of them working students. They shared the same story: because of Ceres, they never had to worry about affording food while studying. She had spoken directly with the cafeteria's management, arranging for all working students and scholars to eat for free, and had shouldered the expenses herself.
An elderly mathematics teacher from her high school, one who suffered from a stutter, arrived next. His hands trembled as he placed flowers near her casket, his eyes misty. He recalled how students often laughed at him whenever he struggled to speak. But Ceres had always turned to those who mocked him with a sharp glare and a warning: if they disturbed her studies with their laughter again, she would personally deal with them. After that, the classroom had remained silent.
The high society guests at the wake watched in disbelief as more and more unfamiliar faces arrived, all there to mourn Ceres Monteverde.
And then, the next day, a group of children from an orphanage arrived.
Each child clutched white lilies or handmade cards with their tiny hands, their eyes swollen from crying. They stood in front of her casket, sobbing openly as they placed their gifts beside her. Some whispered quiet prayers, others simply stared as if expecting her to wake up and smile at them one last time.
Unknown to many, Ceres had been supporting that orphanage for years.
She made sure the children felt that someone out there cared for them. She had sent them to school, ensuring that even the unadopted ones had a chance at a future.
Then came the employees of an animal shelter, men and women who rescued stray, abandoned, and abused animals. They were accompanied by several dogs and cats, many of whom had suffered severe trauma and undergone surgeries before finding safety in the shelter.
"She made sure they had a place to heal," one of the employees said, her voice breaking. "She never asked for recognition, she never even let us take a picture of her. She just… helped."
More people arrived. Simple, ordinary people. Each with their own story of how Ceres had helped them, expecting nothing in return.
"She used to join our feeding programs for women in correctional facilities," one of them told Cielo. "But unlike most people, she never wanted cameras around. She never asked for pictures or videos to be posted on social media. She didn't want people to think she was doing it for show… because she wasn't."
Ceres had helped them, not for attention, not for praise, but just because she could.
The people from the orphanage, the animal shelter, the women's shelter, and others who had crossed paths with her shared something else that night.
They showed Romos, Cielo, and the others at the wake photos and videos of Ceres.
And in those pictures and clips, she was nothing like the cold, arrogant villainess that high society knew.
There was no haughty smirk, no sharp-tongued remarks.
There was only a young woman, kneeling in the mud, laughing as she played with the orphans, her hands covered in paint from their art activities.
A woman with a wide, unguarded smile, teasing the children as they chased her around the field.
A woman, crouched beside a sick dog, holding her breath as she scooped up its waste, grimacing but determined to clean up after it.
With every story shared, with every picture and video shown, those who had truly loved Ceres, her parents, her friends, and especially Zeus, couldn't hold back their tears. But for the first time since her passing, those tears were not only of grief but of pride and joy.
They had always known her heart. Beneath the confidence, the sharp tongue, and the fearless attitude, they had known the depth of her kindness. And now, the world was finally seeing it too.
Meanwhile, shame and self-reproach filled those who had only ever seen Ceres as a villain. They had judged her, and assumed the worst of her, while they themselves had only extended kindness when it was convenient, when it served their status, their reputation, or their political image. Unlike Ceres, they had helped not because they truly cared, but because they had to.
And Ryzel… Ryzel regretted it more than anyone.
He had spent years misunderstanding her, thinking the worst of her. He had never seen this side of Ceres, never realized how much she had done for others without expecting anything in return. He had loved her, yet he had never truly known her. And now, it was too late.
On the day of Ceres's funeral, many had assumed that few would grieve for her. That outside her family and a handful of people, no one would shed a tear for the woman they once labeled as cold and ruthless.
But once again, Ceres proved them wrong.
People came in droves, filling the venue beyond its capacity. Hundreds, if not more, arrived to bid her farewell.
They wore white shirts with her smiling face printed on them, carrying white flowers as their final offering. They released white and blue balloons into the sky, each carrying a handwritten note, messages of love, gratitude, and longing, sent in the hope that somehow, they would reach her.
And despite the unbearable pain of losing their only daughter, Cielo and Romos said their final goodbyes with a smile.
Because now, they knew the truth.
Ceres had been deeply loved, not just by them, but by countless people.
And no matter what others said, no matter how the world had misjudged her, they had raised her right.