Marry me, Mr. Mayor

CHAPTER 9

Mayor Alexander's POV

The moment she walked away from the hall, the air changed.

Not because of the whispers—those were inevitable. Not because of Daniel’s face turning stiff with humiliation, or his mother’s sudden panic, or Gia’s wide-eyed performance.

It changed because the bride didn’t stumble.

She didn’t fall apart the way people expected a woman to fall apart after a public betrayal. She moved with her chin lifted, veil trailing behind her like a flag she refused to surrender. Each step was controlled, deliberate—like she had decided that if she was going to bleed, she would do it standing.

I watched her leave, and the only thought that cut clean through the noise was simple:

She’s not safe here.

“Mayor! ”Daniel’s mother shrieked, voice cracking. “You can’t just let her ruin this! You have to do something! ”

I didn’t look at her. My eyes stayed on Althea’s back until she disappeared past the crowd.

Then I turned—slowly, the way you turn when you want people to understand you’re not angry, but you’re not moving either.

“This ceremony is suspended,” I said, calm enough that the words landed like a gavel. “There will be no marriage today.”

Daniel took a step forward, jaw clenched. “You can’t—”

“I can,” I cut in, not raising my voice. “A civil wedding requires consent. The bride stated, in front of witnesses, that she does not consent. That ends it.”

His eyes flashed. “She’s lying! She’s—she’s doing this to humiliate me! ”

A few of the guests murmured again, hungry for more chaos. I ignored them.

“If you want to argue,” I said evenly, “you can do it somewhere else. Not in my hall.”

Daniel’s father grabbed his arm. “Enough,” he hissed under his breath, fear and anger mixing in his expression. The Bailey name had done what my position alone couldn’t: it had sobered them.

Gia stood behind them, lips parted as if she was about to speak, then thought better of it. Her eyes darted away from mine. People like her understood authority when it looked them in the face.

I motioned to one of the municipal security personnel near the door. “Clear the area; make sure there is no garbage left.”

I said as I glanced at the girl, "Althea was talking earlier."

“Yes, Mayor,” he answered quickly.

Then I took out my phone and made a call without stepping away from the scene. “Chief Rios,” I said, voice low. “Send someone outside the hall. Quiet escort. Now.”

A pause. “Is there a problem, Mayor? ”

“There’s a woman leaving alone,” I replied. “I want her safe.”

I ended the call and finally moved, walking down the aisle the guests had formed without realizing it. People shifted out of my way instinctively. The air was thick with gossip, but nobody dared block me.

Outside, the late morning sun hit my face. The courtyard was louder—motorbikes passing, tricycles idling, the town continuing as if someone’s life hadn’t just snapped in half.

Then I saw her.

Althea stood near the gate, one hand gripping the edge of her veil like she was holding herself together. The other hand—still wearing the ring—was curled into a fist.

Her shoulders were tense, but her posture remained upright. Pride disguised as composure. Pain disguised as discipline.

She didn’t look like someone waiting to be rescued.

She looked like someone deciding what to burn first.

“Miss Bailey,” I called, not too loud, not too soft.

She turned, eyes sharp and bright with unshed tears. For a second, she didn’t speak—just watched me, measuring whether I was another man trying to control the story.

Then she said, “Mayor.”

Up close, the details were clearer: the paleness of her face beneath the makeup, the slight tremor she was fighting in her hands, and the way her gaze refused to drop. Not fragile. Not weak.

Just wounded.

I remove my coat and put it in her.

“I’m having someone escort you,” I said.

“I don’t need—” she began, then stopped, as if the words tasted bitter. Her eyes flicked past my shoulder to the crowd gathering near the door. Daniel was there now, arguing with his father, his face twisted with fury. Gia hovered at the edge like a shadow. Althea’s jaw tightened.

She exhaled once. “Fine. Escort me.”

I nodded. “Where are you headed? ”

“Our mansion,” she answered. “Bailey property.”

Bailey.

Of course I knew the name. Everyone did. Even if you’d never set foot inside one of their malls, even if you’d never seen their ports, you still knew the kind of influence that traveled ahead of them. The kind that turned mayors into polite men.

But that wasn’t what unsettled me.

It was the way she said it—like the mansion wasn’t a threat, but a fact. Like she was simply reminding the world she had somewhere to stand.

“Understood,” I said. “A vehicle will be here in a minute.”

She stared at me for a long beat. “Why are you helping me? ”

It was a fair question. In this country, help always came with an angle.

I kept my tone neutral. “Because you’re alone, and those people are angry. And because my town doesn’t need a second scandal on top of the first.”

Her lips pressed together, as if she almost smiled but didn’t trust it.

“You’re very calm,” she said quietly, almost accusingly.

“I have to be,” I replied. “If I lose control, everyone else will too.”

Her eyes held mine, searching for cracks.

Then she looked away first, her gaze drifting toward the road, toward escape.

A familiar ache stirred in my chest—an uncomfortable, distant memory of a girl with brave eyes and scraped knees, staring up at me like she’d never learned how to beg. A summer I could almost touch. A name—Thea—floating somewhere behind the walls of time.

Chief Rios arrived with two uniformed officers, moving quickly but not aggressively. “Mayor,” he greeted, then glanced at Althea with immediate recognition of her status.

“Escort Miss Bailey to the Bailey mansion,” I instructed.

“Yes, Mayor.”

A black municipal vehicle pulled up moments later, the driver stepping out to open the door. Althea hesitated only once before stepping forward.

Before she got in, she turned back to me. “Mayor Alexander,” she said, speaking my name like she was placing it somewhere she could remember later. “Thank you, and by the way, the offer is still available.”

I inclined my head. “Get home safely, Miss Bailey.”

As the vehicle pulled away, I watched until it turned the corner and disappeared.

Then I turned back toward the municipal hall—toward Daniel, Gia, and the mess they’d left behind.

My phone buzzed with incoming calls I didn’t answer. The town would want statements. Explanations. Drama.

But my thoughts stayed with the bride who hadn’t cried in public.

The bride had set fire to her own wedding without shaking.

I stared at the road where her car had vanished, and the memory I’d been trying to ignore pressed closer—insistent, sharp.

Althea.

I hadn’t heard that name in years.

Yet somehow, it felt like I’d been waiting for it to return.