Marry me, Mr. Mayor

PROLOGUE

“F*ck… you’re so tight, babe—”

The words hit the air like a slap.

I froze mid-step, my fingers still hovering over the doorframe, my breath snagging so hard it felt like my lungs forgot what they were meant to do. Instinctively, my hand flew to my mouth—too late to stop the tiny, broken sound that almost escaped me.

The hallway outside Daniel’s room was dim, lit only by the weak yellow bulb that made the painted walls look older than they were. The whole house had gone quiet the way provinces do at night—crickets outside, a faint rustle of leaves, the occasional creak of wood settling. Everything sounded normal.

Except for what was coming from behind that door.

“I like it… I like it,” a woman’s voice gasped, breathless and wild. “Harder, Dan!”

Gia.

My body turned cold in an instant, like someone had poured ice down my spine. For a second I told myself I must have heard wrong. Gia was Daniel’s childhood friend. That was what he said. Gia was “like a little sister.” Gia was “nothing to worry about.”

But the sounds didn’t lie.

And neither did the way the door wasn’t fully closed—just enough of an opening to let the truth slip through.

I should’ve walked away right then. I should’ve protected what was left of my heart.

But my feet moved anyway, as if pulled forward by something crueler than curiosity—something that needed certainty, even if it destroyed me.

I leaned closer.

The gap widened just enough.

And that’s when I saw them.

Inside the room, my fiancé—Daniel—was there with no shame, no hesitation, no sign of guilt on his face. He had no clothes on, no decency left to hide behind. Gia was with him, just as bare, just as unafraid. The bed sheets were tangled, the air thick, the lamp casting a warm glow that made the scene look even more real—like a nightmare lit in gold.

For a moment, my mind refused to accept it. Like my eyes had betrayed me. Like my brain was trying to protect me by turning the truth into something blurry.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to do this anymore,” Gia panted, her voice too casual for what she was doing, too amused—like she was talking about canceling plans. “Since you’re marrying tomorrow.”

My stomach twisted violently.

Tomorrow.

Our wedding.

The dress I tried on earlier was still hanging in my closet. The papers were filed. The guests were already gathered in the province. People were already whispering about our future, about how lucky I was, about how perfect everything seemed.

Tomorrow, I was supposed to become his wife.

And tonight, he was—

“Even if I’m married,” Daniel answered, breathless and confident, “I’ll still—” His voice dipped lower, rougher, like he was proud of himself. “I’ll still do you like I’m single.”

My knees nearly gave out.

I didn’t realize I’d started shaking until my ring scraped lightly against my lip—because my hand was still clamped over my mouth, trying to hold back a scream, trying to swallow the humiliation before it could become sound.

Then Gia turned her head.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Her gaze slid straight to the door.

Straight to me.

And she smiled.

Not surprised. Not startled. Not guilty.

A smile sharp enough to cut.

A smile that said: Yes, I know you’re there.

My blood turned to fire.

She held my eyes for a long second, the kind of second that stretches into eternity, and in that look she managed to tell me everything—without speaking a word.

She knew.

She wanted me to see.

And the worst part—the part that made bile rise in my throat—was the way she stayed perfectly comfortable, perfectly pleased, as if this was normal.

As if they had done this before.

That was when the memory hit me, cruel and mocking: all the times Daniel acted “respectful” with me. All the times he said he didn’t want to rush. All the times he made me believe he was a gentleman because he never demanded that part of me.

I used to think it was love.

I used to think it was patience.

I used to think it was proof he was different.

But now I understood the truth in the ugliest way possible.

He didn’t ask me… because he didn’t have to.

He was getting what he wanted from someone else.

I bit down hard on my lip, tasting blood, because it was the only thing that felt real enough to keep me from breaking apart on the floor.

My eyes blurred, and only then did I realize my cheeks were wet.

I was crying.

Quietly, helplessly—tears falling down my face as I stood in the dark like a stranger in my own life.

I had come here thinking I would finally confess my identity.

A small surprise before the wedding.

But it was me who got surprised.

And it wasn’t sweet.

I didn’t watch any longer.

I couldn’t.

Because if I stayed one more second, I might do something I couldn’t undo—scream, claw, shatter the door, drag them both into the hallway and let the whole house hear what kind of man Daniel truly was.

But something inside me—something colder than heartbreak—made a different choice.

I stepped back from the door as carefully as if the floor might betray me. My legs felt numb, like they belonged to someone else. I forced myself to breathe silently, even though my chest burned. Even though my throat ached with everything I refused to say.

I walked away.

Each step down the hallway felt like I was leaving pieces of myself behind—my trust, my softness, the version of me that still wanted to believe love could be simple.

When I reached my room, I shut the door and pressed my back against it, hand trembling as I wiped my face. The tears wouldn’t stop, but I wiped them anyway—over and over—like I could erase what I had seen by erasing the evidence that it hurt.

My reflection in the mirror looked unfamiliar. My eyes were red. My lips were bitten raw.

I inhaled slowly, forcing air into my lungs until my chest steadied. Until my hands stopped shaking. Until the pain sharpened into something I could hold—something I could shape.

“Just wait,” I said, voice low enough for only the walls to hear. “You’ll see…”

I swallowed hard, tasting salt and blood.

“You’ll see how Althea Bailey gets her revenge.”