Bailey POV
The car Timothy had arranged for me was a modest sedan, perfectly blending in with the morning traffic. But as we turned onto a tree-lined avenue, my breath hitched. Ahead, a procession stretched for blocks. Not just cars, but an actual military band, their brass instruments glinting in the morning sun, playing a lively march. Motorcycles with sidecars, decorated with white ribbons, flanked a gleaming black armored vehicle.
It looked like a parade. My parade.
Timothy, seeing my stunned expression, chuckled softly. "Mr. Holden' s arrangements, ma' am. He insisted on a proper celebration."
My mind raced. This was no mere maintenance worker' s wedding. The sheer scale, the military presence, the impeccable organization – it spoke of power, of influence, of a world far beyond what I had imagined. Dangelo' s calm demeanor, his quiet confidence, his refusal of my money – it all clicked into place. He was more than he seemed. Much, much more.
The procession wound through the city, drawing crowds of curious onlookers. Children ran alongside, laughing and scrambling for the wrapped candies and small, intricate paper flowers that were being tossed from the open windows of the vehicles. It was public, glorious, and utterly defiant.
Meanwhile, back at the Robinson mansion, my family was preparing for Chandra' s birthday brunch. My father had arranged for a private car to take them to the country club. The road they usually took, a quiet, winding lane, was now unexpectedly blocked.
"What in the blazes is going on?" my father grumbled from the back seat, peering out the tinted window. "A parade? On a weekday?"
Holt frowned, checking his watch. "Looks like some kind of military celebration, Father. Probably a local regiment moving base or something. Looks quite elaborate."
"Well, it' s delaying us!" my mother huffed. "Chandra' s brunch is at noon. We can' t be late."
Kurtis, seated next to Chandra, looked equally annoyed. "Can' t the driver find another route?"
The driver, after several frustrated attempts, confirmed the entire area was cordoned off for the procession. There was no other way. My family, fuming, was forced to turn back, missing Chandra' s crucial brunch reservation. They were oblivious, utterly oblivious, to whose celebration had caused their inconvenience.
Three days later, the quiet at the Robinson mansion was unsettling. Too quiet. My mother, Alyce, usually bustling with activity, noticed the odd silence of the staff. The usually chirpy housekeepers were tight-lipped, their eyes avoiding hers. The gardeners worked with a grim determination, their movements stiff.
"Timothy," my mother called, spotting the old orderly. "Where is Bailey? I haven' t seen her since our… discussion." She expected me to be sulking in my room, perhaps, or to have left for a few days to cool off.
Timothy, usually so deferential, straightened his back, his gaze steady. "Miss Bailey is no longer residing here, ma' am."
My mother frowned. "I know that, Timothy. She' s probably at a friend' s. I meant, where is she now? Has she called?"
Timothy hesitated, then, with a clear voice, announced, "Miss Bailey was married three days ago, ma' am. She has moved to her husband' s quarters."
My mother gasped, clutching her chest. "Married?!" My father, entering the hall, overheard. "What nonsense are you spouting, Timothy? Married? To whom?"
Timothy, still unnervingly calm, continued, "The ceremony was quite public, sir. A military procession through the city. Many dignitaries attended. Everyone knows."
My parents stared, their faces draining of color. The reality, delivered so bluntly, was a physical blow. Their daughter, married. Publicly. And they knew nothing.
"To whom?!" my father roared, his composure finally shattering. "Who would she marry after such a disgraceful act?"
Timothy' s gaze shifted to Holt, who had just walked in, then to Chandra, who stood behind him, a sickly sweet smile on her face. "To Dangelo Holden, sir."
The name hung in the air like a poisoned dart. My father stumbled back, grabbing a chair to steady himself. My mother let out a choked cry, her hand flying to her mouth. They looked utterly devastated, not by my marriage, but by the sheer, unmitigated humiliation of it all. To a maintenance worker. A common laborer.
Chandra, seeing their despair, rushed forward, feigning concern. "Oh, Aunt Alyce, Uncle Coleman, I' m so sorry! I told you Bailey was just acting out. This is all my fault, isn' t it?" She dabbed at her dry eyes with a delicate handkerchief, a slight, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips.
Holt, however, was watching Chandra. A flicker of suspicion crossed his face. He remembered the circuit breaker, the way Chandra had whispered in his ear, the satisfaction in her eyes when the drone had crashed. He remembered her earlier 'concern' about Bailey getting 'too much attention'.
"Chandra," Holt said, his voice unusually sharp. "You knew, didn' t you? You knew Dangelo wasn' t just a maintenance worker, didn' t you?"
Chandra' s smile vanished. Her eyes darted around, suddenly panicked. "What are you talking about, Holt? Of course not! I just thought…"
"You told me he was just a glorified handyman," Holt pressed, his gaze piercing. "You said he was a nobody. You told me that associating Bailey with him would completely destroy her reputation."
Chandra' s face went white. She stammered, "I… I only heard rumors, Holt. I swear!"
My father, who had slowly regained his footing, stared at Chandra, a dawning horror in his eyes. "Rumors? What rumors? What are you talking about, Holt?"
Holt ignored him, his focus solely on Chandra. "You knew he was the acting CEO of the parent corporation that just acquired a controlling stake in Robinson Dynamics, didn' t you, Chandra? You knew he was undercover, evaluating us. And you used me to embarrass Bailey, hoping it would make you look better in his eyes."
Chandra collapsed, her face a mask of terror. "No! It' s not true! I didn' t know! I swear!"
My mother gasped, staring at her niece, then at my father. The pieces clicked into place. The sabotage, the public humiliation, Kurtis' s rigid adherence to rules, Dangelo' s calm acceptance, the grand wedding. It was all a meticulously orchestrated plan, and Chandra had been the unwitting, or perhaps too-willing, pawn.
"You… you lied to us, Chandra?" My father' s voice was barely a whisper, filled with a profound sense of betrayal. "You used us? To hurt Bailey? To gain favor?"
Chandra scrambled backwards, tears finally streaming down her face. "Uncle Coleman, no! I just wanted to help! I just thought… Bailey was always so distant, so difficult! I just wanted to protect you all!" She hid behind my mother, whimpering.
My mother, for once, didn' t immediately embrace her. She looked at my father, then at Holt, her face a mixture of shock and disgust.
Holt closed his eyes, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. He had been so easily manipulated. So blinded by his own jealousy and Chandra' s feigned sweetness. He had sacrificed his sister, his own blood, for the sake of a conniving opportunist. The entire family, once so proud of their shrewdness, had been played for fools.
He turned and walked away, his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of his regret. He didn' t look back.
