CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 5

[MNOTHO]

She's about to knock off. Brian's clinic closes at 6 p.m., and it's just two minutes to six. Some doctors and nurses have already left; only Pinky and her assistants, Zola and Nikky, are still around. I might as well go inside and wait for her. Brian isn't here, and even if he was, I wouldn't care much about his opinions. There's nothing bad I'm going to do, just give her a ride from work to home, and from home back to work.
I just hope she's not married or dating. I honestly don't have the energy to deal with that kind of drama right now.

As I step inside, I spot Pinky clutching her bag, clearly ready to leave. Our eyes meet and she smiles.

"Twice today?" she teases.
I chuckle softly. "I'm here to do the Lord's work," I reply, glancing around, but I don't see Nikky. "Where's Nikky?" I ask.
"She went to the storeroom, I think, but she hasn't left yet," she answers, giving me a suspicious look.
"I just want to help, that's all. Please don't give me that look," I say, shaking my head.
"What look? I'm just curious, that's all," she shrugs.
I sigh.
"If you say so. I'm not here to do anything bad to her or harass the poor girl, just owning up for Bonga's mistake," I say honestly. I won't harass her; I just want to know her better. Spend some time with her.
"Good, because Bonga almost broke her leg. I hope you pay her," she says and walks off, leaving me frowning. What is it with people and money? I don't mind paying her, but she already said she doesn't want to be paid.

Just as I'm about to sit down, I hear footsteps.
There she is, Nikky… limping slightly but still trying to walk fast, like she doesn't want anyone to notice. Her pink coat is half open, her hair tied up neatly, and she looks tired, drained… but still beautiful as ever.

She stops the moment she sees me standing there.
"What are you doing here again?" she asks, her tone sharp, one brow raised.
"I told you," I answer calmly, "I'm your personal driver now."
She lets out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "You're joking, right? You don't even know where I stay."
I smirk. "Then tell me, so I can take you home safely."
She sighs, clearly annoyed. "Mr. Mlambo…"
"Mnotho," I cut in softly, gently. I don't know why she can't just call me by my name.
She stares at me, clearly running out of patience. "Fine, Mnotho," she says, saying my name like it's an insult. "I told you earlier, I don't need a driver, personal or not. I can manage."
I fold my arms, refusing to move. "You shouldn't be walking around with that leg, Nikky. At least let me help until you're healed."
"I said I'm fine," she snaps, trying to move past me. But I step aside slowly, still watching her.
She limps to the reception desk to grab her bag. I can see she's in pain, but too proud to admit it. Why is she so stubborn?
"Can you stop staring at me like that?" she says sharply, glancing at me from the corner of her eye.
"Like what?" I ask, pretending not to understand.
"Like… that," she mutters through gritted teeth. "It's weird and annoying."
I chuckle softly. "You're cute when you're furious."
She freezes and turns around sharply, irritation written all over her face. "Excuse me?"
"Nothing," I say quickly, raising my hands in surrender. "Come on, Peach… I mean, Nikky. Let me at least take you home. No funny business," I say lightly. "And I know you need to rest, eat, and sleep."
Her eyes narrow with annoyance, but she doesn't argue this time. She hesitates, then sighs loudly.
"Fine," she says flatly, "but just today."
I grin, gesturing with my hand. "That's all I need to prove my point."
She rolls her eyes hard. "Men like you always have a point to prove."
"And women like you," I say, smiling as she walks past me, "always make it worth proving."

.
.
.
At least the car is warm. It was a bit chilly outside. She's sitting on the passenger seat quietly, just staring ahead. I know nothing about her, just her name, surname, and of course, that she's stubborn. I guess I just have to be patient until she allows me into her heart and her space.

But I can't keep quiet for long. Bonga will want details, he'll want to know how it went. He's the one who came up with this idea, and it's not a bad one, obviously.

I clear my throat.
"Who do you stay with?" I ask. She only gave me an address. She stays in Maboneng. She sighs hard, clearly annoyed.
"I just need to know in case you stay with your man. I don't want to get shot, that's how people move on that side where you live," I add softly, trying not to laugh.
"Oh, how I wish I stayed with a man, so he can shoot your annoying ass," she says dryly. I chuckle loudly.
"Oh, Peaches, you are rude," I say, amused. She gives me the deadliest side-eye.
"Mr. Mlambo, just take me home and stop being irritating. I'm tired, and my leg hurts," she says softly.
I blink, my eyes flicking to her leg, then back to the road.
"Should I take you to the hospital?" I ask, a bit panicked.
She shakes her head quickly. "I'll drink my pills and I'll be fine. I need no hospital," she insists.
But I'm still worried. She's clearly in pain. I should talk to Brian, get her more days off. She's not ready to be back at work. She needs rest. Maybe I should get her one of those get-well-soon baskets with snacks, meds, and maybe flowers.
"Can I get you something to eat?" I blurt out. "Something for when you get home, so you won't have to cook. Just eat, shower, and sleep," I ramble, but I mean every word.
And she knocks off late. Does she really wait for a taxi at 6 p.m.? In winter, when it's already dark? It's unsafe. From Auckland Park to Bree, then a taxi to Maboneng? No, too much admin. Public transport sucks sometimes, and don't even mention the cabs, the kidnappings, the rising femicide. God, I'm already panicking here.

And also, I heard Brian mentioning that his clinic will be a 24-hour clinic now, which is good for business. But the girl next to me? Public transportation is dangerous. No, she's not doing that again. Not if I can help it.

"I'm fine, Mr. Mlambo. I'll cook. I love cooking when I get home, and I'm sure my friend will bring food," she replies, cutting me off mid-thought.
Friend?
"I hear you," I say, trying to stay calm. "But you need to rest, Peaches. I'll drop you off at your place and get you a meal. It's the least I can do. You're in this situation because of my son."
I wish I'd met her under different circumstances. But fate is fate. I'm just glad I met her.
She sighs, shaking her head, clearly defeated.
"Do you need dessert with your meal? Maybe a chocolate cake?" I ask. The last time I saw her, she was eating one. I want to know everything about her: her food, places, little habits, everything.
"I was craving cinnamon rolls all day," she says softly. "But I don't have the ingredients to bake."
I smile. Cinnamon rolls it is.

.
.
.

I got her supper and dessert; she won't have to stand on the stove and cook tonight. As we stop by her flats, her gate in sight, she tells me there's no need to drive inside. She'll manage from here. Their flats are beautiful, designed with art and graffiti, each wall telling a story. I just don't want her to leave yet. I wish I could keep her longer in this car, just to talk, just to see that subtle shift in her expression. Patient, Mnotho, I keep repeating to myself. Patience.
She finally turns to me, face blank as ever, no smile, no softness, just that calm, unyielding look that makes my chest ache in ways I can't name. My fingers itch, wishing I could trace the smoothness of her skin, so soft, so impossibly hers.
"Thank you, and bye," she says flatly.
I gasp, shocked, even though I had expected it.
"Come on, Peaches," I say, my voice pleading just a bit. She frowns, sharp and annoyed.
"Stop calling me that," she snaps, voice sharp.
I smile, my heart betraying me.
"I will stop calling you Peaches the day you stop calling me Mr. Mlambo," I reply softly, a lie I have no intention of keeping. I won't stop calling her that, not ever. She huffs and shakes her head, exasperated.
"I'm not in the mood for this. Thank you for the ride, but I won't need it anymore, Mr. Mlambo. Good night," she says, reaching for the door.

It's locked. She freezes, turning her gaze on me, sharp and accusatory, but I only smile.
"See you tomorrow morning, Peaches," I say, unlocking the door. She doesn't argue. She steps out carefully, still limping slightly, gathering her things. At least she didn't slam the door this time.
I watch her walk in, greeting the guards politely, disappearing into the safety of her home. And as the car sits quiet, I make a promise to myself. I will drive her until she has my surname, until her heart, her life, and everything about her belongs to me. Until the day she's mine in every way, I won't stop. Every ride, every moment, every mile, I'll be there, silently waiting, silently protecting, silently loving, until the world allows me to call her mine.

__

"Your sisters have been trying to call you," Bonga says as I walk in. Jesus, I haven't even taken a seat yet and I'm already being bombarded by him. I sink into the chair and take a long breath, loosening my suit.
"My phone is off. What do they want?" I ask, confused.
"Aunt Tshengisile's blood pressure is high. They want you to come home and help her with her son," Bonga says. I frown slightly. Go home?
"Help her with who?" I ask, perplexed. How is this my business? She can't handle her own son? Bonga shrugs.
"Mtho is out of rehab, and she's worried he might relapse, so she wants you to go home, speak with him, and convince him to go back and get more help," he says softly. I blink and gasp. They've gotta be kidding me.
"And how is that my problem, Siyabonga?" I say, bewildered. Where is Mtholephi's father?
"Dad, please don't get angry at me. I'm just a messenger. Call her and hear what she has to say," he says, trying to soften it.
I shake my head. Mtho's father must deal with this, not me. I have things to handle here. I can't keep running to Nquthu every time Mtho has an issue. No. He has a father. And where is Bangizwe? As the older uncle, why can't he help his sister and nephew?
"I'm not going home. They will deal with it," I say, standing up. "I need to go and shower," I add firmly.
"She won't be happy that you're not helping her. She'll be even more angrier finding out you won't go home because of a girl twice your age," he says, shrugging. I blink in disbelief.
"But as your fan, don't worry. I won't say anything," he adds, this cocky bastard. I really don't care if Tshengisile gets mad or not. I'll just send a message and tell her I'm not coming.
"By the way, Dad, Kananelo will be visiting for two days. There's something he needs to deal with," Bonga says. I turn to look at him.
"What's wrong with him?" I ask, confused. Why didn't Julia tell me?
"Just siblings' things, Dad. Don't worry too much," he says dismissively. Oh, I don't trust that at all. I will have to call Julia about this or Khutso.

••••••••

[NIKEZINKOSI]

Diamond didn't sleep here last night. She texted me that she went to see her aunt and lost track of time, so she decided to sleep in. Well, I guess Mnotho's food did come in handy because I ate it last night and even left some for my lunch. My cinnamon rolls… I'll have them now with my tea and take my painkillers. Diamond won't find any because I'm going to finish them all and maybe share some with Zola at work.
As much as Mnotho pisses me off and annoys me, I can't say no to food. It doesn't matter how angry or sad I am, I will eat. And yes, I will devour these cinnamon rolls he got for me. I sigh softly. He has managed to occupy my mind, and I don't like this one bit. Last time a man occupied my mind and heart, I almost ended up in a mental institution, in a mental ward. And now… a man, sneaky as hell, is trying to do it again, and I don't like this at all.

Yes, yesterday he helped me with a ride so much because the struggle of getting taxis or standing in long queues was going to make everything worse. It makes me mad, it really does, that I should have said yes to him and his son to give me money so I would have been able to pay for a cab without thinking much. I guess I'll have to use the chili oil money I made to get a cab. Taxis are much cheaper anyway, but standing in the queue with a stinging leg won't make the situation any better.

Sno has asked to go out with me today before her week gets crazier, which is rare. I'm usually the one asking her to hang out, and she always has excuses about her job or her artists. The last time we went out was three months ago. Nokuzola is just a colleague, but I hang out with her more than with my best friend.
Mnotho… said he'll come and give me a ride this morning too, which makes me wonder: how old is this man? How old is Bonga? Where is his wife? I don't want acid thrown on my face because I was seen riding with a man, in his car, on the front seat even. I should have asked him all these questions yesterday, but I was too angry. And maybe… maybe he won't come. I shouldn't worry too much.

__

I'm dreading as I get closer to the gate, silently praying that he's not here. I wave at the guard and walk out, clutching my bag tighter. The moment my eyes lift. I freeze.

He's there. Leaning against his car, waving at me like we're in some kind of romantic comedy. Gracious God, he was serious. My mind screams run inside, leave him standing there waiting for a ride that'll never happen, but my heart? My heart is curious. Too curious. And that alone will be the death of me.

I start walking towards him, limping a little. He rushes forward to meet me halfway, but no, he ain't touching me.
"Don't touch me," I say quickly, holding out my hand like a stop sign.
He blinks and coughs lightly.
"I'm trying to help, my lady," he says, but I brush past him.
"You're clearly struggling, let me help," he adds, his voice low, almost careful.

I keep quiet and pause near his car. He opens the passenger door for me, and I slowly climb in. He steadies me just a little, his hand brushing my arm, and I freeze. His hand is warm, too warm.
He gives me that stupid smile before closing the door. A satisfied one. The "I won" kind.

When he gets in, he's humming softly, like someone who just accomplished something great. He's clearly happy that I didn't argue with him this time. His car smells clean and expensive, leather, mint, and something masculine that lingers in the air. The heater is on, and I silently appreciate it because it's freezing this morning and all I've got is a cardigan.
"How are you this morning, my Peach?" he asks, starting the car.
Here we go again with that pet name. Peach.
Why does he keep calling me that?
Why does it make me want to punch him and smile at the same time?
Why can't he just call me Nikky like everyone else?
"You're a morning person?" I ask instead of answering his question.
He glances at me, frowns a little, then smiles.
"I guess I am now."
I roll my eyes. "And you? Are you a morning person?" he asks curiously.
"No. I'm not. I don't like talking before 8 a.m.," I say seriously.
He laughs out loud, a deep, full sound that fills the car.
"You're very grumpy. Why? And you work with people, so you don't talk to them?" he teases.
He's a joker now. Great.
"Don't you have a job, Mr. Mlambo?" I ask, sounding bored.
He nods happily and keeps his eyes on the road.
"I love this. You're trying to know me. Good. But how about I take you for lunch, and you can ask all your questions then?"
He stops at the red light, glancing at me with a smug grin. I turn my head to look at him, disbelief all over my face. This sneaky fool.
"No. The answer is no," I say firmly, turning to look out the window.
He giggles under his breath, and my heart skips a beat when I see the car next to us.
"Sbo…" I whisper, eyes widening. He's glaring at me, his expression tight, jaw set, clearly angry, pointing behind me at Mnotho.
My stomach sinks. What in the world is Sbo doing here?
Is he following us? And why does he look like he's about to explode?

••••••

[DIAMOND]

Diamond and TK are at the mall, where they'll do their little heist. Three shops, that's the plan. Hit them clean, hit them smart, and then rest for the next two months. That'll give her enough money to stay afloat and keep her luxury lifestyle intact. She's not going back to being broke, not after she's tasted comfort.

TK was right. These particular shops are definitely involved in money laundering. The signs are obvious: hardly any customers, yet they're always open, lights shining bright like they make millions a day. Three or maybe two shoppers per hour at most. Suspicious, yes, but perfect for them.
She and TK had already walked in earlier, pretending to need some gadgets, asking a few fake questions, but really, they were just scouting. TK's sneaky link works in one of the stores, and thanks to her big mouth, they know every detail; the storeroom layout, the blind spots, and which manager leaves early on Wednesdays. The other two shops are trickier. They're not sure if they have CCTV inside the storerooms, but that won't stop them.
Once they find the right cable and cut power to the cameras, they'll turn this entire corner of the mall into Dark City.

Diamond adjusts her sunglasses and glances around. There's been this man, wearing a white and blue jacket, the type who blends into crowds too easily, staring at her on and off since she arrived. At first, she thought maybe he was just thinking she looks familiar, but now? Now it's giving creepy vibes.

She spots him again near the perfume shop, picking up a bottle, pretending to test it, not even glancing her way this time. She exhales in relief. Maybe she's just overthinking. Her nerves are all over the place; she's about to commit a crime, after all.
Her phone vibrates. She snatches it up quickly. It's a text from Sbo. She rolls her eyes and sighs in relief. It's not her supervisor texting to check on her, thank God. It's her lunch break anyway, so Nicole should chill a bit.

"I saw Nikky with a man," the message reads.

Diamond giggles quietly to herself and shakes her head. "So now Nikky can't talk to men?" she mutters, stuffing her phone back into her bag. She starts to move away from the perfume stand, ready to head out, when she suddenly bumps into someone hard.
She stumbles back a little, blinking rapidly, trying to steady herself. When she finally looks up, she freezes.
It's him. The same man. Just standing there. Staring at her with that blank, unreadable face.

"Excuse you, King of England," Diamond snaps mockingly, but the man doesn't even flinch. Doesn't move. Doesn't say a word. Just stares at her like she's part of some puzzle he can't solve.
That only pisses Diamond off more.
"What's with you? Why are you following me?" she fires, folding her arms. Her eyes dart around. Where's TK? And who the hell is this?
The man lets out a short, annoyed huff.
"Following you? Why would I follow you? Who the fuck are you?" he shoots back, irritation dripping from his tone.
Diamond's eyebrows shoot up.
"Who the fuck I am? Really? You've been following me everywhere!" she sneers, taking a threatening step forward. For a second, she's genuinely tempted to punch him.
"Sisi, leave me alone. I'm trying to shop here. You're the one following me, staring at me like I'm a ghost or something," the man fires back sharply.
Diamond laughs sarcastically. "Oh, that's rich. Now I'm the one following you?"
"Is there a problem here?" a lady's voice interrupts softly. She's smiling politely, the kind of customer service smile that means please don't make a scene in front of management. She works here, judging by her name tag.
Diamond glares at the guy, then points at him dramatically. "This guy is harassing me and following me."
The lady's eyes widen. "Harassing you?" she repeats, confused.
The man scoffs, throwing his hands up. "Harassing you? Are you serious right now?"
The lady looks between them, completely lost. "Uhm, you two walked in here together. You ain't a couple?" she asks cautiously.
Diamond laughs dryly, disbelief all over her face. "Are you okay? I did not walk in here with this man. I don't know him," she says loudly, anger bubbling in her voice.

The poor lady opens and closes her mouth, clearly regretting asking. Diamond turns sharply back to the man, her finger pointed at him like a warning dagger.

"I'll deal with you. Follow me again, and you'll know me," she says fiercely, then storms off, her heels clicking against the tiles.
The man just stands there, exhaling deeply, muttering something under his breath as she disappears into the crowd.

By the time she's outside the shop, far from the scene, her heart whispers for her to turn around. Against her better judgment, she does but the man isn't following her. The spot where he stood is empty.
Relief washes over her, but it's tangled with something else she can't name, a strange, uneasy pull that leaves her both anxious and curious about him.