CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 30

[NIKEZINKOSI]

I'm finally leaving this place after two days of lying in this bed, staring at these walls and nurses who keep checking my drip even when I don't need checking. My body feels lighter now and all I want is my own bed, my own pillow, my own silence.
But going back to my place has become a whole diplomatic issue.
If Mnotho had his way, he'd carry me out of here and straight into his house, lock the door and tell the world to mind their business. Not happening. Not yet.
"I was supposed to be the one taking you home, not Letsatsi," he complains, voice full of that spoiled tone he only uses with me.
I know why Letsatsi insisted on driving me. He wants answers. He wants to apologise for his wife.
And Ntobe? I'm still hurt that she thought I planned to be kidnapped. Planned.
As if any of this was a game.
"Baby, you can't be on my side 24/7," I tell him softly, trying to make light of it.
But he doesn't laugh.
He just looks at me like he wants to argue, like the idea of me being out of his reach even for an hour is physically painful.
I didn't get many gifts.
Diamond got me a phone and a laptop.
Sno brought me those fancy culinary knives she's always bragging about.
And Sbo, of course, got me a vinyl player and a printer. Now my chilli jars will finally look professional.
"Who got you that?" he asks as I place the small printer box into the gift bag. His tone is too casual to be real.
"Sboniso," I say, glancing at him. "Diamond's brother. I'm sure you've met him."
His frown deepens immediately.
"No, I never met him," he says. Too fast. Too defensive.
He stands up and walks toward me, placing his hands on my waist like he's staking a claim.
He's lying. I can feel it. And he definitely knows who Sbo is.
"He's the only one, or the only man, who got you an expensive gift," he says quietly.
I scoff under my breath.
"Letsatsi got me a gift too. And Zola's brother."
I stop myself right there.
Do not mention he's jealous of Sbo.
He already knows. His eyes say it. His hands gripping my waist say it. His breath coming a little heavier says it.
Mnotho steps even closer, his chest almost touching mine.
"Those are normal gifts," he says softly. "But this Sbo, he buys you things like he's trying to make a statement."
I raise a brow. "What statement?"
His jaw tightens.
"That you're someone he can win."
My heart stutters.
I wasn't ready for that answer.
I chuckle softly, trying to ease the tension sitting heavy between us.
"Baby, you shouldn't worry about Sbo. He's like a brother to me," I say truthfully. And Sbo… God, even I don't know how to explain him. Sno swears he's blindly in love with me but too scared to ever say it. Maybe she's right. Maybe she's wrong. I don't know.
"Oh really?" he says.
His voice is too calm.
Too quiet.
He looks away for a second, jaw clenched, as if he's fighting with a memory he doesn't want to revisit.
"Last time someone said that to me," he continues softly, "I found out the 'brother' wanted to send her to the grave with love."
He lets out a short laugh, sharp, empty, bitter.
Not humour. Not even close.
Jealousy.
But not the loud, childish kind.
The bitter, wounded kind.
The kind that comes from an old bruise that never healed right.
The kind that says I've lost before.
The kind that says please don't do that to me too.
We stare at each other, a long, tense moment stretching between us.
I don't know if I should laugh or be offended.
Both emotions clang inside me at once.
"I'm not her, Mnotho," I say, my voice edged with irritation. I didn't mean to sound pissed, but it slips out anyway.
I try to pull my hands away from his waist, to create space, but he holds me tighter, not harsh, not forceful, just firm enough to say don't pull away from me too.
"I didn't say you are her," he says quickly, voice turning defensive. "I was just…remembering something, that's all."
His eyes flicker back to mine, softer now, but still carrying the shadow of whatever that past did to him.
"Then maybe you shouldn't be here," I say, my voice low but sharp. "Maybe you should heal from your past if you're going to compare her to me."
He gasps softly, blinking fast, like I slapped him with the truth he wasn't ready for.
"No… Sthandwa sami, I'm not comparing you to her," he murmurs, the defensive edge melting into something fragile. "I'll never do that."
I try to pull my hands from his grip again, but he tightens it, almost desperate.
Where the hell is Letsatsi when I need someone to interrupt this?
"Mnotho, I need to leave," I say firmly. "So you can deal with your past alone."
His breath stumbles, and he shakes his head slowly.
"No. You're not leaving," he says softly, not commanding, but pleading. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned her or compared what we have to anything I had before."
He swallows, the truth wrestling its way out.
"And no, I'm not in love with her. I'm more angry at the man than I ever was at her."
Of course. Men will say anything to smooth the situation, even when they're shaking inside.
"I love you. Only you. Not anyone else," he whispers.
Then he leans closer slow, careful, like he's afraid I'll pull away and his lips press against mine.
It's gentle. Apologetic.
A kiss that's begging me not to walk away.
He pulls back slowly, like he's afraid even the space between our lips might break us. His breath brushes mine, warm, shaky, unsure. His eyes search my face, pleading and soft, almost desperate, begging me not to shut down, not to retreat, not to let this moment turn into something we can't undo.
There's something raw in his gaze.
Not just fear. Not just regret.
Love mixed with panic, like he's terrified I'll slip right through his fingers.
He looks at me like I'm the only thing standing between him and every heartbreak he's ever survived.
"Please," his eyes say even before his mouth moves. Please don't leave.
Please don't compare yourself to ghosts I never asked for.
Please believe that I love you the way I should've been loved too.
His hands loosen on my waist, not letting go, but not trapping me either.
"I meant it," he whispers, voice rough, as if the words are scraped right out of his soul. "I love you, more than anything that happened before you. Fiercely. Completely. Nothing about my past changes that."
I sigh softly. It slips out of me without permission, heavy and tired, carrying everything I don't know how to say. I hate this feeling. I hate being pulled into memories that aren't mine. I hate being compared or dragged into something I know nothing about, something that already wounded him long before I ever showed up. And I don't know if I'm pissed or sad or just completely annoyed. Maybe it's everything mixed together. Maybe it's my hormones. Maybe it's the lingering fear from the past few days. Maybe I'm just overwhelmed.
Because I know at some point in this relationship we will have to talk about the ghosts of the past.
Ghosts like that don't just disappear.
They linger. They wait.
They come back at the worst times and scratch at the walls of a happiness you're still trying to build.
They test boundaries, test trust, test whether love is as strong as you say it is.
And standing here in his arms, I don't even know if I'm ready for any of that.
I don't know if I'm ready to face whatever darkness shaped him into the man holding me now.
I don't know if I'm ready to handle the ghosts he still flinches at.
But I do know one thing.
I'm scared.
Scared of being hurt by something I didn't create. Scared of fighting battles I didn't start.
Scared of loving someone whose past still has claws in him.
And he looks at me like he feels every bit of that fear, like he knows exactly what he just triggered, and he's terrified he might lose me to it.
"Mnotho… I'm not going anywhere. You can let go of me now," I say gently.
He doesn't budge. Not even a little.
He just holds me tighter, as if loosening his grip might make me fade away.
"You are angry," he says, watching my face closely. "I can see that."
Of course I'm angry.
Because I know him, and I know if I ever compared him to anyone I loved before, he would break. He would burn the world down before he allowed me to share a space with old wounds or old lovers.
"I'm not angry, baby," I say, lying through my teeth. The lie burns on my tongue. I just want to leave this place, get to my flat, shut the door and let myself cry. Because the tears are creeping up my throat already. I can feel them. And I refuse to fall apart in this space, in front of him, in front of anyone.
"We have to fix this," he says softly, voice gentle but urgent. "We are leaving for our vacation in three days. I don't want us to leave this hanging…"
I swallow hard and force myself to breathe calmly.
"But I'm okay, baby. I'm not angry at all. I just didn't like you comparing me to her," I say quietly, choosing my words carefully.
He groans softly, guilt crashing over his features.
"I'm sorry, Peaches… please forgive me. It will never happen again. And I do trust you," he says before leaning in to kiss me, slow, remorseful, careful. "Never again. I promise."
Then he pulls me into a tight hug, arms wrapping around me like he's trying to protect me from the same ghosts he brought up.
I sigh softly and hug him back, even though part of me is still shaken.
Even though the tears are still burning behind my eyes.

_

I had asked Mnotho to be gentle with Bonga regarding the illegal casino thing and not be furious with him. Because I know him. I know exactly what he would do if he approached this the wrong way. He would shout at Bonga, push him, crush him with expectations he never actually asked Bonga about. He would make things worse without even meaning to.
I told him he should ask Bonga what he really wants, what he wants to pursue, and not just shove him back into that box he created and designed for him. That perfect son box. That well-behaved, straight-path, predictable child box. A box that was never made for Bonga. And of course Bonga will be rebellious if he keeps forcing him into it. Anyone would.
"You are quiet," Letsatsi says softly, snapping me out of my thoughts. Little does he know my mind is not here in the car. It's tangled somewhere between worry for my stepson, irritation at being misunderstood, and the exhaustion of everything I've survived in the last two days.
I smile anyway. A small tired smile. "I'm just happy that I'm well and survived," I say honestly.
He nods, eyes still on the road, but I can feel him thinking. "I'm happy too. And that bastard didn't harm you," he says softly, sincerity in every word. Then he pauses. His grip on the steering wheel shifts. "I'm just curious though… and please don't take this the wrong way."
I chuckle silently. I know exactly where this is going. My stomach drops before he even asks.
"What is it?" I ask.
He sighs heavily, like he's been holding this question for hours, maybe even days.
"Were you dating him?" he asks.
I gasp, blinking fast, disbelief flaring through me, then offense, then pure shock.
"I'm just asking, Nikky," he continues gently. "Because it seems like it's more of an obsession kidnapping of lovers than a…"
"No. I wasn't dating that guy. God, what is wrong with you and Ntobe?" I ask, irritated and tired. Today the universe is really testing me.
"Don't take it the wrong way," he says quickly. "I see there's so much you're hiding from us. And Ntobe is worried about you."
I go quiet. I can feel the anger building slowly, like water behind a cracking dam.
"She thinks maybe you… you were dating this guy. And you fought with him. And things got bad and he kidnapped you to punish you," he says, voice low, like even he can hear how ridiculous that sounds.
God. This is insane.
This is insulting.
And it makes absolutely no sense.
"We don't even know where he is, or where he's been arrested. We know nothing. Only you and Diamond know. And that's suspicious already," he adds. "I'm not attacking you. I'm just trying to understand. Are you in trouble, Nikky?" His voice softens with real worry. "Are you hiding something? Are you scared of something?"
His concern is real.
But so is the sting of being misunderstood again.
So is the exhaustion of having to defend myself from the people who should know me better.
People who should understand me without twisting everything into a secret or a scandal.
And of course I don't know which jail or prison they took Paul to. I never asked. I don't want to know. The moment I woke up in that hospital bed and Mnotho told me not to worry about it, I decided right there that I wouldn't. I want to move on from this nightmare, from this fear, from the humiliation of being dragged into something I never asked for. I just want my life back.
And right now
I'm protecting Diamond more than Paul.
Because I know Ntobe.
I know exactly how she thinks.
She has never understood Diamond, never liked her, never trusted her, and if she finds out she handled anything behind the scenes, she will make this situation ten times worse. For her, for me, for everyone.
So yes. I will keep quiet.
I will not entertain Letsatsi's wild theories or Ntobe's imaginations.
Not today. Not when my body is still healing and my heart is still trembling from everything I've been through.
I stare straight ahead, refusing to let my voice shake.
"I'm sorry if I offended you," Letsatsi says finally, voice softer now, almost hesitant. "It's just… the last time something like this happened, you almost died. And you lost something in the process. I just want to be sure that you're safe. That you're not dealing with… another Sphephelo."
His words land hard.
Too hard. My throat burns instantly and I turn my face toward the window, pretending to look at the passing streets, hiding the way my eyes sting.
Just like Mnotho's ghost, it seems mine refuses to disappear too.
People keep bringing up his name like a curse I can never wash off.
Always. Always.
The past that nearly killed me, literally, being dragged into conversations I never want to relive.
I breathe slowly, fighting the tight ache building in my chest.
Because today I survived a kidnapping.
I survived fear. And now I'm fighting ghosts I buried long ago.
And it's all starting to feel like too much.
.
.
.
"We should have lunch," Letsatsi says gently.
We're already in my flat.
Funny enough, I don't even get any flashbacks of what happened here. It's strange. As if my mind blocked this specific place out to protect me.
"Maybe tomorrow," I say, slipping out of my shoes. "I have to prepare for my exams."
I can't even tell him I'm going on a romantic getaway. A whole vacation with Mnotho.
This moment right here, this silence, makes me realise something I've been avoiding,
Did I rush into being in a relationship with Mnotho? Am I even healed?
Completely? Or did I just cover my wounds with new excitement and call it moving on?
I was out there telling him maybe he's not healed, while here I am still battling shadows from the past.
Still flinching at certain topics.
Still scared of love in the way that matters.
And I can't even say "I love you" back.
Because a part of me is terrified that the minute I do, he'll change on me.
Disappear. Or hurt me without meaning to.
What a hypocrite I am.
"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow then," he says, stepping closer. "I'll tell your sister too."
He hugs me, tight, warm, familiar.
"She loves you," he adds quietly into my ear.
I know she does. I love her too.
But sometimes, people who love you can be the ones who annoy you the most.
Not because they're bad.
But because they care loudly, in ways that hurt against your raw places.
"I love her too," I reply, pulling back slightly. "We can go see Mom tomorrow, and have lunch with her."
His entire face lights up. He loves Mom. He won't say no to that.
"Of course," he nods, eyes softening. "I'll tell Ntobe."
Then his gaze lingers on me, deep and searching, like he's trying to read something behind my face.
Trying to understand what I'm not saying.
Maybe he sees the exhaustion in me. Maybe he feels the distance I'm trying to hide.
"Get some rest," he says finally, voice warm and protective. "I'll see you tomorrow, nana."

.
.
Diamond walks in with Zola while I'm busy in the kitchen. Isn't it late for her to be here?
"What are you doing? You should rest," Diamond says, frowning. She doesn't look happy at all, like I just committed a crime. I'm tired of sleeping. I ate, slept, studied, and slept again.
Zola laughs as she sits on a stool.
"Sit down, I'll cook," she says, pulling out a stool for me.
I smile, confused.
"You cook?" I ask.
She giggles.
"I need to learn. I'll explain later," she says and rushes off to her bedroom.
I'm left alone with Zola.
"You missed me, that's why you're here," I say, sounding smug.
She scoffs quietly.
"You wish," she teases. "I can't believe I have to deal with Pinky all alone, especially now that you're dating a shareholder," she adds with a little huff.
I blink, confused. "A shareholder? What?"
"Come on, don't act like that. Everyone knows about you and Mr. Mlambo," she says.
Oh, hell.
"Pinky told everyone? What's wrong with her?" I ask, annoyed.
Zola's face softens.
"But it was going to come out eventually. People were noticing. And… I think Pinky is mad that Matron isn't the one dating Mr. Mlambo," she says.
Nurse Brenda? Why would Mnotho date her? What is going on here?
"And Pinky heard Brian and your man fighting. She thinks they were fighting because of you," Zola continues.
Oh God. Gossip is fun when it's about someone else, not you. I feel like I might lose my job here.
"I'm gonna need a lawyer," I say, dramatic.
Zola laughs a little.
"A lawyer? Brian likes you, he won't fire you," she says, still laughing. "And I'm telling you all this so you're ready. When you get back, they'll call you a sugar baby," she says with a teasing smile.
A sugar baby?
I scream, burying my face in my hands. Oh Lord, save me from Pinky, from gossip, from this life.

••••

The casino is always buzzing. The stakes are always high. High rollers gamble like their lives depend on it. Mnotho and Bangizwe slip quietly into Bonga's underground casino.
Bonga isn't here, and Mnotho knows it very well. He had tracked his car, it's somewhere far from this place and he knows Bonga will eventually return.
As they step into the loud, crowded space, Mnotho scans the room. The lights, the laughter, it's supposed to impress him, but it doesn't. Not at all.
This is illegal. A crime. And he wants Bonga far away from it. Half of the people here aren't law-abiding citizens; he can feel it in the air, smell it in the tension.
"Looks nice," Bangizwe says quietly beside him, trying to sound impressed. "At least it's something," he adds with a shrug.
Mnotho exhales sharply, disgust mingling with disbelief. He had worked damn hard to give his son opportunities, to guide him, and here he is, acting like a hooligan.
"I'm closing this place down," Mnotho says, each word deliberate, heavy with cold authority. He means it. There's no room for negotiation.
The hostess approaches them, smiling as if the world has just become brighter.
"Good…"
"Can you take me to Bonga's office?" Mnotho asks, calm on the surface, but beneath it simmers a quiet storm. His calmness is cold, commanding. The lady blinks, confused.
"We are his fathers," Bangizwe jumps in quickly, sensing the hesitation.
The lady nods slowly. "Oh… he didn't tell me you'd come. Please, follow me." She leads the way, and the two men follow silently, their steps echoing slightly in the tense air.
"You can't just close it. At least make it legal. Register it," Bangizwe says softly to his younger brother, trying to reason with the anger simmering beside him.
Mnotho doesn't answer. He doesn't need to. He keeps walking, burning with controlled fury.

.
.
.
"At least his office is clean," Bangizwe says, trying to lighten the mood, but it doesn't work. Mnotho just looks around, annoyed and disgusted. He sinks into the leather couch, and Bangizwe sits across from him.
"Why are you mad? Tell me," Bangizwe asks, knowing this can't be the real reason for his brother's anger.
Mnotho just sighs hard and loud. His mind drifts back to Nikky, their conversation earlier, the words he blurted out about Sthembile. He regrets it now. He wishes he had never mentioned her. He knows Nikky is still angry and skeptical, even though she said she isn't. That thought gnaws at him. This, everything, makes things harder, and he can't bear the thought of losing Nikky because of Sthembile. No.
Mnotho leans forward, hands clasped, his voice soft but serious.
"I met someone. And I love her. She'll be your sister-in-law soon," he says.
Bangizwe blinks, almost laughing, but he forces himself to stay composed.
"What?" he asks, staring at Mnotho, trying to process it.
Mnotho simply nods, calm and collected. Bangizwe studies him for a moment, then smiles.
"Thank God," Bangizwe says, relief and happiness spilling into his voice. "Now you'll get married, not stuck in this bachelor life of yours."
Mnotho leans back on the couch, knowing his brother too well. Bangizwe's excitement is genuine, but he doesn't know the full picture yet. Once he finds out that his future sister-in-law is the same age as Mtholephi, Bonga, and Sisanda, he won't be as thrilled.
Mnotho keeps quiet. He's said enough.
"So, when am I meeting her? She doesn't have kids, right? You can't be raising another man's children," Bangizwe says, shaking his head.
Mnotho just scoffs in disbelief. He has a son of his own. Even if Nikky had a child, he would take them both without hesitation.
"We need to talk about Mtholephi," Mnotho says, shifting the conversation. "Since Alfred isn't interested, he can stay here, get a job, and maybe he'll be fine," Mnotho suggests. Even though he pushed for this solution, he truly wants Mtholephi to be happy, to make up for the stress he caused him.
Bangizwe just nods slowly. He himself wants to go back home to his wife, to his little carpentry business, to the calm of his life.
"Mtholephi likes you, so he might agree," Bangizwe says, voice low but hopeful.
"Yeah, and Bonga is here. He'll be by his side. I just hope he doesn't relapse," Mnotho says quietly, a tight line in his jaw, eyes flicking toward the door, wishing Mtholephi stays clean and focused.
Then the door swings open. Bonga walks in, face neutral, not scared at all.
Mnotho quickly stands, striding toward him, tension coiling in his shoulders.
"Baba, if you beat me up, I'm going to tell Nikky," Bonga says immediately, phone already in hand. "She's on speed dial. I'll call her, cry, and tell her you beat me up," he adds, serious, almost daring.

Mnotho's jaw drops, disbelief written across his face. He can't believe this. Not at all.