Chapter 22

NQABA CELE

24 hours that I gave Milani is now over. This woman thinks I am playing with her. She should have kept my son out of it. I walk pass my parents sitting in the lounge and they are watching the news. This has been hard on them, very hard on them. I hate what Milani is doing because she is being selfish. She doesn't care who she hurts in the process. "Where are you going son?" My dad asks. He looks tired and drained. I don't even want to mention what my mother is like. She is just….. "I am going to meet with Detective Nxele. He wanted to see me. He might have a lead." He nods quietly and holds his wife who doesn't want to say anything. I nod at my dad and walk out. I know they miss Lwandle, I miss him too. My son will come home no matter what. I get in the car and drive off. The is not long. I get and Det. Nxele is here and Det. Mbhele. I ditched Mabutho and Sizwe today. When I found out she was pregnant I was so excited. I had always wanted to be a father. I thought we would have more children together but things turned out the way they did and I found out that after giving birth to Lwandle she immediately went on contraceptives. I she didn't want to have children at that time and stupid me, I thought it was timing only to find out that she doesn't want them at all. Lwandle is a mistake that should have never happened according to her. A part had always wished that she can be more of a mother to Lwandle. I had hoped she would try to love him like a mother should love her child but that has been wishful thinking. The stunt that she pulled right now, is proof enough. I greet these to detectives and take a sit.

"You are very bold, shooting a man in front of a police station. They could have arrested you." Nxele says with a smile on his face. "They would have had to let me go but thank God you were there, you saved my ass." We all laugh. "She is smart. By now she knows that her little boyfriend is dead and that would thanks to her informant. Which means she knows that we have his things. This is going to push her to the edge." Mbhele adds. "She is on the edge. She is going to want those devices at all costs. She thinks we don't know. The SAPS doesn't work that fast. According to her it will take a while to have you hack the devices and the informant is going to want to take the devices to her as per her command." I add, knowing that she is going to do anything to protect herself. "I have that handled. Sandiso managed to clone the devices and the clones have been submitted as evidence. We have also planted tracking devices on them, the tracking device on his other phone is untraceable. That's the phone with all the information about Milani. You gave her 24 hours right to bring Lwandle back?" He is tapping on his phone as he asks. "Yes I did." Mbhele has been quiet, what is he thinking. "Send her another text, telling her that her time is up and you are coming for her."

"Is that wise Nxele? She could hurt the boy." You can't miss the concern in Mbhele's voice. I understand his concern but Milani is not going to do anything to Lwandle, she needs him. She is holding to desperation right now, instead of control. "She won't. She still needs him. I'm sure she is going to as to meet after I send her the text." Mbhele looks at me with doubt in his face while Nxele just smiles. "Milani is unpredictable to other people, not to me. I've lived with her, I understand how her mind works when she is cornered. She is cornered now and she is looking for a way out."

"I know that you want your back son at all costs but remember you can't kill Milani. Mandla is already working removing the murder charge in your name since you killed Mnqobi. The only charges you have hanging over you now is sexual assault and assault. You can't murder on top that. This time you won't get away scot free." Mbhele says. "I will, if in self defence." I wink at him and look at Nxele who hasn't anything for a while. Mbhele receives a call that calls him back to the station.

We stay quiet for a while. I use the time to send the text to Milani telling her that her 24 hours is up. The reply doesn't come immediately, and that silence gnaws at me. She knows I'm desperate—she knows I'll do anything to get my son back. When her message finally arrives, it's not an answer, it's a demand: **You'll have him when I get what I want.**" My chest tightens. She's not bargaining; she's dictating. Every word reminds me that she holds the power, and that my son is nothing more than a pawn in her game. I want to storm in, to tear down whatever walls she's hiding behind, but I know that's exactly what she wants. She's pulling me into her rhythm, forcing me to dance to her tune while my boy waits in the shadows of her control.

The silence gnaws at me until I can't hold it in anymore. My hands tremble as I shove the phone across the table, the message glowing like a confession. "She has him," I whisper, my voice cracking under the weight of it. "My boy. She took my son from me and now she's playing games with me." The Detective leans forward, eyes narrowing, but I can't stop the words spilling out. "I can't give what she wants, that is Lwandle's legacy. I worked hard to make sure that my son never struggles even when I am not around. And every second I don't comply with her, he's in her hands." My chest tightens, rage and fear colliding until I feel like I'm suffocating. "Do you understand? She's using my son as leverage. She knows I'll break. She knows I'll do anything." The Detective doesn't speak right away, just studies me, as if measuring how close I am to the edge. And the truth is—I'm already there. I am ready to strangle her.

The Detective exhales slowly, his gaze fixed on the phone as though the words themselves might reveal a hidden trail. "She's baiting you," he says, voice low but steady. "Every demand, every silence—it's designed to push you over the edge, especially now that she knows that you know she is involved in more illicit activities. If you lose control, she wins." He leans closer, his tone sharpening. "But leverage cuts both ways. If she wants something from you, that means she needs you alive, thinking, making choices, she needs Lwandle alive to push you. That's where we strike." His eyes flicker with calculation, but there's a shadow of concern too. "I'll get your son back, Nqaba. But you need to trust me. Don't let her see you unravel. The moment she believes you're broken, she'll tighten the noose."

My voice cracks as I grip the edge of the table, knuckles whitening. "She knows me too well," I mutter, eyes darting like a trapped animal. "She knows I can't breathe without him. Every second she keeps him, it's like she's peeling me apart." The Detective doesn't flinch, doesn't rush to comfort—he just watches, letting the silence stretch until I feel it pressing against my chest. Finally, the Detective speaks, his tone deliberate, almost surgical. "That's exactly her weapon. Not the boy himself, but the way she's twisting your fear. If you let her see you unravel, she'll tighten the screws until you're nothing but her puppet." I shake mu head, sweat beading at my temple. "But he's my son," I whispers, she might his mother but he is my son, I'm his dad, voice breaking. The Detective leans in, steady and unyielding. "And that's why you have to hold on. Not for her. Not even for me. For him. Because if she sees you broken, she'll never give him back. She'll keep him until you're hollow."

The Detective leans back, folding his arms, but his eyes never leave Mine. For a moment, his calm feels unshakable—then a flicker of something else breaks through. "You think you're the only one she's pulling apart?" he says quietly. "I've seen her do this before. She doesn't just take people—she dismantles them piece by piece, until they're begging to give her what she wants. I know this because I've dealt with her before, not her personally but another version of her." His jaw tightens, and I notice the faint tremor in his hand as he adjusts his watch. "She's clever, but she's not invincible. The trick is not letting her see the cracks. Because once she does, she'll pry them open." He pauses, voice dropping lower. "I know what it feels like to have someone you love used against you. And I won't let her do it—not to you, not to your boy."The Detective's eyes harden, but his voice softens, almost as if he's speaking to himself. "Years ago, I chased a case that looked just like this. A man and woman—sharp, manipulative—took my son. He didn't want money. He wanted control. Every phone call, every message was a test, a way to measure how far I'd bend before I broke." He pauses, staring at the floor as though the memory is replaying in front of him. "I bent too far. I gave him what he wanted, and when I did… he vanished. My son was gone. It took me years to find my son." His jaw tightens, and for the first time, the mask of composure slips. "That's why I know Milani's game. She thrives on desperation. She'll keep tightening the screws until you're begging to give her everything. But I won't let you make the same mistake I did. I won't let her take your son the way mine was taken."

I stare at the Detective, the weight of his words pressing down like a stone. For a moment, I forget my own fear, caught instead in the raw fracture of the man across from me. "You lost him," I whispers, almost afraid to say it aloud. The Detective doesn't answer, but the silence is confirmation enough. My chest tightens—part sympathy, part terror. If even this man, hardened by years of chasing shadows, could fail, what chance did I have? My fingers curl into fists, nails biting into my palms. "So you know what it feels like," I say, voice trembling between accusation and plea. "You know what it does to you." The Detective leans forward, eyes steady despite the storm flickering behind them. "That's why I won't let it happen again. Not to you. Not to your boy. It took me years to find him and when I did, he was broken. I don't want that for you." I swallow hard, torn between doubt and the fragile thread of hope the Detective is offering. For the first time, I feel the line between us blur—not just cop and father, but two men haunted by the same ghost. I exhale, shoulders sagging as if the weight of his confession has finally found a place to rest. For the first time, I don't feel entirely alone—the Detective's scars mirror my own, binding them in a silent pact. "Alright," I say, voice raw but steadier. "We do this together." The Detective nods once, firm, sealing the alliance without ceremony. The room feels different now, less suffocating, until the phone buzzes on the table. Both men freeze. My hand tremble as he reaches for it, dread crawling up my spine. The message is short, sharp, impossible to misread: **Meet me. Tonight.** My throat tightens. Milani has broken her silence, and with it, the fragile rhythm we thought we understood. The Detective leans forward, eyes narrowing. "She's changing the game," he mutters. "And she wants you to play it face-to-face."

My eyes lock on the message, my pulse hammering in my ears. "She wants to meet," I says, voice tight, almost strangled. As if saying it out loud will change it. The Detective leans forward, scanning the words, his expression unreadable. "That's exactly what she wants you to say," he replies. "She's pulling you into her arena, where she controls the rules." I shake my head, restless, the chair scraping against the floor as I push it back. "But if I don't go, what happens to my son? What if this is the only chance?" My voice cracks, desperation bleeding through. The Detective's tone sharpens, cutting through the panic. "Or what if it's a trap? She knows you're vulnerable. She knows you'll walk straight into her hands if she dangles your boy in front of you." The silence between us thickens, heavy with the weight of impossible choices. I grip the phone tighter, torn between the gnawing fear of losing his son and the cold logic of the Detective's warning. Every second feels like a countdown, and Milani is the one holding the clock.The Detective straightens, his voice sharpening into command. "If she wants a meet, we don't walk in blind. We set the terms." He taps the phone with a deliberate finger. "You'll agree—but on neutral ground, somewhere she can't control. Somewhere we can see her coming." I shake my head, panic flickering. "She won't agree to that. She'll want me alone." The Detective leans closer, eyes hard. "Then we make her believe you're alone. You'll go, but I'll be there with my team and Mbhele—close enough to intervene, far enough to stay invisible. We'll use her arrogance against her. She thinks she's pulling the strings, but the moment she shows her hand, we'll be ready." He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle. "This isn't just about saving your son. It's about breaking her rhythm. If she controls the game, we lose. If we control the stage, she slips."

The Detective leans forward, his voice clipped and precise, the tone of a man who's built strategies out of chaos before.The Detective fixes his gaze on me, voice dropping lower. "This isn't just about meeting her. It's about turning her own game against her. If we play it right, she won't even realize she's already lost. Remember there is a lot more involved in this, it's just about saving Lwandle."

My hand hover over the phone, my chest tight with the weight of choice. Every instinct screams at me to run straight into Milani's trap, to claw my son back with my bare hands. But the Detective's words cut through the fog, steady and unyielding. "We do this smart, or we don't do it at all," he says. I close my eyes, forcing my breath to slow. I see my son's face, the fear in his eyes, and something inside me hardens. "Alright," I whisper, voice trembling but resolute. "We do it your way. Together." The Detective nods once, a silent pact sealed in the dim light of the room. For the first time, I feel the faintest thread of control returning—thin, fragile, but real. Then the phone buzzes again, slicing through the moment. My stomach drops as he reads the message: **Meet me. Tonight.** The Detective's jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. "Same text twice - she wants to move things faster than I thought," he mutters. "And now the real game begins."

I look at him and realize that this is not just a job for him. This is personal to Detective Nxele just as it is personal to me. I realize that he doesn't want to go through what he went through. It must have hard for him. He missed years of his son's life. I don't even want to be imagine what that would like. I cannot see a life where my son is not a part of it. It doesn't matter what it takes, I am getting my son back. The thought of Milani hurting Lwandle just to make me suffer gnaws at me.