Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Hlelolenkosi Hlophe

"Ngitheni kuwe?" His voice was low, steady, but laced with that edge of control that made my skin prickle.

I raised my chin, trying to stand my ground. "Uthe ngihlale phansi, manje," I muttered.

For a moment, his eyes locked on mine—dark, unreadable. Then, just like that, he released me and stepped back. The warmth of his hand faded from my wrist, replaced by the cold reality of the shack. I slipped away from him and sat down, feeling small, like a drenched chicken after a sudden storm.

He paced once, then turned to face me squarely.
"My name is Ntandoyenkosi," he said, his tone clipped but deliberate. "I met your brother inside prison. He told me about you. I promised him—if anything happened, I would protect you."

The weight of his words settled heavily on my chest. A promise? To my brother? That was sacred. But his delivery—so forceful, so final—made my stomach twist.

He leaned forward, voice dropping.
"Listen to me carefully, Hlelolenkosi. You are not going to that sham of a funeral. Bazok'sata. And I won't be there to save you. So pack your things—we're leaving. I won't have you living here. It's not safe."

His words crashed into me like cold water. Leave? With him? This stranger who broke into my home and spoke like he owned my life?

I shook my head, anger stirring in my chest.
"I am not going anywhere with you," I snapped.

His lips curled in a humorless smile. "Sizobona."

My voice rose. "If you are used to just throwing your weight around and people following—angeke ukbone lokho! I will do what I want, not what you say."

He tilted his head, studying me like I was some kind of puzzle he couldn't quite solve. Then, with that same infuriating calmness, he simply said:
"Sizobona ke, Hlelolenkosi."

He turned, yanked open the tin door, and walked out, slamming it so hard the frame rattled.

"Mxm. Tantrums," I muttered under my breath, though my heart was racing.

The shack felt emptier without him, but also heavier, like he had left a piece of himself behind just to haunt me. I forced myself to lock the door and shut the small window tight. Men like him thought they could dictate people's lives. Not me. I'd survived all this time without him—I was fine. I am fine.

I crawled back onto my bed, exhausted. Tomorrow I had a double shift to make up for the one I'd missed today. My eyes stung, my chest felt tight, but eventually sleep came, carrying me into a restless darkness.

The next morning, I woke before the sun. Studied first, pushing through yawns as I scribbled notes. Anything to keep my mind busy. Then I bathed quickly, pulled on my scrubs, and tied my hair back. Routine kept me sane. Routine kept me alive.

By afternoon, I was dragging myself into the restaurant. The familiar smell of fried chicken and spices clung to the air, the chatter of customers echoing through the space. I greeted my colleagues, forcing a smile as they teased me about always looking tired.

"Uyaqhuba, nurse-slash-waitress," one of them laughed.

"Life doesn't stop," I replied, shaking my head.

The shift was long, draining. By the time I finished, my legs ached, and every part of me begged to collapse into bed. I counted the coins in my pocket. Not enough for an Uber.

Fine. I'll walk to the rank.

The night air was cool, carrying the hum of taxis and vendors closing up shop. I climbed into the taxi, settling near the window. Pulled out my phone. TikTok—my small escape.

I scrolled mindlessly, letting the bright videos drown out the weight of the day. That's when I heard it.

His voice.

"Sharp, driver," he said, laughing like he owned the night. "Uyaqhuba kahle, mfethu."

My chest tightened instantly. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Ntandoyenkosi.

I rolled my eyes, glued my gaze to my phone. Maybe, just maybe, he'd pass by without seeing me.

Too late.

"Hlelo," he called, his tone casual but firm. "Masambe."

I didn't flinch. Pretended like I hadn't heard him. My thumb scrolled, screen glowing against my face.

"Hlelo," he said again, louder this time.

Still, I copied the passengers, looking around as if confused, as if he wasn't speaking to me.

"Eish, Hlelo ukuphi? Bayakufuna," I muttered under my breath, mocking the tone.

He chuckled. That deep, maddening chuckle. The next thing I knew, the taxi door slid open. He stepped inside, all black hoodie and tattoos again, his presence filling the cramped space.

Before I could protest, he bent down, scooped me up like I weighed nothing. My body went over his shoulder, dangling like a sack of potatoes.

"Put me down!" I screamed, kicking. "Leave me alone!"

No one moved. The taxi was silent. Some passengers looked away, others stared, but not one dared to interfere. This was Alex—people minded their own business, especially when the man involved carried that kind of dangerous energy.

He carried me out effortlessly, ignoring my fists pounding against his back. He opened the door of a sleek black Mercedes-Benz parked nearby. My mouth dropped. This car didn't belong in my world.

He set me in the passenger seat, buckled me in as if I were a child, then shut the door with a slam.

My chest heaved with anger, fear, and something else I couldn't name.

I was trapped now.

With Ntandoyenkosi.