uGULUVA Chapter 13

PHINDILE GWALA.

It’s been a week and a half since my “training” of being his girlfriend started, and honestly… nothing exciting has happened. Today is Wednesday, the day before we depart for the anniversary event. I’m at his house, sitting on the edge of the cream sofa, scrolling absentmindedly on my phone while he’s in his office, fiddling with what he called “something small.”

I sent Nobantu R500 last week for Ma’s medication and haven’t heard a thing since. Knowing Nobantu, she probably spent the money on herself and is now planning her next request. But this time? She has it wrong. I’m not giving in. The quiet hum of the house is comforting yet unsettling. My thoughts wander—about Ma, about the arrangement I’ve been thrust into, and about him. I don’t dare think too much; I’ve learned how quickly my mind can betray me around him.

“Thank you for waiting, MaP.” His voice cuts through my thoughts, smooth and low, startling me.

“Ncanezwe,” I murmur, clearing my throat and forcing my attention back to him. He steps into the living area, straightening his cufflinks, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I hope you weren’t getting too bored,” he says, casually leaning against the doorway.

“Not at all,” I lie, though my fingers fidget with the edge of my sleeve. “Just… thinking.”

He raises an eyebrow, eyes scanning mine like he knows exactly what I’m thinking—which, given Ncanezwe Cele, is probably true. He steps closer, each movement deliberate, and I feel the subtle shift in the air around us.

“I see,” he says softly, almost amused. “Well, thinking is allowed. Just don’t think too much about me. It can be… distracting.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. Distracting. Him? Yeah, right.I nod, though my heart does a small, traitorous skip.

“I’ll try,” I whisper, careful to keep my voice steady.

He smirks, clearly amused by my attempt at composure.

“Good girl,” he says, almost lazily, before walking past me and picking up a sleek black folder from the table. I follow his movements, pretending not to watch, but my eyes betray me. Every small gesture of his feels deliberate, commanding.

“Just finishing some things before we leave tomorrow,” he continues, flipping the folder open. His voice softens slightly, almost casual. “You don’t need to worry about a thing. Everything will be perfect.”

I want to say something, anything, but the words get stuck. There’s this strange mix of comfort and tension in the room—like I’m safe, yet on the edge of a precipice. And I don’t know whether to step back or lean closer.

“MaP,” he says suddenly, and I snap my attention back to him. “Come here.”

My stomach tightens as I rise, walking slowly toward him. He doesn’t move, just watches me, and the weight of his gaze makes my skin prickle. When I reach him, he closes the folder with a soft snap and looks down at me, his expression unreadable.

“You’re learning quickly,” he says. “But remember… this isn’t a game. There are rules, and if you break them…”

He trails off, letting the threat hang in the air. I shiver, but not from fear—there’s something else in the tension, something that makes my chest feel tight.

“I won’t,” I whisper.

He leans slightly closer, just enough for me to catch the faint scent of his cologne. It’s subtle, expensive, and intoxicating.

“Good. I like that about you.”

I clear my throat again, trying to regain my composure, though my heart is hammering in my chest.

“Then… shall we go over the itinerary for tomorrow?” I ask, forcing a shift to something practical.

He smirks, a slow, knowing curl of his lips.

“We will. But first… coffee. I think you deserve it after all that… thinking.”

I allow myself a small, almost imperceptible smile. And just like that, the tension in the room softens… though I know it’s only temporary. With Ncanezwe Cele, nothing ever stays soft for long.I follow him into the kitchen, trying to ignore the way my heart still races.

He’s already pouring two cups of coffee, the steam curling up between us. The aroma is rich, dark… and somehow it feels heavier with him standing so close.

“Black?” he asks, handing me a cup. I nod, fingers brushing his briefly as I take it. The contact is electric, though he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t comment. Just watches me with those calculating eyes that always seem one step ahead. We move to the living area, coffee in hand, and he gestures for me to sit. I perch on the edge of the sofa, careful to keep my posture “appropriate,” whatever that means in this strange, orchestrated relationship.

“So,” he says, voice low and smooth, “we leave later today. By the time we arrive, I want you settled and ready. The anniversary event is Saturday night, so the days before it are for preparation. Outfits, demeanor… everything. People notice everything.”

I nod again, trying not to fidget.

“I understand. I’ll do my best.”

“You always do,” he replies, and the words feel… heavier than praise. There’s an unspoken weight to them, a reminder that nothing with him is just casual. Not a glance, not a word, not a gesture.

I take a careful sip of my coffee, grateful for the warm liquid as I try to steady my nerves.

“I just… want to make sure I don’t embarrass you,” I admit quietly.

He leans back, studying me with that inscrutable expression of his. “Embarrass me?” he repeats, the words almost teasing. “MaP… you could never embarrass me. Not in front of anyone. But you… might make me… distracted.”

My breath catches at the soft, dangerous edge in his voice. Distracted. Me? I shake my head slightly, trying to push down the flutter of excitement—and fear—that rises in my chest.

He smirks, a slow, knowing curl of his lips.

“Drink your coffee,” he says casually, though the weight behind his eyes says otherwise.

“We leave later tomorrow. Make sure you’re ready. And… relaxed.”

Relaxed. Right. I glance down at my cup, the liquid shaking slightly in my hands. Relaxed around him… when every fiber of me is alert. When even the simplest movement feels like a performance.

I manage a small, crooked smile.

“I’ll try.”

He doesn’t answer, just leans back, eyes fixed on me with that unreadable intensity. And I realize, as I sit there sipping my coffee, that this week and a half of “training” has changed something. Not just in me… but in the way I notice him.

And the thought makes my chest tighten in a way I can’t control.

*

Her training hadn’t been grueling—not in the traditional sense. She was teaching herself, methodical and meticulous, flipping through the file he had handed her, memorizing every name, every detail of his family. Important people. Dangerous people. And that diligence… that focus… was what always made him hard whenever he caught her in the act.

He watches her lift the coffee cup to her lips, the morning sun catching the curve of her jaw, the way her fingers linger around the handle. Something stirs inside him—a tug he immediately shoves down. He doesn’t do feelings. Feelings are a liability.

“Remember my brothers, MaNzimande,” he says, his voice low and deliberate.She nods, setting her cup down carefully.

“After you finish your coffee,” he continues, “MK is waiting for you outside.”

She glances up, surprised at the sudden reminder of the schedule, but before she can reply, he adds, his tone softer but commanding:

“I also booked you a salon appointment. You’re going to get your nails done, your hair touched up… and after that, a waxing appointment. I want you looking—” he pauses, letting the word hang, “exactly like you belong in my world.”

Phindile swallows, heat rising to her cheeks. She doesn’t know whether to feel flattered or intimidated. Ncanezwe Cele has a way of making even the simplest instructions feel like orders that matter more than life itself.

She gives him a small nod, trying to mask her nervous excitement.

“Good,” he says, standing. “MK won’t wait forever. Move.”

As she follows him out, her mind races—not just with the appointments ahead, but with the awareness that every small gesture, every careful movement, is being watched, measured, and… appreciated, in a way that makes her pulse quicken.

By the time Phindile steps out of the salon, the afternoon sun drapes the streets in a warm glow. Her burgundy goddess braids fall perfectly around her face, and her pink-nude nails catch the light with every subtle movement. She sends Ncanezwe a quick text, letting him know she’s done.

“I’m waiting,” comes his reply almost immediately.

When she reaches the car, she freezes for a heartbeat. He’s behind the wheel himself—a rare sight. The car smells faintly of leather and his cologne, a combination that always sets her senses on edge. She slides into the passenger seat, careful not to brush against him… though the moment she does, the air between them thickens.

Ncanezwe shifts in his seat, his gaze falling on her. The effect is instantaneous and disorienting.

The way the sunlight hits her hair, the careful posture she maintains, the confidence she carries even in small things—it hits him harder than he expects. A surge of heat courses through him, sharp, undeniable, and completely unwelcome.

He clears his throat, forcing his attention back to the road. Discipline. Control. Those are the rules. He isn’t supposed to feel this. He isn’t supposed to… notice her like this.

“You… look different,” he finally mutters, his voice low, carefully neutral, though the edge of something else lingers under the surface.

“Good… different.”

Phindile tilts her head, a small, knowing smile playing at the corner of her lips. She feels it too—the charge in the car, thick and dangerous—but she keeps her composure, folding her hands neatly on her lap.

“I’m ready,” she says softly, calm and steady, though every nerve in her body is alert.

Ncanezwe inhales sharply through his nose, gripping the wheel tighter than necessary. Every glance at her, every subtle movement, feels like a challenge to his control—and yet, one he can’t resist noticing.

The ride is quiet, but the tension is tangible, simmering like electricity between them. Neither speaks again, but neither can ignore it. Every moment in the car feels like a careful game of restraint and awareness, a dangerous balance of desire and discipline.

*

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