{"id":64,"date":"2026-01-21T14:32:26","date_gmt":"2026-01-21T14:32:26","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/?p=64"},"modified":"2026-01-21T14:32:26","modified_gmt":"2026-01-21T14:32:26","slug":"uguluva-chapter-5","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/uguluva-chapter-5\/","title":{"rendered":"uGULUVA Chapter 5"},"content":{"rendered":"
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uGULUVA.<\/div>\n
CHAPTER 5.<\/div>\n
[SPONSORED CHAPTER. \"\u2728\ufe0f\"<\/span>]<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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PHINDILE GWALA.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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It\u2019s 03:30, and my shift ended about thirty minutes ago. The club is still alive\u2014music pulsing, laughter spilling over, glasses clinking as people continue drinking like the night has no intention of ending.<\/div>\n
I sit on one of the bar stools, sipping water, my feet aching pleasantly. Zinhle is in front of me, behind tje counter, helping out tonight\u2014mixing drinks, sliding glasses across the counter, and serving the last wave of customers.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cI think being behind the bar is way less chaotic than walking around with a tray and a notepad,\u201d I say, glancing at her. She gives me a look before chuckling softly.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cThe bar is less chaotic,\u201d she says while expertly mixing a cocktail, \u201cbut it\u2019s also the most flirty place you can be.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I open my mouth to respond.<\/div>\n
\u201cI think it\u2019s\u2014\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cZinhle, my usual.\u201d<\/div>\n
The familiar voice cuts me off.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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My body stiffens as the man settles onto the stool beside me. I turn my face slightly\u2014 Fuck. It\u2019s the VIP guy. I clear my throat, suddenly very aware of my breathing, of the way my heart starts racing like I\u2019ve been running a marathon. I take a quick sip of water, hoping it will calm the tightening knot in my stomach.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cNew girl,\u201d he says.<\/div>\n
His voice is calm, confident. Too confident.<\/div>\n
I\u2019m about to look away from his gaze, but it feels like it lingers on me anyway. My pulse quickens.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cHi,\u201d I reply, keeping my face neutral, even as my blood rushes loudly in my ears.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cYour usual, boss. Anything else?\u201d Zinhle asks, placing the same glass he ordered earlier in front of him.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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He shakes his head.<\/div>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I keep my eyes fixed anywhere but on him. Let me just finish this glass and leave. I have water at home anyway.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cZee, please pass me my bag,\u201d I say to Zinhle before she can walk away.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cOh, please don\u2019t leave on my account,\u201d the man says.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I don\u2019t look at him. I keep my gaze on Zinhle, who pauses and gives me a questioning look.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cMy bag, manager, please,\u201d I repeat, ignoring him completely.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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He lets out a soft chuckle and mumbles something under his breath as Zinhle walks off to fetch my bag.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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He chuckles again\u2014low, calm\u2014like he owns the space between us. The sound crawls under my skin, makes me shift on the bar chair. I hate that my body reacts before my mind does. Hate that I can feel him without even looking at him.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cRelax,\u201d he says, lifting his glass slightly. \u201cI don\u2019t bite\u2026 unless asked.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I finally turn to face him, slow and controlled. His eyes are sharp, observant\u2014dark, like they\u2019re always calculating something. He looks exactly the same as he did earlier in the VIP section. Expensive black shirt, sleeves rolled, a watch that probably costs more than everything I own combined. Calm.<\/div>\n
Dangerously calm.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cI\u2019m not tense,\u201d I reply, my voice steady despite the war raging in my chest.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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He smirks\u2014not amused, more intrigued.<\/div>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not what your body is saying.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I scoff quietly and look away again, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Men like him live off reactions. I\u2019ve spent my whole life surviving by giving none.<\/div>\n
Zinhle returns with my bag, sliding it onto the bar.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cHere you go, Phindi,\u201d she says, her eyes flicking between us like she\u2019s watching a scene unfold in a movie.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cThank you,\u201d I say quickly, grabbing it and slinging it over my shoulder.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I hop off the chair. The ache hits immediately\u2014feet throbbing, legs heavy, the night finally catching up with me. The lights, the noise, the endless movement\u2014it all settles at once.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cYou didn\u2019t even say goodbye,\u201d he says.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I pause, then turn halfway. \u201cGoodbye.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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That makes him laugh properly this time.<\/div>\n
\u201cI like you,\u201d he says. \u201cYou don\u2019t pretend.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cI\u2019m not here to be liked.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cNo,\u201d he agrees, studying me. \u201cYou\u2019re here to survive.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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The words stop me cold.<\/div>\n
I don\u2019t know why they hit so hard\u2014maybe because they\u2019re true. Too true. I am here to survive, yet life never seems to care about that. My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag. I turn and walk away before he can say anything else. Can he just shut up now?<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d he calls.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I hesitate. My name feels sacred. Names give people access\u2014and I don\u2019t give access easily.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cPhindile,\u201d I say at last.<\/div>\n
He nods slowly.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cMaP,\u201d he repeats, like he\u2019s tasting it. \u201cIt suits you.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cAnd yours?\u201d I ask before I can stop myself.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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A slow smile curves his lips.<\/div>\n
\u201cNcanezwe.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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The name settles heavily in the air\u2014strong, commanding. It fits him far too well.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cI should go,\u201d I say, suddenly aware of the time again.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cOf course,\u201d he replies. \u201cYou walking alone?\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I stiffen. \u201cI can handle myself.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cI don\u2019t doubt that.\u201d He stands, and I realize just how tall he is. \u201cBut Gauteng at this hour doesn\u2019t care how strong you are.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Before I can refuse, he signals to someone near the entrance. A big man straightens immediately.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cMK will walk you to your transport,\u201d Ncanezwe says, like the decision is already made.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cI didn\u2019t ask for\u2014\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cConsider it a courtesy,\u201d he cuts in gently. \u201cNot a debt.\u201d<\/div>\n
I search his face for hidden intentions and find nothing\u2014at least nothing he\u2019s willing to reveal.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201c\u2026Fine,\u201d I say after a moment. \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/div>\n
He inclines his head slightly.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cGet home safe, MaP.\u201d<\/div>\n
I walk away without looking back, my heart racing\u2014but not from fear alone this time.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Outside, the cool night air slaps against my skin, grounding me. MK walks a few steps behind me, silent and respectful. When I finally climb into the staff taxi, I allow myself one deep breath.<\/div>\n
I don\u2019t know why that man unsettles me so much.<\/div>\n
But I know one thing for sure\u2014<\/div>\n
This won\u2019t be the last time our paths cross.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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*<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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NCANEZWE CELE.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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He has moved from the bar to the office now, carrying his glass of whiskey with him. It sits heavily on top of the polished table, the amber liquid catching the dim light. His cigarette rests lazily between his fingers, smoke curling upward, while his other hand holds his phone tightly to his ear as he speaks to his younger brother, Qhawe. The bass from the club is distant now, muffled by thick walls, replaced by the quiet hum of power and solitude that always settles in this office.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cNamanje you haven\u2019t found us another MaNkomose?\u201d Qhawe says jokingly.<\/div>\n
(Even now)<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Ncanezwe scoffs softly, shaking his head. Qhawe knows\u2014everyone close to him knows\u2014how much his brother despises MaNkomose. He hates everything she represents. Qhawe hates her too, but joking around will not hurt them, right? At least that\u2019s what Qhawe believes.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cNganitshela ukuthi angezelanga abafazi eGoli mina, ngizele ukukhulisa isibongo sakwa Ndosi futhi where is your wife while you’re talking to me at this hour?\u201d Ncanezwe says.<\/div>\n
(I told you that I didn\u2019t come to Gauteng for women, I came to grow and elevate the Ndosi surname. And where is your wife while you\u2019re talking to me at this hour?)<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling through his nose as irritation settles in his tone. On the other side of the line, Qhawe chuckles, clearly unfazed.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cBengisadla inkomo engayikhokhela bafo, she’s asleep after I\u2026\u201d Qhawe begins. (I was still enjoying the cow I paid for, brother\u2014she\u2019s asleep after I\u2026)<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cEyi Qhawe, fusegi! Ngimdala njalo!\u201d Ncanezwe snaps sternly, cutting him off immediately. (Hey Qhawe, stop it! I\u2019m older, remember!)<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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His jaw tightens as he leans back into the chair. He wants nothing to do with his brother\u2019s bedroom business\u2014nothing at all, not even hearing about it. Qhawe bursts into laughter, the sound loud and careless, before finally calming down. He knows better than to push Ncanezwe when he uses that tone.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cAyi bafo, awuthi ngilale, sizokhuluma ekseni,\u201d Qhawe says.<\/div>\n
(Alright brother, let me sleep, we\u2019ll talk in the morning)<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cYebo,\u201d Ncanezwe replies shortly.<\/div>\n
(Alright)<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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The call ends. Ncanezwe lowers the phone and glances at the time. It\u2019s now 04:00. The numbers glare back at him, reminding him how long the night has been. He needs to get home. MK is still out there, making sure the club is safe and properly closed down, which means Ncanezwe will have to drive himself tonight.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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He lifts the glass and gulps down the half-remaining whiskey, the burn sliding down his throat, familiar and grounding. He crushes the cigarette in the ashtray with finality. Taking his phone again, he types out a message to MK, his fingers quick and precise.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cOut. Make sure you deliver the parcel at my house, first thing in the morning.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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He sends it, then slips the phone into his pocket as he walks out toward his car. The cool air hits his face, but it does nothing to quiet his mind. He tries to ignore the thoughts creeping in\u2014unwanted, persistent\u2014about the new girl. Her face, her presence, the way she unsettled him without trying.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cLet\u2019s see how long you will be like this, Ncanezwe,\u201d he mutters to himself.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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He opens the car door, slides inside, and brings the engine to life. The headlights cut through the darkness as he pulls away, the road stretching ahead of him, silent and unforgiving, just the way he prefers it.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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*<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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100+ comments & 10 shares. \"\ud83d\udc8b\"<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

uGULUVA. CHAPTER 5. [SPONSORED CHAPTER. ] PHINDILE GWALA. It\u2019s 03:30, and my shift ended about thirty minutes ago. The club […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","ast-disable-related-posts":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"default","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"set","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-64","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uguluva"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/64","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=64"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/64\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":74,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/64\/revisions\/74"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=64"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=64"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=64"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}