{"id":68,"date":"2026-01-21T14:33:21","date_gmt":"2026-01-21T14:33:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/?p=68"},"modified":"2026-01-21T14:33:21","modified_gmt":"2026-01-21T14:33:21","slug":"uguluva-chapter-9","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/uguluva-chapter-9\/","title":{"rendered":"uGULUVA Chapter 9"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
uGULUVA.<\/div>\n
CHAPTER 9.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
PHINDILE GWALA.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I force myself to walk with confidence, even though I can feel his eyes on my back. The moment I step out of the private VIP section, I head straight for the bar, my eyes scanning the room frantically for Zinhle.<\/div>\n
I find her leaning over the counter, looking around like she\u2019s waiting for something.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cZee,\u201d I whisper urgently as I reach her, \u201cwhy didn\u2019t you tell me Ncanezwe is the boss? I just called him by his name. His name, Zinhle. Oh God\u2026 I might lose my job.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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She turns to look at me, her face creasing with confusion.<\/div>\n
\u201cWhoa, Phindi,\u201d she says calmly. \u201cSlow down. Talk nicely. Take a deep breath.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I stare at her.<\/div>\n
\u201cIn and out,\u201d she demonstrates.<\/div>\n
I follow her instructions\u2014once, twice, five times\u2014until my chest stops tightening. Only then does she study me properly.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cOkay,\u201d she says. \u201cNow you can talk. What\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
I exhale sharply.<\/div>\n
\u201cYesterday, Mr Ncanezwe was talking to me and everything, but he never introduced himself as the owner of this place. I gave him my\u2026 sassy attitude\u2014you know how Joburg men are sometimes. I thought he was just one of those men.\u201d I shake my head. \u201cNow he\u2019s asked to see me in his office after my shift. Zee, do you think he\u2019s going to fire me? I can\u2019t afford that. My mom is\u2014\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cPhindi.\u201d She cuts me off gently but firmly.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I look at her.<\/div>\n
\u201cRelax. No one is firing you,\u201d she says. \u201cEspecially not here. Just finish your shift, then go see Mr Cele.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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She leans closer.<\/div>\n
\u201cHe doesn\u2019t even fire people himself. Casey and I handle that. So for now, go finish these last few minutes.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Her calmness eases me a little, though my mind is still racing.<\/div>\n
\u201cOkay\u2026\u201d I say hesitantly.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
I walk away from the bar, smoothing my uniform as I head to attend to one last table before my shift ends\u2014trying to ignore the heavy knot sitting in my stomach.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
Thirty minutes later, my shift is over\u2014and my anxiety? Sky-high. Higher than my mother\u2019s blood pressure every time she hears about one of my sister\u2019s pregnancies. I sigh, placing the tray on the counter and asking the bartender for a glass of water. My hands feel clammy as I wipe them on my apron before climbing onto one of the bar stools. He slides the glass toward me, and I mutter a soft thank you before his voice creeps back into my head.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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“When your shift ends, you\u2019ll come to my office.”<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I try to shake it off. I really do. But the words sit heavy in my chest, raising more questions than answers as I take a slow sip of water. Someone clears their throat beside me. I turn\u2014and there he is. The buff man who accompanied me yesterday.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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My heart kicks violently against my ribs. My throat goes dry, like I\u2019ve forgotten how breathing works for a second. My shift ended barely two minutes ago. Couldn\u2019t Mr Boss at least give me time to calm down? To collect my thoughts? To prepare myself for whatever this is?<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cThe boss is ready for you,\u201d he says, his voice flat and professional. No greeting. No smile. \u201cPlease follow me.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I glance at him. Then at the glass of water. Then back at him again. The glass is my only comfort right now.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cYou can come with it,\u201d he adds, already turning away.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I pick it up, my fingers trembling slightly, and slide off the stool. Scared\u2014but moving anyway.<\/div>\n
We walk down a narrow corridor I hadn\u2019t noticed before, the noise of the club fading with every step. The walls grow quieter, thicker, like they\u2019re designed to swallow secrets. My heels echo softly on the floor, each step counting down to something I don\u2019t understand yet.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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He stops in front of a dark wooden door.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cThis is it,\u201d he says, knocking once before opening it without waiting for a response.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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I step inside. The office is nothing like the chaos outside. It\u2019s calm. Too calm. Dimly lit, expensive, and deliberate\u2014just like the man seated behind the desk. Ncanezwe Cele doesn\u2019t look up immediately. He\u2019s focused on something in front of him, flipping a page slowly, unhurried. Like he knows exactly how long silence can torture a person.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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My grip tightens around the glass. Finally, he lifts his eyes.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cClose the door, Phindile.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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My name on his lips sends a chill straight down my spine. I do as I\u2019m told. The door clicks shut behind me. And just like that, I know\u2014 this isn\u2019t about my shift ending.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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It\u2019s about something beginning.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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*<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Phindile stands there gripping the glass of water like it might slip away if she loosens her fingers. Ncanezwe rises slowly from his chair, unhurried, deliberate. She looks up at him\u2014and no matter how many times she tells herself she\u2019ll get used to it, she never does. His height. His presence. He Today he\u2019s dressed in black. A fitted shirt, black formal trousers, the first two buttons undone as usual, exposing a glimpse of skin that should not be distracting\u2026 but is. Very much so. She stares.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cDrooling is never the best option,\u201d he says calmly. \u201cA picture lasts longer, MaP.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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His deep voice snaps her back to reality. Heat rushes to her face as she quickly lifts the glass and takes a sip of water, hoping it hides her embarrassment. It doesn\u2019t. The corner of Ncanezwe\u2019s mouth curves into a lazy chuckle as he turns toward the glass wall, the City of Gold glowing beneath them. He slips a cigarette from his pocket and taps it against the box.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cTake a seat,\u201d he says, leaning against the wall, eyes still on the lights below.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Then, almost as an afterthought, he glances at her and lifts the cigarette slightly.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cYou don\u2019t mind, right?\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Phindile shakes her head instinctively.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cWords, MaP,\u201d he says, not looking at her.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cNo,\u201d she answers quickly, taking another gulp of water.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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The sassy Phindile disappeared the moment he summoned her to this office. Right now, humility is survival. She needs this job. She needs the money.<\/div>\n
Ncanezwe lights the cigarette, inhales slowly, then finally turns to look at her. His gaze is sharp\u2014measuring, unreadable.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cYou\u2019re tense,\u201d he says.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cI\u2019m fine,\u201d she replies, sitting down as instructed, back straight, hands folded neatly on her lap.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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He exhales smoke through his nose, amused. \u201cPeople who are fine don\u2019t hold a glass like they\u2019re about to throw it.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Her fingers loosen slightly around the glass. Silence stretches between them, thick and deliberate. He watches her the way a man watches something he already owns but hasn\u2019t decided what to do with yet.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cYou know why you\u2019re here,\u201d he says at last.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Phindile swallows. \u201cYou asked to see me.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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A slow smile appears\u2014dangerous, controlled. \u201cCareful,\u201d he says softly. \u201cThat\u2019s not an answer.\u201d<\/div>\n
Her heart pounds.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cNo, sir.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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He pushes himself off the wall and walks toward her, each step unhurried. He stops just close enough for her to catch his scent\u2014smoke, cologne, something darker underneath.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cI don\u2019t like repeating myself,\u201d Ncanezwe says. \u201cAnd I don\u2019t summon people without reason.\u201d<\/div>\n
She nods, eyes fixed on the glass in her hands.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cI called you here because I have a job for you. A job that will give you extra cash,\u201d Ncanezwe says again.<\/div>\n
Phindile doesn\u2019t answer. She only looks at him, curiosity flickering in her eyes.<\/div>\n
\u201cGood girl,\u201d he murmurs, noticing her gaze finally leave the glass.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Her breath catches\u2014but she hides it quickly by taking a deep breath. Why is he closer now? She hadn\u2019t heard him move, yet suddenly he\u2019s right there, his presence pressing into her space.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cThis job requires loyalty, silence, and keeping everything between us,\u201d he continues calmly. \u201cCan you do that?\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Her eyes widen. Is he asking what she thinks he\u2019s asking?<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u201cYes and no at the same time,\u201d Ncanezwe says.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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She looks at him sharply. She said that out loud…didn\u2019t she? Yes. She did.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u201cI want you to be my date to my brother\u2019s third-year anniversary next weekend,\u201d he says, unbothered. \u201cYou\u2019ll name your price.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cName my price?\u201d Phindile echoes, stunned.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Her mind races. What if she says R250,000\u2014for just being his date? Or half a million? Would he laugh? Would he agree? Ncanezwe watches her carefully, as if reading every reckless thought crossing her face.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cYou\u2019re thinking too loudly,\u201d he says with a faint smile. \u201cRelax. I didn\u2019t say you had to sell your soul.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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She swallows.<\/div>\n
\u201cWhy me?\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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A pause. Deliberate. Heavy.<\/div>\n
\u201cBecause,\u201d he says slowly, \u201cyou don\u2019t belong to that world\u2026 and yet you look like you do. Because you can sit next to powerful men and still look like you don\u2019t need their approval. And because,\u201d his eyes darken, \u201cno one would suspect you.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cThat\u2019s not comforting,\u201d she mutters.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cIt\u2019s not meant to be,\u201d he replies.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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She folds her arms, grounding herself. \u201cAnd what exactly would I be expected to do?\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cSmile. Hold my hand. Let them believe you\u2019re mine,\u201d he says evenly. \u201cNo more. No less.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Phindile studies him, searching for cracks, for hidden meanings.<\/div>\n
\u201cAnd after the weekend?\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cWe go back to pretending this never happened.\u201d<\/div>\n
Silence stretches between them.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
She thinks of her mother\u2019s medication. The rent. Her sister’s children. The weight she carries alone.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u201cHow much?\u201d she finally asks.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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A slow, satisfied smile curves his lips.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cNow,\u201d Ncanezwe says, stepping back just enough to let her breathe, \u201cthat\u2019s the right question.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Phindile lifts her chin, forcing her spine straight even though her heart is hammering.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cHow much?\u201d she repeats, firmer this time.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Ncanezwe doesn\u2019t answer immediately. He walks back to his chair instead, unhurried, like a man who knows time bends around him. He sits, crossing one leg over the other, eyes never leaving her.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cNo,\u201d he corrects softly. \u201cYou tell me.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Her fingers curl into her palm. This is a test\u2014she feels it in her bones. Say too little and she\u2019ll look desperate. Say too much and she might insult him\u2026 or expose herself.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
She exhales. \u201cFor one weekend. Public appearances. No\u2026 expectations beyond that.\u201d She pauses. \u201cR50,000.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
The words hang in the air.<\/div>\n
Ncanezwe lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head slowly.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cYou really don\u2019t know your worth.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Her stomach drops. Too low.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cOr,\u201d he continues, eyes sharp now, \u201cyou\u2019re pretending you don\u2019t.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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He reaches into his drawer, pulls out his phone, and taps the screen once. A soft notification sound echoes in the quiet room.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cR150,000,\u201d he says. \u201cPaid upfront.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Her breath stutters. \u201cThat\u2019s\u2014”<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cFor your time,\u201d he cuts in smoothly. \u201cAnd your inconvenience.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cAnd the silence?\u201d she asks before she can stop herself.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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His eyes flicker with something unreadable. \u201cThat comes with the job.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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She hesitates. \u201cWhat if someone asks who I am? What I do?\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u201cYou\u2019re a marketing consultant,\u201d he replies instantly. \u201cWe met at a private function in Umhlanga. You don\u2019t talk much about work. You hate gossip. You\u2019re private.\u201d A pause. \u201cVery private.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
Phindile swallows. He\u2019s thought this through far more than she has.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cAnd if I say no?\u201d she asks quietly.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
Ncanezwe leans back, studying her like a chess piece he hasn\u2019t yet moved.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u201cThen you walk out of that door with your dignity intact\u2026 and the knowledge that you almost stepped into a very comfortable life.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
Her jaw tightens. Comfortable. Dangerous. Tempting. She thinks of Nobantu\u2019s messages. Of her mother coughing through the night. Of how tired she is of choosing between survival and pride.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u201cWhen is the event?\u201d she asks.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
His lips curve. Victory\u2014subtle, controlled. \u201cFriday evening to Sunday afternoon. You\u2019ll stay where I stay.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
Her eyes snap to his. \u201cYou said no expectations.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cAnd I meant it,\u201d he replies calmly. \u201cSeparate rooms. Security everywhere. You will be safer with me than without me.\u201d<\/div>\n
Silence again.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
Then, quietly, firmly: \u201cI\u2019ll do it.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
Ncanezwe stands. \u201cGood.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
He extends his hand. She hesitates only a second before taking it. His grip is warm. Steady. Too sure.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u201cWelcome to my world, Phindile Gwala,\u201d he says softly. \u201cJust remember\u2014once you step in, people will start looking at you differently.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
She meets his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away.<\/div>\n
\u201cI\u2019m used to being looked at.\u201d<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
A slow smile spreads across his face.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\u201cOh,\u201d he says, \u201cthey haven\u2019t really seen you yet.\u201d<\/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 9. PHINDILE GWALA. I force myself to walk with confidence, even though I can feel his eyes on […]<\/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-68","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uguluva"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/68","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=68"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/68\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":78,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/68\/revisions\/78"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=68"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=68"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=68"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}