PROMISED TO HIM
CHAPTER 02
ROY SMITH
I got home yesterday after a meeting that dragged longer than it should have. I remember dropping my phone on the bed, stripping off my suit like it was another boring performance, and crashing into sleep. The world could have exploded and I would’ve slept through it—until Pretty started shaking me like I was a life preserver.
“Dude, you’re trending!” she screamed in my ear.
Trending. that my middle name. Usually it’s for awards, parties, new deals—things that make people clap.
I flung my arm over my eyes. “Can you leave the fuck out of here ? I’m sleeping.”
“Man, you so dead…why are you so calm?” Pretty hissed, eyes wide, like she’d already imagined headlines with my face on fire.
Before I could answer a knock came at the door. The maid’s voice floated in: “Sir…Sir is calling you in the study.”
I pulled on a trackpant, shoved my feet into slides and grabbed a vest. Pretty wouldn’t stop talking as I padded down the stairs—her voice a low, excited commentary on how I’d somehow managed to flop.
Pretty was a nuisance and a half. She lived for drama the way I lived for champagne. She wanted to know everything but kept nothing to herself. I waved her away. “Leave me alone, dude.”
My father sat behind his desk like a judge about to hand down a sentence, a newspaper spread open in front of him. His jaw was tight.
“The whole country’s buzzing, Roy,” he said without looking up.
“Your name’s on every channel. The whole CEO of Smith Holdings found in this”—he thumped the paper—“and they’re calling for blood.”
I looked. The photo was grainy
“She says you raped her,” my father said, simple and brutal.
“I can read,” I said, lighting a cigarette with a hand that didn’t tremble. Smoke curled toward the ceiling like a temporary peace treaty. Truth was, I’d done nothing like that. I had standards in how I treated people—even the ones who flirted too close. But public opinion isn’t a courtroom. It’s a mob with a keyboard.
“I will kill this bitch, I swear,” I muttered, feeling anger like a warm blade. My jaw clenched so hard I could hear it.
“And do what, Roy? Drag attention to us?” Dad’s voice was cold and sharp. He did not like messy headlines. Not when they arrived unrequested.
“Dad, I didn’t rape this girl,” I said, exhale thin and bitter.
“Investors are calling non-stop. They want reassurances. The board wants a statement. I don’t want problems,” he said. Understatement of the decade. Smith Holdings moved markets. I was the face of a family legacy that could crumble on a whisper. One allegation, whether true or false, could cost families their pensions, employees their jobs—never mind our reputation.
I took a drag, thinking
“Is there any way—” I started.”We can fix this shit”
The cigarette hung forgotten.
“That bitch should have known better than to betray me.”I said banging the table
My father’s eyes were a glacier.
“This isn’t about what she should’ve known. This is about perception. About optics. We control the narrative, Roy. You don’t take everything that has pussy and fuck it”
“You have to call the press and announce your wife.”
“What?” I looked at him like he’d lost her mind.
“She’s not my wife, baba,That Bayi girl wont ever be my wife,” I said
“It’s Mayi, dude,” Pretty insisted.
“And you need to go to KZN so you can meet your wife—for the company’s image.”Dad said as he folded the paper with slow, deliberate hands.
“It’s not about the truth right now. It’s about what the public will accept. Announce her as your wife. Show commitment. Show stability. Investors need that. The board will back us if we can control the story.”
I laughed, a short, humorless sound. “Make my fake marriage press conference the headline that drowns a rape allegation?”
“whether you like it or not she is your wife,” my father said.
“You need to present a united front. We had an arrangement discussed—years ago—an alliance. It’s time to activate it.”
The room felt suddenly smaller, like the ceiling had lowered and the walls leaned in to listen to our plotting.
“You want me to marry a stranger for optics?” I said. The cigarette-burned ash fell and broke like brittle certainty. “I’m not a puppet on a string.”
“Sometimes being the CEO means you are the string,” Dad replied.
“Sometimes you move in ways you don’t like for the sake of the greater good.”
“PR will draft the statement,” Dad continued. “You make the announcement by tomorrow tonight . You leave for KZN tonight and come back with your wife And stay out of clubs for the next two weeks.”
“Who will run the clubs if I stay out of it?” he snapped, voice sharp enough to cut through the silence.
“Tyma, I’m not going to KZN,” I replied coolly. “If you want that girl to be your daughter-in-law, then fetch her yourself.”
He stared like I’d just handed him a live grenade. I left him standing there and climbed the stairs. At the door, just as I was about to close it, Pretty slid in like she owned the place.
She elbowed me. “Do you want me to come? For moral support?”
“Didn’t you hear? Or are you just stupid?” I said, pouring whiskey into a glass. The bottle was steady in my hand; so was I—enough to be dangerous.
“Roy, come on. We need this. If we don’t show, we’ll lose the company.”
“Mxm. I’m not ready to be committed. I don’t love idiot,” I said, watching her imitate me with a grin.
“Love is for weaklings,” she mocked, then blinked like she’d said too much.
I dialed the number I never used unless there was blood on the floor. “Leave Pretty Smith,” I called through the doorway. She hesitated, then left, heels tapping like punctuation.
Back on the line. “Boss,” the voice answered—flat, steady, professional.
“After the press tomorrow,” I said, slow as a loaded gun. “Kill the bitch that spread those rumours. Make it look like an overdose.”
A pause. Then: “Noted.”
I hung up and dropped onto the bed.So my life changed within hours mxm this is bullshit
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