PROMISED TO HIM
CHAPTER 22
MAYIBUYE SMITH
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
I sat at the edge of the couch , My hair was now neat , my mind… chaotic.
Roy’s scent still clung to me — that sinful mix of smoke and cedar that made me dizzy. I had touched his chest, felt his heartbeat. I had seen a softness in him that made me forget everything — who he was, what his name carried, what his family had done.
For a moment, I had wanted to stay lost in that lie.
But peace never lasted long in this house.
My phone started ringing on the nightstand. The screen flashed: Gogo.
My chest tightened. I hadn’t spoken to her in days. The last time we spoke, she had sounded tired — tired of waiting, tired of promises, tired of me.
I swallowed hard before answering.
“Hello?”
Her voice came through sharp as a blade.
“Mayibuye! You think I’ve got forever to wait?”
I blinked, startled. “Gogo?”
“Ungizwile”[you heard me] she said, her Zulu thick with anger.
“How long must it take to find proof, my girl? Eh? Weeks? Months?years?You told me you were inside that house — that you’d get something by now. Or did you forget why you went there?”
Her words hit me like a slap.
“I didn’t forget,” I said softly, but my voice betrayed me.
Gogo scoffed. “Don’t lie to me, Mayibuye. You’ve gone quiet. You sound… distracted. You’re forgetting the mission, forgetting your blood.”
I stood up, pacing the room. My hands trembled as I spoke.
“I’m not distracted, Gogo. It’s just… complicated.”
“Complicated?” she snapped.
“Did your parents’ deaths look complicated to you? I raised you to fight, not to make excuses for killers.”
Her words tore through my chest.
“I remember,and i know ” I whispered, but it came out broken.
“Then act like it!” she barked.
“You’re living under their roof, eating their food, wearing their clothes — and you still don’t have a single thing I can use? You think I’m blind, Mayibuye? I hear the silence in your voice. I can feel your heart turning soft. Don’t you dare tell me you’re falling for that man.”
My throat closed. I turned toward the balcony, gripping the curtain so tight it almost tore.
“Gogo,” I said, almost pleading,
“I’m not falling for anyone….i would never”
“Good,” she said coldly.
“Because that name — Smith — must never mean love to you. It must mean blood. It must mean what they took from you.”
I pressed a hand against my chest, my breathing shallow.
“Listen to me,” Gogo continued, her tone calmer now but full of warning. “Their power sits in secrets. Find those secrets. Letters, files, photos — anything that ties them to dirty . I don’t care how you do it. Just don’t forget who you are. Your mother’s daughter. Your father’s blood.”
I stayed quiet, tears threatening to spill.
“Gogo,” I whispered
“I’ve waited too long, child. Don’t make me die waiting for the truth.”
Her voice cracked at the end — just a little — and then the line went dead.
I stood there frozen, the phone still pressed to my ear.
The silence after her call felt heavier than her words.
I wiped my tears and turned toward the TV which was now watching me
Maybe Gogo was right. Maybe I’d gotten too comfortable. Too close.
For the first time, love didn’t feel soft anymore. It felt dangerous.
And for the first time, I wanted to know the truth — even if it meant destroying the man who made me forget it.
I whispered to myself,
“You wanted proof, Gogo? You’ll get it. Even if it break me… i will dig everything.”
I wiped my face, and looked in the mirror one last time.
No more confusion. No more tears.
If Roy Smith loved me, he was about to learn what love costs.
Hours passed before I heard the faint sound of the front door downstairs. Footsteps. His voice speaking lowly to someone. Then silence.
My heart raced, but I didn’t move. The door to our bedroom opened a little, light spilling in. I didn’t turn.
I felt him watching me — his shadow long across the floor, his breathing uneven. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he sighed and whispered, almost too quietly, “You deserve more than a man like me, Mayi.”
The door closed again, leaving me in darkness.
And that’s when I realized —
he didn’t mean he didn’t want me.
He meant he was afraid of wanting me.