PROMISED TO HIM
CHAPTER 03
TONY SMITH
“Tony, does Roy really have to marry that woman’s daughter?” Lindiwe asked, pacing across the room with her wine glass trembling in her hand.
“It was my father’s will, Lindiwe,” I replied, fastening my watch as if it could shield me from her piercing eyes.
She slammed the glass down on the table. “Do you see your father here? Do you hear him breathing? No! He’s dead! And yet, you want to honor some nonsense he wrote years ago? I hate Ncumisa, and to bring her brat here will make my skin crawl!”
I chuckled, low and bitter, shaking my head.
“Why do you hate Ncumisa, Lindiwe? Is it because she was beautiful and had brains? Unlike you, who slept your way up to this position? Or maybe because Dad loved her—because she was polite, humble, and people adored her?”
Her face twisted with rage, but I didn’t give her another chance to spit poison. I grabbed my coat, walked outside, and pulled out my phone.
“Tsikitsiki,” I said when he answered,
“I need a car ready when I land in KZN. Make it discreet.”
The night air was sharp, and the glow of my cigarette lit the shadows around me. Just then, Jayden came strolling over, his hands tucked in his hoodie.
“Pops, you good?” he asked, his voice low.
“Got to fix your brother’s shit,” I muttered.
He nodded without pressing further. That was Jayden—he knew when to talk and when to disappear. He slipped back inside while I headed for the airport.
By 22h00, my plane landed in Durban. The city was alive even at night, but my mission made it all feel cold. I followed the location Tsikitsiki sent me until I arrived at an old house tucked deep in Ntuzuma outskirts. Paint peeling, broken gate, but inside
I knocked once. Twice. Then the door opened.
Mantuli.
Her eyes widened in shock before rage overtook her. She darted for the couch and came back with a gun, pointing it straight at me.
“Phuma la, you motherfucker!” she spat.
I raised my hands slowly.
“Mantuli… calm down. We need to talk like adults.”
“Talk? Uphi uNcumisa? Bring her back to life and then we’ll talk like adults!” she shouted, her hands trembling but her grip steady.
My chest tightened. Even after all these years, she still thought we had something to do with Ncumisa’s death.
“We had nothing to do with her death,” I said firmly.
“You know damn well how Dad adored Ncumisa.”
Her eyes glossed with tears, but her jaw clenched. “Get out!”
I sighed, frustration burning through me. “Don’t make me drag this further, Mantuli. You know the truth. You know that Ncumisa and Robert signed a contract. Her daughter belongs with us.”
Her face broke into a twisted scowl.
“Do you want Mayi to die too? I’ve kept her safe for 18 years—far away from you people and your cursed money. You will not get her!”
I clenched my teeth and made the call I didn’t want to make. Minutes later, the local chief and two police officers arrived.
“Evening, Mr Tony,” one officer greeted, shaking my hand respectfully.
I turned to Mantuli. “I wanted us to handle this civilly. You chose war.”
The officer stepped forward.
“Mama, we are here for the young lady. Her parents signed a contract before they died. We’re here to enforce it.”
“No! Over my dead body!” Mantuli screamed, throwing herself in front of the hallway. But they pushed past her.
A few minutes later, they returned.
With her.
A young girl, maybe eighteen, maybe nineteen, stood between the officers, tears streaking down her face. She resembled Ncumisa so much it made my chest ache—same almond eyes, same delicate bone structure, same quiet sadness in her gaze.
“Mayi! Mayi!” Mantuli screamed, thrashing against the police who held her back.
“Gogo! Don’t let them take me away!” the girl cried, reaching out her hand.
Her screams cut into me, but there was no turning back. The contract was law. The will was binding. She belonged to us now—whether she wanted to or not.
As I drove away, Mayi sobbing quietly in the backseat, Mantuli’s wails echoed in my ears.
I didn’t look back.
Because I knew if I did, I’d see the ghost of Ncumisa staring at me too.