PROMISED TO HIM
CHAPTER 06
MAYIBUYE DUMA
I woke up feeling warmth pressed against me. For a second, I thought it was Gogo’s arms, but when I opened my eyes, I was laying on his chest. My heart raced. Roy Smith.
I tried to pull myself away, but my dress had gotten hooked onto the thick gold chain around his neck. I tugged, panic rising, and in the process I slipped—falling right into his face. Our foreheads collided with a painful thud.
“Ouch,” I muttered, rubbing my head.
He groaned, his eyes opening slowly. Before I could move, he shifted his weight and suddenly I was trapped beneath him, his hands pinning mine against the headboard. His body hovered over me, his presence heavy, intoxicating, dangerous.
“Know your boundaries,” he growled, his voice rough with sleep. He freed my dress from his chain and rolled off me like nothing had happened. Without a second glance, he stood, stretching, then walked toward the bathroom.
I sat there, breathless, clutching the sheets. How did I end up this close to him?
When he returned, water still dripping from his hair, a towel was slung low on his hips. He was built like danger sculpted in flesh—broad shoulders, sharp jawline, and those unreadable eyes. I quickly looked away, heat flooding my face. Living with this man would be a nightmare.
I escaped to the bathroom, locked the door, and ran a cold bath. Only after I’d calmed my nerves did I wrap myself in a towel and return to the room. But there he was—naked this time, getting dressed like he didn’t even care that I was there.
I stayed in the bathroom until I heard him leave. When I finally went downstairs, breakfast was already set. The table looked like something out of a Christmas feast—platters of bacon, eggs, fruit, pastries. Excessive.
He tugged a gun into his waistband before he sat, but just as he pulled out a chair, his phone rang. One word and he was gone, briefcase in hand, leaving me in the silence of his mansion.
Not long after, the peace shattered. His sister Pretty and a group of girls stormed in, their voices loud, their laughter filling the space. Pretty’s eyes landed on me instantly.
“Girl, tomorrow is your wedding. Chin up,” she said with a grin.
My heart stopped.
“Wedding?” My voice cracked. “What wedding?”
She giggled like it was nothing. “Yes, your wedding. Don’t act surprised.”
I shook my head. “This is too much, too fast. I got here yesterday, and now—marriage? What’s the rush?”
Pretty ignored me and waved her hand. In minutes, staff started decorating around the pool area. White flowers, elegant ribbons, wedding gowns being hung for display—it was breathtaking, like something from a magazine. And yet, it felt like a cage closing in on me.
“How do you feel about this?” Pretty asked, watching me carefully.
I let out a bitter laugh. “Your family abducted me. How do you think I feel?”
Her smile faltered. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to sound insensitive. Roy… he’s not that bad. He’s—”
“Nice? Please don’t lie to me.”
“Okay fine, he’s crazy,” she admitted with a laugh. “But deep down, he’s a control freak in a good way.”
“There is nothing good about your brother,” I said sharply.
Pretty smirked like she knew more than I did. “So… how was the first night?”
Before I could reply, Bab’ Tony walked in, his presence commanding silence.
“Mayi, did Roy tell you where he was going?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, he said it was an emergency.”
Tony looked at me for a long moment seeing im not okay.
“Do we really have to drag this out? The earlier the better. You deserve to be a Smith daughter-in-law.”
His words unsettled me. Funny how he seemed kind to me when Gogo always warned me the Smiths were dangerous.
ROY SMITH
I drove into the warehouse, my jaw tight. The smell of iron and gasoline clung to the air. And there she was— tied to a chair, face swollen, blood dripping from her mouth.
I lit a cigarette, took off my Rolex, and without hesitation, delivered a punch that knocked two more teeth loose.
“Who sent you?” I hissed, gripping her jaw so hard it cracked.
Silence. Wrong move.
I yanked her by the hair and smashed her face against the metal table, again and again until blood smeared the steel. Still nothing. I was losing patience.
With one swift motion, I pulled out my okapi knife, pressed her hand to the table, and sliced off her thumb. Her scream echoed in the empty warehouse.
“Talk.”
She shook violently, tears mixing with blood. I started the car engine, preparing to crush her under the wheels. That’s when she broke.
“Okay! I’ll talk!” Her voice cracked, desperate. “I… I was sent by… Se—Sean—S” Her words slurred, her body convulsing.
I leaned closer. “Sean who?”
But before she could finish, her head slumped. Pulse gone.
“Fuck!” I cursed, kicking her lifeless body in frustration. Another lead gone cold.
I burned my bloodstained clothes outside, replaced them with a fresh shirt and tuxedo, and drove to the club.
Msizi was waiting at the entrance, arms folded. My right-hand man. My only real friend.
“You’re not at SH today?” he asked.
“I had business,” I muttered.
“Heard you’re getting married tomorrow.”
I scoffed. “Just found out today.”
“Thought you hated the L-word.”
“There’s a lot to learn, my brother. But first—help me find this Sean. Last name unknown.but start with S”
Msizi nodded. “Done.”
Inside, I barely had a moment before Ndalwenhle appeared, glass in hand, eyes flashing with jealousy.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she demanded.
I sipped my drink calmly. “I don’t think. I know. I’m Roy Smith.”
“That girl? She’s out of your league!did you have to kiss her in front of me ”
I look her straight . “Stop acting like a bitch. Stop catching feelings.”
Her voice cracked. “I love you, Roy.”
Pathetic. They all started like fun, casual distractions, and then they caught feelings. Same cycle, different face.
I left her standing there and retreated to my office, burying myself in paperwork until midnight. By the time I drove home, exhaustion tugged at me.
When I entered the room, Mayi was curled on my side of the bed, clearly trying to create Boundaries failed her .
I chuckled softly, stripped off my tuxedo, and hit the cold shower