PROMISED TO HIM
CHAPTER 07
MAYIBUYE DUMA
I woke up and realized Roy wasn’t beside me. For a brief moment, I almost felt relief, but when I marched to the bathroom, there he was—brushing his teeth, half-naked, staring at the mirror as if he owned the world. His arrogant presence filled the space, and I quickly looked away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment. I went straight back to bed and buried myself under the sheets.
This moron… when will this life end?
A loud knock disturbed my thoughts. I groaned, dragging my feet to the door, and opened it.
“Hello?”
The woman standing there didn’t wait for permission. She barged in with a bubbly laugh, her bright energy filling every corner of the room as if she lived here. She looked around with too much curiosity, talking fast, moving faster.
When Roy came out of the bathroom, towel draped around his neck, her jaw nearly hit the floor. She looked at him as though a superhero had walked in.
What do women even see in this arrogant person?
“Ungamnaki lo bhuti, zibuye zithi mzala,” she giggled, [don’t mind this guy, he sometimes loses his mind].
She raised a brow sharply. “Sisi, do you even know who you’re talking about? This is Thee Roy Smith… every girl’s dream husband.”
“Ayikho into echazayo ngaye, ninehaba,” I muttered under my breath, [there’s nothing interesting about him].
Roy gave me a clueless look, if only he knew what i was saying he wouldn’t be so irrogant , He wore his tracksuit in silence, pocketed his phone, and left the room without a single word.
Not long after, Mr. Tony Smith walked in. He was the complete opposite of his son—polished, glowing, his presence commanding but warm. A fresh haircut, pressed suit, clean nails, and a calmness that seemed rehearsed.
“Mayi,” he said with a gentle smile, “you look beautiful. Ncumisa would be so proud.”
The mention of my mother squeezed my heart like a fist. I blinked quickly to hold back tears, but before the sadness could consume me, he opened a velvet box.
Inside lay a necklace. Delicate. Sparkling. Timeless.
“This necklace,” he said softly, lifting it from the box, “is a family heirloom. My father gave it to my mother as a wedding gift. He would be happy seeing you wear it today.”
The sapphire stone caught the light and glowed like fire trapped in water. I swallowed hard as he placed it around my neck. For a moment, staring at my reflection, I barely recognized the girl looking back. She looked… regal. Like she belonged to this world.
But inside, I knew the truth. I didn’t.
“Mr. Smith… will Gogo attend the wedding?” I whispered, clinging to a last sliver of hope.
He paused, exhaled deeply, and shook his head. “She won’t. She’s against this wedding, Mayi. Having her here would only create chaos.”
My shoulders slumped. The weight of loneliness pressed harder on me. I was going into this war alone.
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Hours later, I was dressed in an ivory gown. The satin fabric hugged my body, My heart pounded violently, so loud I was sure everyone could hear it.
Makeup artists fussed around me, pinning my veil, brushing blush across my cheeks, adjusting every last detail. Yet all I wanted was my grandmother’s wrinkled hand to hold.
Then the music began.
The violins hummed, the organ swelled, and the church doors swung open.
My stomach dropped.
The long aisle stretched before me like a path carved by destiny. I clutched the bouquet of white roses tighter, my fingers numb. Guests turned their heads, eyes wide with admiration, lips whispering about my beauty, but their voices were a blur.
All I could see was the man at the altar.
Roy.
He stood tall, his black tuxedo fitted perfectly, his arrogance wearing him like a crown. His jaw was locked, his face unreadable, his aura suffocating. Yet, damn him, he was handsome.though I hate him
Step by step, I walked toward him. My dress trailed behind me like a tide of ivory waves. My knees wanted to buckle, but I kept moving, because there was no turning back.
When I finally reached him, he held out his hand. Slowly, reluctantly, I placed mine in his. His palm was warm, firm, grounding. A spark of tension shot through me, unwanted but undeniable.
The priest began.
“Do you, Roy Smith, take Mayibuye Duma to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?”
Roy was silent. Too silent. My heart raced. Was he going to humiliate me in front of the world? Come on Mayi his denial would work in your favor what are you even thinking
Then finally, with that arrogant calmness, he said, “I do.”
My throat tightened, but I held my head high.
“And do you, Mayibuye Duma, take Roy Smith to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
I looked at him. His eyes bore into mine, unreadable. My lips trembled. My lungs refused to breathe.
“I… do.”
The priest blessed the rings. Roy slipped a band onto my finger with steady, deliberate hands. My own fingers shook as I slid his ring into place.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Roy leaned forward. His lips brushed mine—soft, brief, almost mocking. My body froze, but the crowd erupted in cheers and applause.
We were led to the signing table. My hands trembled as I held the pen. His name was already there, bold and sure: Roy Smith.
Beside it, I slowly carved mine. The letters blurred through my tears. Mayibuye Smith.
It felt like I had just signed away my freedom.
The priest smiled, closing the book. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”
The guests clapped louder, cameras flashed like lightning. I plastered on a smile that wasn’t mine.
Roy was standing there tall
“Smile,” His father muttered under his breath, “The world is watching.”
So we smiled those fake smiles
But inside, I was breaking apart.
Whispers filled the church: “Perfect couple… power union… beautiful bride…”
If only they knew.
Because this wasn’t love. This was a promise I never asked to keep.