ZAMAHLOBO, THE BLOOD WIFE
CHAPTER 10
ZENZILE
The dining room silence is thick, broken only by the delicate clink of cutlery. Then Mandla’s voice, warm yet pointed, cuts through.
“When am I going to meet my grandchildren, Makoti? I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
Zenzile’s fork stills above her plate. Her gaze flicks from her father-in-law’s expectant face to Sibonelo’s, finding no rescue there. A practiced, polished smile stretches her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Soon, Baba,” she says, her voice sweet and hollow. “Please excuse me.”
She rises gracefully, the legs of her chair scraping softly against the marble floor. The question hangs in the air behind her, a shard of ice in her chest. She climbs the staircase, each step measured, her composure a brittle shell.
When she returns from her bedroom, the table is clear, the room empty save for Nozizwe, who wipes the mahogany surface with a soft cloth.
“Where is everyone?”
“Nelisiwe left for school,Mr. Ngwenya jnr has gone to the office, and senior Mr. and Mrs. have gone for their morning walk,” the maid replies without pausing her work.
Good for her, Zenzile thinks, the bitterness a familiar taste.
–
Minutes later, her Mercedes-Benz glides to a stop outside her parents’ Sandton home. The sheer boredom of an empty mansion had driven her here. She finds her mother, Thokozile, enthroned on a velvet chaise lounge, sipping Earl Grey tea while a maid kneels, massaging her feet.
“Zile, baby! Come in,” Thokozile coos, her smile widening. Zenzile accepts the air-kiss beside her cheek and sinks into the opposite sofa, dropping her purse as if shedding a weight.
“How are you,my baby?”
“I’m fine,Mom. Yourself?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
“Where is Dad?”
“Your father? At the office, as always.” Thokozile waves a dismissive hand, her diamonds catching the light. “Enough about him. What brings you here in the middle of the day?”
“Can’t I visit my mother?”
“You can,but you hardly do. Something is wrong. I can see it in your shoulders.”
Zenzile’s carefully maintained poise cracks. She rolls her eyes, a flash of the petulant girl beneath the designer facade. “I just needed to get away from that house.”
Thokozile sits up,a predator sensing wounded prey. She flicks a wrist, dismissing the maid. The door clicks shut. “Tell me.”
“Everything is wrong,Mom,” Zenzile hisses, leaning forward. “That… that ex-convict stepbrother waltzes out of prison and is handed the CEO title. As if that humiliation isn’t enough, he’s now married, and his little wife is the new darling of the Ngwenya dynasty. I’m practically a wallpaper. And now Baba is nagging about grandchildren! Nx!”
“Shhh, baby, shhh.” Thokozile’s voice is a soothing balm and a sharp scalpel. “Calm that beautiful mind. I have an idea.”
Zenzile’s eyes narrow,then ignite with interest. “Really, Mom?”
“Fulfill your father-in-law’s wish.”
“What?Ruin this figure?” Zenzile’s hands outline her cinched waist, a symbol of her control.
“Just listen,”Thokozile purrs, moving to sit beside her daughter. “If you get pregnant, who becomes the center of attention? You, my love. You will be carrying a Ngwenya heir. The first grandchild. That child will inherit everything—legacy, loyalty, power. Your position will become unshakeable.”
The vision unfolds in Zenzile’s mind, glorious and absolute. Her eyes glisten with newfound ambition. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
Zenzile throws her arms around her mother. “You’re a genius!”
“I know,baby. I know.” Thokozile strokes her hair. “But there is one small matter…”
“How do I get pregnant?Sibonelo and I… it’s complicated.”
A slow,cunning smile spreads across Thokozile’s face. “Leave that to me.”
–
Mkhontowesizwe is immersed in a financial report when a knock intrudes.
“Come in!”
The door opens. Sibonelo walks in, his smile as polished as his shoes. “Bafo.”
Mkhontowesizwe closes the laptop,his guard subtly rising. This newfound brotherly warmth feels foreign, layered with a tension he can’t ignore.
“You’re still here?”Sibonelo asks, feigning mild surprise.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You have a meeting with the tender committee in,”he consults his wristwatch, a theatrical gesture, “half an hour. At the Vincent Park offices.”
“What?That’s today? Owethu said—”
“She must have forgotten.It’s critical. If you’re late, we could lose the entire bid.” Sibonelo’s tone is all helpful concern. “I’ll send the location to your phone. You should leave now to beat the traffic.”
A flicker of urgency sparks in Mkhontowesizwe. “Thanks for the reminder.” He grabs his jacket and briefcase, striding out without a second glance.
Behind him, Sibonelo doesn’t move. The helpful mask melts away, leaving a cold, satisfied smirk. The trap is set.
–
ZAMAHLOBO
Her office feels like a sanctuary. She settles into her chair, running a hand over the familiar grain of her desk. Congratulations gifts from staff members—a lush plant, a delicate vase, a box of fine chocolates—crowd a side table. Mkhontowesizwe had accepted none, offering only those tense, perfunctory smiles. Some things don’t change.
Owethu knocks and peeks in, her face anxious. “Zama, the board meeting starts in five. The investors are already in the room.”
“I’m coming. Where is Mr. Ngwenya?”
“Which one?”
“My husband,Owethu,” Zamahlobo says, a thread of impatience in her voice.
“He left about twenty minutes ago. In a hurry.”
A cold knot tightens in Zamahlobo’s stomach. “He’s supposed to be leading this meeting.” She grabs her phone. “Tell them we’ll be there shortly. I’ll handle it.”
Is he trying to self sabotage himself or what? He knows how big this is for the company.
The line rings three times before his gruff voice answers.
“MaPhakathwayo .”
“Mkhonto, where are you?”
“Haybo,not even a hello?”
“There’s no time for hellos !We have the board and the Durban investors here right now, and you’re… galavanting!”
“I’m not galavanting,MaPhakathwayo. I’m heading to a meeting .”
“Meeting? What meeting? ”She consulted with Owethu to check his schedule and no meeting was scheduled twelve thirty.
“The tender meeting. Sibonelo told me—”
The pieces slam together in her mind.Damn it.
“Mkhonto,listen to me. Turn the car around. Come back to the office now. I’ll stall them. Just get here.” She ends the call before he can argue.
Her mind races. Why would Sibonelo purposely mislead Mkhonto?
She gathers her files, her posture straightening with resolve. She walks into the boardroom, where the low murmur of conversation dies instantly. Her eyes sweep the room, landing on Sibonelo. He meets her gaze, his expression unreadable. She offers a tight, professional smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My sincerest apologies for the delay.” Her voice is calm, commanding, filling the space. “Mr. Ngwenya has been unexpectedly detained, but he is en route. In the interim, he has fully briefed me on today’s agenda, and I will be proceeding in his stead.”
She takes his seat at the head of the table, her gaze sharp and unwavering. She is not just filling a chair; she is holding the line. He won’t get here in time due to traffic but she’s here so she will handle it on his behalf.
–
The meeting concludes half an hour later. Handshakes are exchanged, the investors’ faces reflecting approval. The presentation, led by Zamahlobo’s clear insight and quick thinking, has been a success.
Mkhontowesizwe arrives just as the room empties, his expression one of sincere apology . He shares a few words with the departing chairman . The door closes, leaving only Sibonelo lingering by the window.
“I know what you did,” Zamahlobo says, her voice low but razor-sharp, directed at Sibonelo. “I have no interest in starting a war between brothers, so I won’t tell him. But consider this a warning. Stop these cheap tricks of yours.”
“Or what?”Sibonelo challenges, his casual stance belying the tension in his jaw.
“Or you will have me to deal with . I am not going to stand by while you sabotage my husband. Do you understand?”
“Who are you to stop me?”
“I am his wife,”she says, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “ Watch yourself.”
The door opens. Mkhontowesizwe strides back in, his eyes narrowing at the charged atmosphere.
“Is something wrong?”
Zamahlobo’s expression smooths over instantly.
“No, nothing at all. Sibonelo was just apologizing. He mistakenly gave you the wrong meeting details—he thought the tender meeting was today.”
“Yes,”Sibonelo forces out, the word stiff. “A simple mix-up. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,”Mkhontowesizwe says, though his eyes linger on his brother for a beat too long. “MaPhakathwayo, let’s go.”
He places a hand on the small of her back, a gesture of unity and possession. As they walk out together, Zamahlobo doesn’t look back, but the message hangs in the silent boardroom, clear and formidable: The Keeper is on guard.
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