I quickly slipped on my fancy black flip-flops, grabbed my purse, and hurried downstairs the hem of my dress catching under my foot. I stumbled, almost falling face-first, but caught myself just in time. My heart thudded against my ribs as I straightened up, brushing invisible dust off my clothes before anyone could see.
Michael's voice broke through the silence.
He turned his head lazily from the couch, eyes flickering from the TV to me. The dull blue glow of the screen cast sharp shadows on his face.
"Where are you going?" he asked, his tone flat but edged with suspicion.
I froze mid-step, one hand gripping the doorknob.
"Uhmm… I… uh," I stuttered, my palms damp, the words tangling on my tongue.
He scoffed softly and rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just close the door when you leave."
The dismissal stung, but I said nothing. No need to give him the satisfaction.
I stepped outside, closing the door behind me, exhaling the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
And there he was.
Slavvy's black Range Rover idled by the curb, the headlights slicing through the dusk. The car gleamed like liquid night, powerful and silent, with tinted windows that hid secrets. When he saw me, he stepped out tall, composed, dressed in his usual black-on-black. The streetlight caught the silver glint of his watch as he opened the door for me.
"Hey," he said, his voice low, smooth like smoke. He pulled me into a hug warm, steady, grounding. The familiar scent of his cologne hit me: sandalwood, mint, and something darker underneath. Something expensive. Something dangerous.
When he pulled away, I caught the shift in his gaze. His eyes were darker now, sharper scanning me like he could read every secret I tried to hide.
"You good?" he asked gently, but there was weight behind it, a quiet protectiveness.
I nodded. "I'm fine."
He smiled faintly and drew me back into his arms for a moment longer, the gesture soft yet claiming.
"Let's go," he murmured, his hand finding the small of my back as he guided me toward the car.
The door closed with a soft click that felt final sealing me inside his world.
As we pulled away, the hum of the engine filled the silence. Streetlights streaked across his face in flashes of gold and shadow. I glanced at him his jaw was sharp, his expression unreadable. I couldn't believe it: me, sneaking out for a boy.
Back home, I was the quiet one. The invisible girl. The one who never broke rules or looked at boys twice.
And yet here I was three months in Cape Town, with someone I'd known for less than a week, riding into the unknown.
My stomach betrayed me with a loud growl.
"You hungry?" he asked, amusement dancing in his tone.
"I guess I am," I admitted, cheeks warming.
"We'll get food," he said easily.
"There's no need," I replied quickly, trying to sound polite. "I'm not that hungry."
A lie. A hungry lie.
My stomach grumbled again, louder this time.
He chuckled. "I think your tummy disagrees," he teased, and his grin softened his entire face. He turned smoothly into the Chicken Licken drive-thru, the car purring like a panther.
"Don't order too much," I warned, and he laughed.
"Relax. I won't."
I couldn't help noticing how composed he looked behind the wheel the quiet authority, the way his hands moved with confidence. Black always suited him; it made him look untouchable. Dangerous.
When the lady at the window handed him the bag, I barely heard her voice. I was too lost in watching him the polite nod, the faint smile, the way he made even small moments feel deliberate.
"You look beautiful, by the way," he said suddenly, eyes still on the road.
My breath caught. Nobody except my mother had ever said that to me. His words felt heavy, like they meant more than he let on.
Minutes later, he handed me the takeout bag.
Sixty hot wings. Two chicken burgers. Way too much food for two people.
"These look delicious," I said, inhaling the spicy aroma. "I love spicy food."
"Then dig in," he murmured, his lips curling into a grin that made my pulse skip.
As we drove, I noticed the scenery shifting. The streets widened, the houses grew larger, and the air felt… richer. Too rich.
"Wait… is this the same house?" I asked, glancing at him.
"Nope," he said, a secretive smile tugging at his lips. "This is my other villa. You'll like it here."
Another villa? My chest tightened.
"How old are you to have all this?" I asked carefully.
He turned his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Let's just say I have my ways."
Something about the way he said it made the air feel heavier. I stayed quiet.
We pulled into a long, stone-paved driveway lined with tall, dark cypress trees. The villa loomed ahead sleek, black glass and marble, glowing faintly under the soft lights. The gates closed behind us with a metallic hum.
When he stepped out and came around to open my door, I noticed the subtle shift in him. His shoulders straightened. His eyes hardened.
"Come on," he said softly, offering his hand. His grip was warm, but beneath it was something taut a tension I couldn't name.
"What's wrong?" I asked as we walked up the steps.
"Nothing," he said with a faint smile. "You're just… something else."
Inside, the air was cool and faintly perfumed. The foyer opened into a grand hall, marble floors reflecting the chandelier's golden glow. Staff moved quietly around — quick, efficient, almost invisible.
A woman in uniform stopped and bowed slightly.
"Sir," she greeted, her tone respectful.
He gave her a curt nod and continued walking, his expression unreadable.
I watched him, a strange chill running through me. He didn't even need to speak — everyone seemed to know exactly who he was and what he was capable of.
Still, I followed.
The walls were lined with art abstract paintings, each worth more than my entire house. The air was thick with quiet power, the kind that didn't need to be flaunted.