BJ's library

03/07/2025

03/07/2025

THE SACRIFICIAL BRIDE
CHAPTER 19

LERATO

It was Saturday morning, but it didn't feel like it. The air was heavy in Lerato’s small flat, and so was her heart. She sat hunched over on the edge of the couch, eyes puffy, lips dry, and her face pale as though life itself was draining out of her. She hadn’t slept a wink. How could she? She was less than forty-eight hours away from either finding R300,000 or spending a significant part of her youth behind prison bars—for a man she didn’t even kill.

She bit her bottom lip until it stung, trying to suppress the sobs creeping up her throat. Her cellphone had been off since midnight. She couldn’t bear to see another reminder, another threatening message from the blackmailer reminding her that time was not on her side. The ticking clock had become her personal executioner.

The worst part? The only person she thought could help her had postponed their meeting to Wednesday. Wednesday. How useless was that when she only had until Sunday at midnight?

Lerato tilted her head up and whispered through clenched teeth, "I’m going to prison… for a man I didn’t even kill." Her voice cracked. She rubbed her temples, shaking her head slowly. “I was scared. I didn’t know what to do when I woke up next to that body. Jesus, I was terrified.” Her voice trembled, and the silence around her seemed to echo her dread.

She wrapped her arms around herself and let the tears fall. “I thought it was okay… that it made sense to get rid of the body. The cops wouldn’t care anyway. They’re lazy. Everyone knows the South African police wouldn’t waste their energy figuring out what really happened. They’d just pin it on me. And now... now I’m going to die in prison. I won’t even survive a holding cell.”

Footsteps sounded faintly from the kitchen. Lerato sat up quickly, frantically wiping her tears with both hands, sniffling and trying to compose herself.

Sandi walked in, dressed in a worn oversized T-shirt and warm leggings. Her belly was just starting to show, a gentle curve under her loose shirt. She stood next to Lerato and offered a tired smile.

“Good morning,” Sandi greeted softly.

Lerato cleared her throat and forced a response. “Good morning.”

“How did you sleep?”

Silence.

Sandi winced and sighed, instantly regretting the question. “Sorry… that was a stupid thing to ask.”

She turned to the stove and began making breakfast, the clinking of cutlery and soft boiling of the kettle offering a brief distraction from the doom looming over them.

After a beat of silence, Sandi cleared her throat again and asked hesitantly, “Is there… anything yet on your side?”

Lerato shook her head, slowly, then dropped her face into her hands. “Nothing. I’m still on level zero.”

There was an audible pause before Sandi spoke again. “I… I managed to raise R5000.”

Lerato lifted her head and stared at her. A wry chuckle escaped her lips—not out of mockery, but sheer disbelief.

Sandi stiffened, visibly hurt. She returned her attention to the eggs she was whisking.

“No, man, Sandi,” Lerato said quickly, her tone softening. “I’m grateful, really. R5000 is not bad. It’s a start. At least you got something. What about me? I’ve got absolutely nothing. I'm even thinking of selling the thingy…”

Her voice trailed off. The silence hung thick between them until Sandi turned to face her, her expression sharp.

“No, Lerato. You can’t resort to selling your va**na. That’s prostitution, and it’s really not safe. People are sick out there.”

Lerato shrugged. “What choice do I have, huh? I have no one. I don’t want you stressing either—you’re pregnant, and I don’t want this affecting the baby’s health. She might come out dark instead of being a yellow bone.”

Sandi let out a choked chuckle and smiled faintly. Silence wrapped around them again before Sandi softly said, “Thendo… the baby daddy, he tried to reach out last night.”

Lerato looked up, her brows raised. “Now that’s news. What did he say?”

Sandi frowned, lowering her gaze. “Just the usual nonsense. Asking me how this happened. Saying we used protection. The tone of his messages made it clear—he doesn’t want this baby.”

Lerato’s eyes darkened with rage as she watched her friend wipe away a tear with trembling fingers. She stood and walked over to her, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Sandi. That guy is a jerk-ass, and he doesn’t deserve to even be called a man.”

Sandi cried quietly in Lerato’s arms, the pain of abandonment settling into her bones. As they held each other, a beep cut through the room.

A message.

They broke from the hug. Sandi reached for her phone and opened the message. Her eyes scanned the screen. Her hands started to tremble.

Lerato watched with growing alarm. “What? What’s wrong?”

Sandi opened her mouth to respond but couldn’t form the words.

Lerato snatched the phone from her hand and read the message aloud, her blood running cold:

“If your friend doesn’t give me my money, you’ll go to prison with that silly baby of yours. R600K in my bank by midnight. Or else.”

Lerato’s heart pounded. Her eyes darted around the room, then she ran to the door, pulled it open and checked outside, scanning the street. Nothing.

Inside, Sandi was frozen. “I’m going to prison, Rato…”

Lerato turned to her. “No. You’re not going to prison.”

“Yes, I am! Oh my God, we’re going to prison!” Sandi shrieked, her breathing turning shallow, panicked. “I’m pregnant for f**k’s sake!”

Lerato rushed to her side, gripping her shoulders. “Sandi, listen to me. You are not going to prison. If anyone has to take the fall, it’s me. Not you. Not your baby.”

Sandi shook her head violently.

“You need to calm down, sisi,” Lerato said, her voice steady but gentle. “Think of siponono, please. If you keep crying like this, she not only going to come out looking like a black night, but she’ll smell like atchaar too.”

Sandi burst into a half-laugh, half-cry. “Please stop. This is not funny.”

Lerato smiled faintly, wiping away Sandi’s tears. Then she looked away, her face hardening.

“There’s somewhere I need to be.”

She turned, walked to her bedroom.

“Rato?” Sandi called, following her.

Lerato emerged moments later, now dressed in leggings and a hoodie. Her eyes were glassy but fierce with resolve. She moved past Sandi toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Sandi asked again, voice high with worry.

Lerato paused, her hand on the door.

“Just keep the doors locked,” she said quietly. Then she walked out.

BONO

Bono sat in his study, fingers tapping away at his laptop keyboard. He was focused, as always. In his world, there was no such thing as rest—not when you’re trying to build an empire and buy your freedom from the underworld.

He needed to make sure that by the time he cut ties with the Grand Master, he was so wealthy that he’d never have to lift a finger again. But of course, the Grand Master wasn’t making it easy. The demands were unreasonable—far more than any of Bono’s friends had been subjected to when they left the game.

Maybe it was because he’d stayed in too long. Maybe it was personal.

Mitchell walked in silently, placing a steaming cup of coffee on his desk.

“Thanks,” Bono muttered.

She didn’t leave. She stood by the desk, arms crossed.

“Your little wife seems to be under a lot of pressure now.”

Bono’s lips curled. “Yeah. That’s the aim.”

“Any word from her?” he asked, eyes still on the laptop.

“Yeah,” Mitchell said with a slight shrug. “She’s scared. And I scared the little pig of a friend she’s always with. The pregnant one.”

Bono chuckled under his breath.

“I didn’t hate her, you know,” Mitchell said. “But now I do. She’s carrying the baby of my friend’s husband. And it’s all your fault.”

Bono looked up slowly. “I apologised for that.”

“Yeah, right,” Mitchell snapped. “I just want all this to be over. I want to start plotting against that lig.”

Bono frowned. “Why?”

Mitchell glared. “Because she’s pregnant. And Vanessa—Thendo’s wife—has been married to him for years, and they don’t even have one child together.”

Bono sighed. “It’s not the girl’s fault that Vanessa’s womb is a graveyard.”

Mitchell gasped, eyes wide in shock, but before she could say anything, the landline rang from the lounge.

Bono glanced at her. Mitchell rolled her eyes and turned, heels clicking as she walked out.

She answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Ma’am,” the guard’s voice crackled on the line. “You have a guest requesting to see the Boss.”

“Who?” she asked, annoyed.

“It’s Thatos’ sister.”

Mitchell’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Really.”

“Ma’am? Are you still there?”

Mitchell cleared her throat. “Tell her the Boss is unavailable. It’s Sunday. He’s resting. If she wants to see him, she must set up an appointment.”

She slammed the phone back onto the cradle, still smiling to herself as she picked up the cookie plate and returned to the study.

Bono looked up. “Who was it?”

Mitchell placed the cookies on his desk and said coolly, “Beggars.”

03/07/2025

THE SACRIFICIAL BRIDE
CHAPTER 18

LERATO

Sandi blinked awake to the soft hush of the morning light filtering through the curtains. Her body was still sore from the restless sleep, and as she stretched and rose, she caught a strange stillness in the air. It wasn’t the peaceful stillness of morning—it was the kind that whispered that something was wrong.

She walked out of the bedroom and froze mid-step.

There, in the lounge, sat Lerato—slouched, her eyes hollow with exhaustion. The small coffee table between them bore a chilling sight: a sharp, silver kitchen knife glinting faintly under the dim light.

Sandi’s breath caught. “No, Lerato,” she said slowly, her voice trembling. “Don’t tell me you slept here.”

Lerato exhaled with a heaviness that carried the weight of a broken spirit. Her eyes moved slowly to meet Sandi’s, then dropped to the floor with shame and weariness. Her lips quivered, but her voice was steady when it finally came out.

“I’m going to jail, Sandi,” she whispered, her tone dry and tired. “How do you expect me to sleep, knowing that?”

Sandi sighed and moved to the couch, sitting beside her with gentleness. She didn’t speak right away—she simply watched her friend, her heart aching. She saw the trembling in Lerato’s fingers, the tears crusted at the edges of her eyes, and the way her chest rose and fell as though it hurt to breathe.

Lerato continued, her voice strained. “I don’t have that kind of money, Sandi. I don’t even have such money in my name... not in savings, not anywhere.” She paused and swallowed hard, her voice cracking as she went on. “Whoever this person is... they have everything. Every single thing to prove what happened that night. From the body, to the time, to the place. They know everything.”

She bit her lip. “My parents don’t even have that amount of money in their banks...”

Sandi shook her head slowly. “But... you didn’t kill the man, Lerato. You didn’t take his life. He just... woke up dead.”

That made Lerato spring up suddenly. She stormed toward the kitchen, her footsteps loud against the tiles. She turned sharply, her voice raised and raw.

“You don’t get it, do you?” she snapped, eyes wide with frustration.

“I didn’t report it to the police, Sandi. I didn’t scream or call for help. Instead, I—” she shook her head bitterly, “—I helped discard the body. And someone else... someone else burned it. So even if I didn’t kill him... it doesn’t matter now. The moment I touched that body and helped cover it up, I became part of it.”

Sandi stayed quiet, absorbing the horror in her words. Minutes passed, thick with silence.

Then Sandi’s voice broke through, a quiet thought aloud. “Wait...”

Lerato turned her head. “What?”

Sandi sat up straighter. “That lady... what was her name again?”

Lerato frowned in confusion. “Which one, Sandi? You’re not making sense.”

Sandi leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “The one who burned the body... the one who came to view the apartment. The woman from the day before all of this went to hell.”

Lerato blinked slowly as the memory clicked into place. Her brows drew together. “Oh! What was her name again? Michael? Minaj?”

Sandi rolled her eyes. “Mitchell! Lerato, her name was Mitchell!”

Lerato turned fully to face her, the puzzle pieces starting to connect. “Okay... what about her?”

Sandi stood now, pacing as she spoke, her hands flying in the air. “Come on, Rato. Think! That woman just popped up out of nowhere, saying she wanted to view the apartment. Then the very next day, when we were supposed to meet her for the viewing, she didn’t come. She just... vanished. But guess where she turned up?”

Lerato’s eyes widened. “At the dumpsite.”

Sandi pointed at her. “Exactly! She followed us.”

Lerato slowly nodded, stunned. “Oh my God... you’re right. She followed us from the estate... all the way to the dumpsite. She knew everything.”

Sandi's voice rose. “And how? How the hell did she know we were going there?”

Lerato’s mouth fell open, her face twisting in disbelief. “Damn it... she was in on it. She knew about the guy. About me. About that night.”

“You see?” Sandi said, her voice softening now. “It was a trap, love. They trapped you.”

Lerato dropped her head and placed both hands firmly on the kitchen counter, her back trembling. She whispered, “But why? I don’t have money... I don’t have anything worth taking.”

Sandi stared at her, her heart breaking for her friend. She had no answer.

Lerato turned slowly. “Could it be... could it be that they were after him? That guy? Maybe they came here... and they killed him while we were asleep? But for what? What reason would they have to trap me in all of this?”

Sandi shook her head. “People are cruel, Lerato. Cruel and hungry. They don’t need a reason. They do things for fun. You don’t even have ten rand in your Capitec account.”

Lerato shot her a look. “Who told you that?”

Sandi smirked. “I’m just saying—”

“I have seventeen rand,” Lerato interrupted, holding up a finger. “Seventeen rand and sixty-five cents.”

Sandi burst into laughter.

Lerato went quiet again, the heaviness creeping back in. Sandi watched her for a moment, then asked gently, “So... what are you going to do?”

Lerato gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t know, Sandi. I really don’t. Even if I decided to start searching for that woman—Michael Scofield’s sister—I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Sandi raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And what?” Lerato asked, annoyed.

Sandi leaned in. “If you do find her, then what? What are you going to do?”

Lerato sighed. “Go tla nkga go sa bola. ” “It will smell when nothing is rotten.

Sandi burst out laughing. “Wena! Lerato, you’re mad!”

Lerato smiled faintly. “It doesn’t matter what the plan is. The fact is... I don’t have the money she wants, and she has all the proof. I have no choice left. Maybe I should just rob a bank?”

Sandi blinked. “No, Lerato! We’re being serious!”

Then they both burst into laughter, the tension breaking for a brief second.

Lerato glanced at her. “Aren’t you going to work?”

Sandi stood up. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Lerato smirked. “You better go and work for that little Venda child you’re carrying. Your baby daddy is still ghosting you, right?”

Sandi’s smile faded, but she didn’t argue. It was still painful—knowing she was alone. But she was determined. She would not abort her child. She would be a proud, strong single mother, and her child would grow up with a crazy, loud godmother like Lerato. She looked at her friend with a warm smile.

Lerato looked down. “This is the time when I really miss Thato.”

Sandi looked up. “Speaking of Thato... why don’t you ask Bono for help?”

Lerato je**ed her head up so fast it was as if she’d been slapped. Her eyes bulged. “Bono?!”

Sandi shrugged. “What? He knows people. He might help.”

Lerato looked at her like she’d gone insane. “Sandi, a o a tsenwa? A tota o galefile?!” she asked "Sandi, are you mad? Are you actually mad?!”

Just then, Sandi’s phone rang.

She looked at the screen. “It’s my alarm. I need to go.”

She walked over and gave Lerato a tight hug, then kissed her cheek.

Lerato groaned. “Argh! Sandi! O nsona ka mathe a monna wa Movenda!” You’re kissing me with the saliva of a Venda man!”

Sandi laughed loudly as she walked out, waving. Lerato wiped her cheek, muttering to herself.

Once alone, she walked over to the kitchen and sat on the bar stool. She buried her face in her hands. Minutes passed before she lifted her head, eyes tired, body slumped.

Her phone vibrated.

She looked at it.

1 New Message: "Time is ticking."

Her heart sank.

She opened Google. Her fingers trembled as she typed: BVisions Logistics.

The company’s contact information appeared.

She copied the number, pasted it in her dialer, and sat frozen.

She exhaled and pressed "Call."

It rang. Then a voice answered.

“BVisions Logistics, how may we help you?”

Lerato hesitated. “Uh... I... I’d like to make an appointment with your boss.”

“Your name and surname please, Ma’am?”

“Lerato Modise.”

“We’ll get back to you with a suitable slot, Ma’am. Expect a call from the PA.”

Lerato hung up.

BONO

Bono drove steadily, his hands gripping the steering wheel as the familiar dirt road stretched before him. It was his usual monthly visit—twice every two months—and he knew the route well.

He parked the car outside the thick bushy area and stepped out, phone in hand.

It rang. His personal assistant.

He answered. “What is it? I can’t talk long.”

“Sir, someone called to see you. Her name is Lerato Modise.”

Bono stilled. “When?”

“Tomorrow. Friday at 13:00.”

“Postpone it,” Bono said coldly. “Move it to next week. I’m not available.”

“Yes, Sir,” the PA said, before hanging up.

Bono smirked. He placed the phone in his pocket and walked towards the cave-like hut tucked within the trees.

He removed his shoes, bowed his head, and entered.

Inside, the air was thick with smoke and ancient oils. He was given a dark liquid to drink. Bitter and burning.

He passed into the chamber where the Master sat—cross-legged, eyes closed, hands dripping in red.

"Tenzi, pano ndiBono Mudau," the right hand man usher said, Master, here forth is Bono Mudau, in shona.

The Master tilted his head gently. His eyes remained shut.

“Ndinokukwazisai, mukuru, ” Bono said, I greet you, great one, his tone respectful and solemn. “I come to say that I am ready to leave my call of duty. I am grateful for everything you’ve done for me. Because of you, I’ve made it this far.”

The Master tilted his head again.

An usher spoke. “The Master asks... are you sure?”

“Yes,” Bono said firmly. “I am sure.”

The Master moved slightly.

“The Master says you know what you have to do.”

“I do,” Bono said. “And I already have the person whom I will offer.”

The Master nodded again.

“The Master says he requires fresh, pure blood for six months... and then, at the end, the final offering must be unpure blood.”

Bono’s face was stone.

“Ini, Bono Mudau, ndinozivisa kuti ndichapa… sezvakumbirwa. He said that ; I, Bono Mudau, declare that I will offer... as requested.

The usher bowed deeply.

Bono stood and walked out... his fate, and someone else’s, sealed.
/

02/07/2025

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02/07/2025

02/07/2025

THE SACRIFICIAL BRIDE
CHAPTER 17

Lerato sat quietly on the couch in her small, dimly lit apartment. The only sound was the ticking of a cheap plastic clock above the fridge and the low hum of the fridge itself. Her heart was a restless drum in her chest. The door was locked tight, and a couch was wedged against it. A knife rested in her trembling hand. She wasn't taking chances.

She had barely slept, barely eaten. Her eyes were heavy, but her spirit wouldn’t allow her to rest. Fear had made a home in her bones.

Suddenly—click, click—the unmistakable sound of keys turning in the lock.

Lerato shot up from the couch. The knife clutched tighter in her hand. Her breath hitched. She moved silently to the door. Whoever was on the other side was trying to push it open, but the couch held firm.

Then came a voice.

"Lerato? Lerato, are you home?"

It was a voice she knew.

Lerato’s voice cracked as she called out, still holding the knife tightly.
"Sandi? Is that you?"

"Yes, it’s me!" came the muffled reply. "Open up, girl!"

Lerato hesitated for a moment. Then, with her heart still pounding, she started dragging the couch away from the door. Her arms trembled with tension and exhaustion. She undid the latch and opened the door just wide enough to confirm it was really Sandi. Relief poured through her like water.

Sandi walked in, looking around with mild confusion at the rearranged furniture. Then, without asking, she threw herself onto the one-seater couch with a sigh.
"Yoh, I walked all the way from the taxi rank, my feet are killing me. Lerato, what’s going on with all this?"

But Lerato was already at the door again, locking it firmly, turning the key twice, and sliding the bolt across. Then she turned to her friend.

"Sandi… when you were walking here, did you see anyone? Anyone following you? Maybe someone acting weird or standing too long somewhere?"

Sandi frowned.
"No, I didn’t notice anything. Why? What’s going on?"

"You didn’t get any strange messages? Nothing weird on your phone?"

Sandi pulled her phone from her bag and waved it in the air.
"No, nothing. Just memes and gossip groups. Lerato, why are you acting like this? You’re scaring me."

Lerato’s voice rose slightly, her nerves cracking.
"Come on, Sandi, I’m serious!"

Sandi unlocked her phone and scrolled through her inbox, then handed it to Lerato.
"See? Nothing out of the ordinary. Not a single message from a strange number."

Lerato’s hands moved up to her head, grabbing at her scalp. She started pacing the small room.
"This can’t be happening. I’m finished. Sandi, I’m going to jail."

Sandi sat up straight, the shock sobering her casual posture.
"Jail? Lerato, what are you talking about? Jail for what? Oh poor Bono, what did you do to him?"

Lerato turned to her with wide, panicked eyes.
"What? Bono? Don’t tell me you think I killed Bono?"

Sandi gasped, placing a hand over her mouth.
"You… you didn’t—?"

"No! As much as I wish I had the guts to hurt that bastard—" her voice cracked, "I didn’t kill him, Sandi. I didn’t lay a finger on him!"

Her chest was heaving now, her breath quick and uneven. "I swear on my sisters grave, I didn’t kill him!"

Sandi stood and gently placed her hands on Lerato’s arms to calm her. "Lerato, breathe, please. Just sit down and tell me what happened. From the beginning. What messages are you talking about?"

Lerato sank down onto the couch, gripping the edge like it was her anchor in a storm.

"I got messages, Sandi. Someone knows what happened. They know that a month back I came back here with someone and that guy died. And now they’re threatening to expose me. What if they ask me to pay one million?

Sandi’s eyes widened. "Yoh. This sounds serious."

"It is!" Lerato stood again, pacing. "I’m going to jail. Where will I get 1 million rands?"

"1 million rands ?" Sandi echoed, stunned. "What kind of criminal knows that kind of money will finish someone like you?!"

Lerato shook her head violently. "I don’t know! Maybe it was all a trap. Maybe someone set me up!"

Sandi rubbed her forehead. "Okay. Wait. When you came here with that guy… did he act strange? Like he was hiding something?"

Lerato stopped pacing and looked down, her voice softer now. "I don’t remember, Sandi. Everything happened so fast. I was drunk,"

Her foot tapped anxiously against the floor.

Sandi sighed. "Okay. What if this person is bluffing? Maybe they’re just trying to scare you into paying. What if they don’t even have real proof? Could be they were working with that guy to trap you and now they’re just trying to finish the job."

Lerato didn’t answer. She just clutched her head with both hands, her shoulders shaking.

DING! A new message landed on her phone.

She picked it up slowly, looked at it—and shook her head in disbelief.

"Sandi…" her voice barely came out. "They just texted again."

Sandi snatched the phone from her hand and read the message aloud:

"You have until this weekend to pay R300 000 or we go to the police. Your choice."

Sandi’s eyes scanned the message twice. Then she looked at Lerato.

"We’re not paying anything."

Lerato jumped up, her voice raised now. "Then what other choice do I have?! I don’t have money, Sandi! I don’t even have ten rand in my bank account!"

"And I don’t either!" Sandi shot back, trying to stay calm. "But we don’t even know if they’re telling the truth. Where’s the proof? Until we see something real, we can’t let them manipulate us!"

Lerato stared at her. "But… how do they know everything, Sandi? How do they know that I came back with someone that night?"

Sandi slowly sat down and pulled out her phone.
"Let’s text them and ask." She typed quickly, muttering as she pressed send.

"Let’s see what they do when we ask for proof. If they have nothing, then maybe we can still breathe."

BONO

Bono walked into his house, the smell of scented candles and body lotion drifting from the lounge. Mitchell was curled up on the couch, laughing softly at something on her phone. Her feet were up, her hair tied back loosely. She didn’t even look up.

Bono leaned down, kissed her cheek and smiled.
"Evening, babe."

He gently lifted her feet and placed them on his lap as he sat down.
"What’s got you giggling like that, huh?"

Mitchell was still typing when her phone buzzed again. She smirked. "Your girl finally responded. She wants proof."

Bono chuckled. "That was fast.

" why do you say so?" Mitchell asked her eyebrows raised.

"I didn’t think Lerato would give in so quickly." Bono responded

Mitchell raised an eyebrow. "I know what I’m doing. You should never underestimate a desperate woman."

Bono leaned in and kissed her lips, holding her chin for a moment. "I love you."

Mitchell giggled. "I know."

He stood up and stretched. "Let me go freshen up. Long day."

He began walking toward the staircase, then turned around with a mischievous grin. "Babe?"

"Yes?" she replied, looking up.

"Make things a little more interesting. Send her what she wants. The proof. Time is moving, and we’ve only got five months left to make this work."

Mitchell smiled and gave him a lazy salute.
"Yes, boss."

Bono turned on his heel and walked up the stairs, his voice echoing behind him.
"I hope you're planning our wedding too!"

Mitchell bit her bottom lip and whispered to herself.

"Oh, I’m planning much more than that...

02/07/2025

THE SACRIFICIAL BRIDE
CHAPTER 16

It had been four long days since Bono last laid eyes on Lerato. The golden sun over Johannesburg did nothing to warm the cold resolve in his chest. The air was thick with the usual city dust and noise, but Bono’s soul was heavier than the traffic, colder than a stone in a river of mourning.

He sat in his Range Rover for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, his face carved in silence. Then, he adjusted the sharp collar of his maroon shirt under the black blazer tailored to perfection. His fingers, adorned with a ring bearing his clan crest, brushed over the gold cufflinks with purpose.

This was no casual visit.
This was an ancestral call.

With the slow determination of a man burdened with both pride and pain, Bono stepped out and marched toward the Modise home in Pimville. Each step was heavy with entitlement, with memory, with unresolved grief.

The door opened before he could knock. Sonto Modise stood there, wearing a flour-dusted apron and surprise etched deep into her tired face.

"Bono? Hai, ngwanaka, what a surprise. You didn’t even—"

"I didn’t come for scones and sweet tea, Mama Sonto," he interrupted, his voice calm, almost courteous, but with a blade beneath every syllable. "I came for what is mine."

Sonto’s smile faltered like a candle flickering in wind. She stepped aside.

"Come in."

The house smelled of simmering pots and time—stew, baked bread, and the faint musk of wood polish. The living room was a capsule of family history. Framed photographs watched from every corner. Thato’s bright smile beamed from the mantel, flanked by Lerato’s Grade R's graduation portrait with no tooth in the front and a sepia wedding photo of Edward and Sonto.

Edward, strong-jawed and greying at the temples, looked up from his armchair. His newspaper slowly folded into his lap.

"Bono," he said, voice clipped. "You alright?"

Bono sat without being asked. His gaze never dropped. "Baba Edward. Mama Sonto. I did not come to eat or greet. I came as a man. A man with scars. A man with questions."

Sonto wiped her hands on the apron and took her place beside her husband. Edward shifted uneasily, sensing the storm before the lightning.

"I’ve waited, neh? I’ve waited with the patience of Job," Bono began, voice taut, as if restraining a storm. "I’ve given Lerato time. Time to cry. Time to grieve. Time to remember. But must I now beg at your gates like a dog without a home?"

"Bono..." Sonto began cautiously, "...you know Lerato is still healing. This thing—it broke her."

Bono gave a laugh that was void of humour, like metal scraping on stone. "Healing? Is sge healing while sge is busy puncturing with my car wheels? How long does a wound need before it becomes an excuse?"

Edward cleared his throat. "We understand your pain, son—"

"You don’t understand!" Bono exploded, rising slightly from his seat. His voice echoed in the modest home. "You don’t understand what it is to be called a cursed man! I gave you cows. I gave you money. I gave your family honour. And what did I get? A funeral. A coffin. And now silence?"

Sonto’s lips pressed into a tight line. "We never asked for any of that."

"You accepted it," Bono said darkly. "And now you owe."

"Owe what, Bono? A second daughter?" Edward’s voice now carried steel.

Bono leaned forward, almost spitting his words. "I want Lerato. Not because of lust. Not because I’m lonely. But because she is the key. Thato died with no child and it is Lerato's duty to carry on with Thato's duty. The ancestors are restless. My house is empty. My bed colder than the grave. This marriage must happen. It is the only way to settle the ancestors."

"This is not the olden days," Sonto snapped. "Lerato is not some goat to be passed along."

"Then speak to her!" Bono growled. "Before I return... with a different heart. One that has run out of mercy."

He stood abruptly, straightening his blazer like a general preparing for war. His final words were thick with warning.

"Tell your daughter—she has one last chance. After that... don’t blame me for what follows."

He left them sitting in thick silence, walking out as if the house itself had offended him.

Outside, Bono climbed into his car and took out his phone.

To Mitchell:
Start now. Remind her that secrets don’t stay buried. She must feel the fear. Make it real.

LERATO

In her small flat in Braamfontein, Lerato sat curled on the couch. The sun was bleeding orange over the city skyline, casting long shadows on her beige walls. A lukewarm cup of tea stood untouched on the side table. Her laptop hummed beside her, but she wasn't typing, reading, or watching.

She was digging.

Scrolling.

Her brows were furrowed, her lips pressed in a determined line. Her oversized hoodie swallowed her small frame. Fuzzy socks covered her feet, but her mind was elsewhere—far from comfort.

She had taken it upon herself to investigate Sandi’s baby daddy. Her friend was too trusting, too soft. Babies are expensive. Nappies don’t pay for themselves.

And now—bingo.

She found him.

Thendo Ramabulana.
Advocate. Activist. Twitter philosopher. And Bono’s best friend.

His timeline was a shrine to justice. Quotes about land, liberation, Pan-Africanism. Videos of him on panel discussions. A man with power, money, and influence.

Lerato shook her head slowly, disbelief curling her lips.

"This one will pay millions in maintenance," she whispered. "Sandi, we’re going to be rich." Plus he was not that bad, first time seeing a Venda man who is a yellow bond.

She tapped play on one of his videos.

"Not all traditions must be followed blindly... especially those that chain the living to the graves of the dead."

His words clung to her bones.

Her phone rang.

Incoming call: Mama

Lerato sighed deeply, pressing the answer button. "Hello?"

Her mother’s voice was low and serious. "Lerato... ngwanaka. We need to talk."

"About what?"

"Bono came to the house."

She sat up straight. "So?"

"He says he still wants to marry you."

Lerato laughed once, bitter and sharp. "That man is possessed. Is he mad?"

"Do not speak like that!" her father’s voice thundered on the line. Edward. The family wall. The immovable force.

"You’ve had a month to think. And still, you drag your feet like a girl with no roots. Have you even considered what is right?"

"Right? You think it’s right for me to sleep in my sister’s bed? To wear her wedding ring? Her spirit hasn’t even settled and you want me to lie with her husband like a replacement goat?"

"You forget who raised you!" Edward bellowed. "You forget the culture that gave you a name. A place."

"I am not disrespecting tradition. I am protecting myself!" Lerato snapped. "I am not property. I am not compensation."

Sonto’s voice returned, calm but cutting. "You speak like someone who has forgotten love. That girl—Thato—raised you like her own. Paid your school fees. Fed you. Gave you dignity. And now you spit in her name?"

"Mama, please," Lerato whispered.

"Please what? Please don’t remind you who you are? Please don’t tell you that you owe her a legacy? That you throw dirt on her memory by refusing to do what is spiritually right?"

Tears threatened, but Lerato clenched her jaw. Her hands trembled.

"This is emotional blackmail."

"You are selfish, Lerato!" Sonto hissed. "You are blind to the spirits. You don’t see the signs. Thato has not rested. We hear her. We feel her. And still, you mock the dead."

"If she wants to haunt me, let her! Let her come!"

There was silence.

Then came Sonto’s final whisper.

"You shame us."

Click.

The line went dead.

Lerato’s breath came in short gasps. She stared at her phone. Her shoulders shook. Her skin prickled. A heavy silence blanketed the room.

Then—
Ding.

New Message: Unknown Number
I know what you and your friend did with that man.

Her world paused. Blood drained from her face. She stared at the screen, lips parted, heart hammering against her ribs like a frantic drum.

What...?

Her thumb hovered.

Ding.

Another message.

I am watching you.

Lerato stood up so fast her tea spilled, shattering the quiet. She clutched the phone with both hands, her breath shallow. She turned in slow circles, eyes scanning the corners of her flat.

Was someone outside? Inside?

Ding.

You can’t run from guilt forever.

She dropped onto the couch, numb, her body trembling. She brought her knees to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"Who is this?" she whispered, her voice hoarse, afraid of the answer.

The phone buzzed again. But this time, she didn’t look.

She couldn't.