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Dreamscape Novels by Olivia K, East London (2026)

11/08/2025

TITLE: A Heart on Trial

CHAPTER 10: Razor’s Move

RAZOR’S POV

Westville Prison was colder than usual that morning. But it wasn’t the walls, or the floor, or even the steel air pressing in on him. It was him.

Simphiwe Mazibuko.

He sat on the edge of his bunk, arms resting on his knees, eyes focused on the corner of the cell where light rarely touched. That was how he felt now - half in shadow, barely holding onto the sliver of light that kept returning in the form of a woman.

Lihle.

She said his name like a whisper and a prayer.

No one had called him Simphiwe in years. Not since Bongi. Not since before he traded his soul for survival.

And now? That name… that voice…

“Take care of yourself, Simphiwe.”

It haunted him. Anchored him. Changed him.

Later that afternoon, during lunch, Razor walked to the far end of the yard — where most inmates knew better than to linger.

He found them quickly.

Two men — Mamba’s new recruits. Young, foolish, hungry for reputation.

One of them, S’jijo, laughed the moment Razor approached. “Look who’s out for a stroll. What’s wrong, big dog? That lawyer soften you up?”

The other just chuckled.

Razor didn’t say a word.

Instead, he struck. Quick. Precise. Brutal.

Fist to the throat. Elbow to the jaw. Knee to the gut. By the time the first man hit the ground, the second was scrambling, stunned.

Razor grabbed him by the collar and shoved him hard into the concrete wall.

"You go back to Mamba," he growled. "And you tell him if he even thinks her name again, I’ll bury him under this place. You hear me?"

The man nodded frantically.

Razor shoved him away, breathing hard.

Around him, the other inmates watched in stunned silence. Even the guards were too slow to react.

He didn’t care.

He was already walking away.

That night, alone in his cell, Razor washed the blood off his knuckles with a stolen bottle of water and whispered a name to the darkness:

“Lihle.”

He wasn’t sure what he was becoming.

But he knew it started and ended — with her.

11/08/2025

TITLE: A Heart on Trial

CHAPTER 9: His Name in Her Mouth

The moment was brief.

A breeze in a quiet alley. A stranger with a stare that lingered too long.

Lihle had just exited the courthouse and was walking toward her Uber when a man with a gold tooth and long leather jacket stepped into her path.

He didn’t touch her. Didn’t raise his voice. But the message? As cold as steel.

"Pretty face like yours shouldn’t be wasted on lost causes," he said in a low, gravelled voice. "Step away from Razor. Or things will get… ugly."

Lihle froze, gripped the handle of her bag.

He smiled, slow and venomous.

"You’ve been warned, Advocate."

Then he vanished into the crowd.

Zakes got the call within twenty minutes.

Mdu and Zuko, had been tailing Lihle discreetly all day. When they saw the man approach, they backed off to observe, suspecting something.

Then they recognized him.

Mamba.

A former Razor ally turned rival. Unpredictable. Dangerous. And stupid enough to think approaching Lihle was a warning, not a declaration of war.

By nightfall, the news reached Razor.

He was in the prison gym when Zakes arrived for their scheduled visit. The moment he mentioned Mamba’s name, Razor stood, knocking over a bench.

"He what?" Razor hissed, voice low and deadly.

"Approached her outside court. Didn’t touch her. Just talked. But he made it personal."

Razor slammed his fist into the concrete wall. "I told you to watch her. Not let her get cornered like some civvy!"

"We didn’t expect Mamba to be that bold."

Razor's eyes burned. "Next time I see him - it’s done. No warnings. No mercy."

Zakes nodded. "We’ve already got eyes on him. He won’t get near her again."

But Razor was already gone mentally, emotionally - lost in a rage that only two things ever triggered:

Losing family. And someone threatening someone he cared about.

He didn’t want to admit it, but Lihle was no longer just his lawyer.

She was 'his'. In a way he didn’t yet understand.

The next day

Lihle stood at the glass partition, file in hand, trying to keep her breath steady.

Razor entered the prison meeting room, his energy quieter than usual, but heavy. His knuckles were red — a sign he’d been venting.

They exchanged a brief nod. Then she opened her file.

"We’ve submitted the necessary disclosures. The judge confirmed the pre-trial hearing will be next Friday. Your court date is set for the 16th of next month."

He nodded once. "And the prosecutor?"

"A bulldog," she said. "But sloppy. Over-reliant on witness intimidation. I have a few ideas on how we can dismantle their arguments, but I’ll need more honesty from you, going forward."

Razor studied her. "You're not scared? After what happened yesterday?"

She paused, then closed the file slowly.

"I was. For a moment. But I won't let fear make my decisions."

He nodded. A flicker of admiration in his eyes.

She stood to leave, gathering her things.

Then, just before she reached the door, she paused and turned back.

"Take care of yourself, Simphiwe."

The name landed like thunder.

Simphiwe.

His real name. Soft. Human. Not Razor. Not the persona. Just… him.

He looked up, startled.

She gave him a small, knowing look.

And walked out.

He sat still for a long time after she left.

Not because of fear.

But because the sound of his name in her mouth hit deeper than any bullet ever could.

11/08/2025

TITLE: A Heart on Trial

CHAPTER 8: Watching the Watchers

They waited outside her building.

Two men. Mid-thirties. One in a grey hoodie, the other in a tracksuit and cap. Blending in, but not completely. Their eyes never left the entrance.

From the window of her flat, Lihle didn’t see them. She was too busy silencing her buzzing phone — calls from unknown numbers, persistent messages from journalists, and DMs from strangers asking for quotes.

She had barely touched her cereal.

Downstairs, the two men waited. Quiet. Patient.

And ready.

The day before, Razor had made the call from prison. Well, not exactly a call. It was a message passed through a visitor - one of the few he still trusted. A man named Zakhele 'Zakes'.

Zakes had visited Razor at least twice a week since the arrest. Razor had barely spoken during those meetings - until yesterday.

"I need you to put two eyes on someone. Quietly. No contact. No intimidation. Just eyes."

Zakes frowned. "Who?"

"Her name’s Lihle Ndleleni. The lawyer."

Zakes’ eyebrows lifted. “That girl everyone’s talking about?”

Razor gave a tight nod. “The wolves are out for her. And I don’t trust the media. Or the cops."

Zakes didn’t ask questions. He knew better. Razor’s tone said it all: this wasn’t a mission. It was a 'protection order'.

Back in Pietermaritzburg, Lihle tried to go about her Monday. She walked quickly to her Uber, sunglasses and scarf shielding her face, praying she wouldn't be stopped.

But it happened.

Just outside the courthouse.

A journalist from 'The Daily Echo' appeared, all smiles and poison under her breath.

"Miss Ndleleni! Quick question, please? Do you believe in second chances for murderers?"

Lihle stopped in her tracks.

The woman held out a mic, a cameraman right behind her.

"No comment," Lihle said, attempting to move.

But the woman followed. “Did your faith guide you to defend Razor Mazibuko? Or is this about fame, perhaps a Netflix deal in the future?”

Lihle froze.

The nerve. The audacity.

Before she could respond, a man stepped in - tall, dark skinned, calm but firm.

"That's enough," he said to the reporter. His tone was laced with warning.

The woman stepped back slightly. "Who are you? Her bodyguard?"

He didn’t respond. He simply watched until she moved on, her camera crew huffing as they disappeared.

Lihle turned to him, confused. "Who—?"

But the man was already walking away, slipping into the crowd like smoke.

Back at the prison, Zakes returned later that evening.

He sat across from Razor and gave a single nod. “We placed two near her flat. One followed her to court. Paparazzi got close. We stepped in. Quietly.”

Razor nodded. "Any threats?"

“Not yet. But the media’s circling like vultures.”

Razor leaned back, rubbing his jaw.

He hated this. Watching her being dragged because of her connection to him.

But this was the next best thing.

“Nobody touches her. Nobody even breathes on her wrong. Or they’ll deal with me — whether I’m behind bars or not.”

Zakes nodded.

And Razor whispered under his breath: “I owe her that much.”

That night, Lihle sat on her couch, shaken but not broken.

She hadn’t seen the man’s face properly.

But she felt… watched.
Protected.

And somehow, she didn’t feel afraid.

11/08/2025

TITLE: A Heart on Trial

CHAPTER 7: Razor’s Rage

The echo of the radio buzzed through the prison corridor. Razor leaned back against the cold cement wall of his cell, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“ ,” the guards were whispering.

He heard it through the bars. The morning news. The trending topics. Even the inmates in nearby cells had caught wind of the frenzy.

“Yoh, that lady’s brave, hey.”
“She must be mad, representing that dog.”
“Ngathi she wants to die.”

Razor sat up slowly, his jaw clenched. One of the guards smirked at him during breakfast call.

“Your little lawyer trending now,” the man chuckled. “Whole country thinks she’s stupid for defending a killer. What you think?”

Razor didn’t answer. But the fire behind his eyes spoke volumes.

Later, back in his cell, Razor stared at the old newspaper clippings he'd taped above his bunk. They were mostly outdated stories about corrupt politicians and court scandals — but smack in the center was her photo. The one that had started all this.

Lihle in her robes.
Lihle with her head high.
Lihle, fierce and beautiful.

Now they were dragging her.

Because of him.

He punched the wall, a growl tearing from his throat.

She didn’t deserve this.

He paced the narrow cell, his mind racing. Lihle hadn’t asked for this storm - she’d been thrown into it, same as him. But unlike him, she had 'something to lose'. A life. A reputation. A future. And the world was clawing at it like vultures.

"I brought this on her. Now they’re breaking her apart for even standing in the same room as me."

He sat back down and closed his eyes.

He remembered her calm face when she first walked into the prison.
Her tired eyes. Her Bible.

“Don’t give up on me,” he had asked her.

And she hadn’t.

But now he wondered if he should.

Later that day, during his legal consult, Razor was escorted to the usual interview room.

Lihle was already waiting.

She looked… tired. Paler than usual. Her hair was neatly pulled back, but the edges of her blazer were slightly wrinkled. Like she hadn’t slept. Like she had cried and fought and still chose to show up.

He sat across from her and leaned forward, speaking before she could even open her notebook.

"You shouldn’t be here."

She looked up, startled. “Excuse me?”

"You’re trending. They’re calling you names. Mocking your faith. Blaming you for helping me. You shouldn’t have to carry this."

Her lips parted, but he continued.

"I saw the papers. The tweets. I know how people talk. You’re the angel they want to see fall."

Lihle drew in a breath. "Mr. Mazibuko—"

"Razor," he interrupted gently. “Call me Razor."

She stared at him.

He softened his voice, rare vulnerability lacing his words. "I didn’t want this for you. I chose you because you reminded me of someone I lost… not because I wanted to break you."

Lihle folded her hands over the file. Her voice was steady, but her eyes shimmered.

"I’m not broken. Just… shaken."

A silence passed between them.

Then Razor leaned in, his tone low, dangerous.

"Say the word, and I’ll fire you. I’ll tell the court I want someone else. It’ll take the heat off you. No one has to know."

But she shook her head. "I don’t run from fire. I walk through it. With God."

He stared at her.

"You’re crazy."

She smiled faintly. "So I’ve heard."

And for the first time, Razor smiled too - just a flicker. A crack in the wall.

By the time their session ended, something had shifted. Not in the case, but in the connection between them. Not love. Not yet. But something more dangerous.

Understanding.

Respect.

Maybe even hope.

09/07/2025

TITLE: A Heart on Trial

CHAPTER 6: The Nation’s Verdict

Monday morning brought a storm that no courtroom could contain.

By the time Lihle stepped out of her flat, the air already felt thick — not with humidity, but with judgment. She could feel it in the glances of her neighbors, in the way the woman at the corner spaza shop whispered behind her hand. Even the Uber driver who picked her up for work kept glancing at her through the mirror.

Her name was everywhere.

On X.
On Facebook.
On WhatsApp statuses.
On morning radio shows.

was trending at number one.
trailed just behind.

Screenshots of her social media profile, photos from her graduation, even a pixelated image from church — all were circulating like wildfire.

She sat stiffly in the back seat as the driver tuned into Ukhozi FM. The presenter’s voice boomed:

"Langelihle Ndleleni, the Christian woman from Port Elizabeth, is making headlines today. South Africa wants to know — what is a God-fearing, church-going woman doing defending one of the most feared men in KwaZulu-Natal? Is this justice, or betrayal of everything she claims to stand for?"

Lihle’s jaw tightened.

By the time she arrived at Shabangu Attorneys, the stares followed her like shadows.

Thandeka at reception barely looked her in the eye. Her colleague Vuyo offered a weak smile before slipping into his office. She passed two interns huddled around a phone, one muttering, “I’d never. Not in a million years.”

She entered her own office and closed the door gently.

Silence.

Then her phone lit up again.

"This you? Didn’t think you’d stoop this low, sis." – DM from a high school classmate.
"Lol imagine defending Razor and still posting Bible verses. Make it make sense." – Twitter comment.
“When did Christian lawyers become mouthpieces for criminals & murderers?” – DM on Instagram.

She sank into her chair, heart pounding.

Then came the knock.

It was Mr. Shabangu.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His face was unreadable.

“I assume you’ve seen the headlines?”

She nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“I need to know, Ndleleni… Can you handle this?”

Lihle looked up, voice steady despite the storm raging inside. “I didn’t come here to be liked. I came to seek justice. If I walk away now, I let the noise decide what’s right.”

He studied her, then gave a slow nod. “Good. Because we’ve received threats. And the media wants an interview. You’re not obligated to speak, but they won’t stop either way.”

“I won’t speak,” she said quietly. “Not yet.”

“Then hold your head high. And whatever happens next — don’t let them break your spirit.”

She nodded. He left.

Only once the door shut again did she allow the tears to pool.

*God, I’m drowning in judgment. I didn’t ask for fame. I didn’t ask to be a headline. I just wanted to serve You with my gift. Why does it feel like I’m being punished for obedience?*

No answer came. But she turned to her Bible on the desk, flipped to Romans 8.

“If God is for us, who can be against us?”

Her hands steadied. Her breathing slowed.

She would not back down.

But she would bleed for it.

Dreamscape Novels by Olivia K

11/08/2025

11/08/2025

11/08/2025

11/08/2025

09/07/2025

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