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Dreamscape Novels by Olivia K, East London (2025)

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.

09/07/2025

TITLE: A Heart on Trial

CHAPTER 5: Fractures

Saturday morning brought no rest.

Lihle woke early again, the weight of her choices pressing against her chest before she even opened her eyes. She lay still for a moment, her fingers curled around the edge of the blanket, staring at the ceiling.

Today, she was expected at Thabiso’s place. He had planned a quiet dinner for them. Just the two of them, he said. No distractions. No phones. Just love.

But she hadn’t told him about Razor.

She kept telling herself it was because she didn’t want to worry him. But deep down, she feared what it might reveal about *her*. About how she saw justice, faith… and mercy.

After a long shower and a silent prayer, she dressed in a simple summer dress and flats, packed a tub of her famous malva pudding into a brown paper bag, and headed to Scottsville.

Thabiso’s townhouse was warm and clean, as always. Smooth jazz played in the background, the scent of grilled lamb thick in the air.

He met her with a smile and a soft kiss on the forehead. "Finally, my favourite person."

She smiled faintly. "Smells amazing in here."

Dinner was lovely. Easy conversation. Laughter, even. He told her about a senior partner at his firm trying to sabotage a deal and the drama that followed. She listened. She told him about a colleague at work spilling coffee on an affidavit. He laughed.

But when he asked, “So what cases are you working on these days?” — her heart paused.

She sipped her juice, kept her eyes low. “Nothing exciting. Some bail hearings. Property disputes.”

A beat of silence.

He studied her. “You sure?”

She forced a smile. “Thabiso, come on. Let’s not talk about work.”

He nodded slowly, though something flickered in his eyes.

They ended the night curled up on his couch, watching an old series, his arm around her shoulder. But even in that comfort, Lihle felt the tension. A wall quietly building.

The Next Morning

It was a Sunday. Lihle had just returned from church, still wearing her peach dress and gold earrings, when her phone buzzed.

Multiple times.

WhatsApps. Missed calls. Twitter tags.

And one message from Thabiso, sent ten minutes ago:

“Are you joking right now?”

Her heart skipped.

She opened X (formerly Twitter) and her stomach dropped.

TRENDING IN SOUTH AFRICA: RAZOR CASE TAKES NEW TURN

Below the tweet was a newspaper scan. There she was - front page again. A blurry photo of her stepping out of Westville Prison, file in hand, next to the bold headline:

“Christian Attorney Defends KwaMashu’s Most Dangerous Gang Leader”

She clicked the article. It named her. Her full name. Her firm.

*“Sources confirm Langelihle Ndleleni has been assigned to represent Sabelo ‘Razor’ Mazibuko, accused of multiple crimes including gang-related violence.”

Panic surged in her chest.

Her phone rang. Thabiso.

She answered quietly. “Hi...”

"You weren’t going to tell me?" His voice was sharp. "You’re defending Razor Mazibuko, Lihle? Razor?"

"I didn’t choose this case, Thabiso. I was assigned."

"And that’s supposed to make it better? Do you know what people are saying? Your name is everywhere. They’re calling you the woman who prays for killers."

She flinched. "I’m doing my job."

"No. You’re risking your future. Our future. My firm is already whispering. Do you know how this looks?"

Lihle gripped the edge of her desk. "So that’s it? You’re embarrassed?"

"I’m worried! And hurt that you kept this from me. Why didn’t you just tell me, Lihle?"

She was silent.

Because I knew you’d look at me like this.

Because I didn’t want to feel like a failure for choosing obedience over comfort.

Because maybe... deep down, I wanted to see this case through.

"I need time to think," he said, quieter now. "Please."

The line went dead.

That night, Lihle cried harder than she had in months. Not for Thabiso. Not for the article. But for the storm she felt brewing deep inside.

'Lord, I said yes to this because I believed You were in it. Don’t let me drown.'

And somewhere in the night, in the stillness of her flat, she heard it in her spirit:

"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you."

09/07/2025

TITLE: A Heart on Trial

CHAPTER 4: Treading the Line

Lihle sat at her desk long after everyone else had gone home, the thick file marked S. Mazibuko open before her. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting a sterile glow on the pages that detailed a life soaked in violence — police reports, ballistics evidence, surveillance stills, and witness statements that all painted Razor as a ruthless gang leader.

But her mind kept drifting to their meeting that morning.

“You reminded me of what I lost.”

He had said it with a stillness that unnerved her. Not a man trying to manipulate — but a man trying to remember who he was before the world dirtied him.

And still… it didn’t change what he was accused of.

Lihle leaned back, pressing her fingers to her temples. “God, what am I doing?” she whispered.

The heaviness returned — the familiar ache that clung to her since her father died. She had promised herself she’d rise, that she’d make him proud. And now, here she was, assigned to defend a man with enough blood on his name to fill a chapter in hell.

Her phone buzzed. A WhatsApp message from 'Thabiso ❤️' .

'Dinner tomorrow at my place? Need a break, babe. Work’s killing me.'

She stared at the message.

Thabiso Mkhize. Her fiancé. Steady. Reliable. Loved by her mother. A man who believed in order, ambition, and appearances. He knew nothing about the Razor case. She hadn’t told him.

“Dinner sounds great. I’ll bring dessert,” she replied with a forced smile.

But her chest tightened.

That night, back at her flat, Lihle fell to her knees again.

“I need You, Lord. More than ever,” she prayed, tears sliding down her cheeks. “I don’t want to carry this. I don’t want to defend him. But I also don’t want to disobey. Help me see what You see. Help me not to lose myself in this mess.”

A soft knock interrupted her. Her neighbor’s child, Naledi, peeked in with a smile. “Sis Lihle? My mom said you can come eat if you’re hungry.”

Lihle smiled through the tears. “Tell her I’ll be right there.”

Sometimes, the grace of God came in small kindnesses.

-

Meanwhile, at Westville Prison, Razor lay wide awake on his bunk, staring at the ceiling.

Something about that woman unsettled him. Not just the resemblance to Bongi, but her fire. Her silent judgment. Her honesty. She didn’t want to be there — but she’d come anyway.

He respected that. More than he’d admit.

The guard, Bafana, passed by. “Your boys are making headlines again. Another shootout in KwaMashu.”

Razor’s jaw clenched.

He’d tried to call them off. Told his second-in-command, Zakhele 'Zakes', to lie low. But clearly, someone wasn’t listening. The streets were shifting — and fast.

“If I don’t get out soon, I’ll lose control completely.”

He needed Lihle to win this. Even if it meant playing the long game.

And somehow… he trusted her.

09/07/2025

TITLE: A Heart on Trial

CHAPTER 3: The Reason Why

It had been a month ago when Sabelo Mazibuko, better known in the streets and cells as Razor, first saw her.

He was sitting on his prison bunk, staring blankly at the grey wall of his cell, drowning in silence and rage. He hadn’t spoken much to anyone since his arrest. The lawyers they sent were just faces with fake smiles and pity in their eyes. He didn’t need their mercy. He needed to be left the hell alone.

Then a guard who's also on his payroll tossed a folded newspaper into his cell. "Front page," the man said casually. "Thought you might like this one."

Razor ignored it for a while. But boredom and curiosity got the better of him. He opened the paper slowly—and froze.

There she was.

Langelihle Samara Ndleleni.

Headline: “Young Black Advocate Wins Landmark Corruption Case Against Municipal Official.”

She stood outside the courthouse, robes neat, braids swept back, and a faint, tired smile on her lips. But what arrested him wasn’t just her face — it was the familiarity.

She looked like Bongi.

His sister.

The last real light in his life before everything went dark.

Bongi had been a year younger than him. Soft-spoken. Always reading. Always praying. He had promised to protect her.

But she’d been caught in a crossfire. Wrong place. Wrong time. Razor never forgave himself for it.

As he stared at the photo of Lihle, memories of Bongi rushed in like a tide. That same steadiness. That same poise.

“She even stands like Bongi… head high, but tired eyes,” he thought.

That night, Razor didn’t sleep. The next morning, he told the warden: "Get me her. I want her. No one else."

Now, two months into his sentence, and after their strained first meeting, Razor sat across from Lihle in their second consult session. He was calmer today. Less guarded. But his eyes still watched her too closely.

Lihle took out her notebook and pen. Her tone was cool and precise. "Before we continue reviewing the statements, there’s something I want to ask. Why me?"

He didn’t answer at first.

Then he leaned forward slightly. "You want the truth?"

She nodded.

"I saw you in the paper a month ago. That corruption case. You stood outside that court like you’d just survived a war. I recognised that look."

Lihle blinked. She hadn’t expected that.

"And?"

He exhaled slowly. "You reminded me of my sister. Bongi. She was all the good I had. Gentle. Brave. She died in a shootout I should’ve stopped. She died because I didn’t get out in time."

A beat of silence passed.

He looked up at her again. Something raw flickering behind his eyes.

"That’s why I chose you. I needed someone who reminded me of what I lost. Someone strong. Someone clean."

Lihle swallowed.

Something about the way he said it — not with manipulation or charm, but with quiet regret — unsettled her.

She cleared her throat. "Whatever you saw in me, Mr. Mazibuko, I’m not your sister. I’m your advocate. And this won’t be easy."

He nodded slowly. "I don’t expect easy. Just… don’t give up on me. Not yet."

For the first time, she didn’t look away.

"We’ll see."

06/07/2025

TITLE: A Heart on Trial

CHAPTER 2: The Man Behind the Name

Westville Prison was a fortress of cement, fences, and rusted silence. As Lihle stepped out of the taxi and approached the main gate, she tightened her grip on her black pilot case. She had worn navy slacks, a fitted blazer, and a soft cream blouse. Simple but strong. Her hair was in a clean, elegant bun, and her face held a quiet poise that came from prayer—though her stomach churned.

A guard eyed her from behind the glass booth.

"Legal visit?"

"Yes. Langelihle Ndleleni. I’m here to see Sabelo Mazibuko."

He looked her up and down, a flicker of something between pity and curiosity in his expression. "You're brave, sister. That one's not like the others."

She said nothing. There was no point.

Minutes later, she was led into a cold visiting room. Two chairs. One table. Harsh lighting that did nothing to soften the mood. She sat with her back straight and her nerves tightly leashed.

And then he entered.

Sabelo Simphiwe Mazibuko.

Razor.

Tall. Broad. Shackled at the ankles, hands cuffed in front. The orange prison jumpsuit did little to diminish the danger that clung to him like smoke. His face was hard, sharp—until his eyes landed on her.

He stopped.

A flicker of disbelief. He couldn't believe she really came.

She didn’t flinch. She met his eyes evenly. "Good morning, Mr. Mazibuko."

He sat slowly, still studying her. "You’re really here?"

"Yes, you did ask for me. I'm Langelihle Ndleleni. I’ve been assigned to your case."

He chuckled under his breath. "You don’t look like a lawyer. You look like..."

She raised an eyebrow. "I’d think carefully before finishing that sentence."

He grinned but said nothing.

She opened her pilot case and began unpacking: a pen, a legal pad, the docket. As she pulled her notebook from the side pocket, the flap shifted—revealing a black, worn Bible.

Razor's eyes narrowed.

"You a church girl?"

She paused, then nodded. "Yes."

"Tsk." He leaned back, chains rattling. "They sent me a Christian. Of course."

"Is that a problem?"

He looked her dead in the eye. "You're going to judge me. All of you do."

She held his gaze, her voice cooler than before. "Judging you isn't in my job description. But pretending I admire your choices? That's not in there either."

His jaw clenched. "You don’t even want to be here."

She didn’t deny it. That silence said everything.

"You were forced," he said. "They dumped me on your desk, and now you’re here trying to impress your boss by keeping it together."

Her lips pressed into a line. "You're not wrong. But that doesn’t change what I came here to do."

"And what’s that? Preach to me while you tick boxes?"

She leaned forward. "No. I’m here to do my job. But make no mistake—I know exactly what kind of man I’m sitting across from. And don’t expect me to look the other way."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Razor’s expression shifted. He looked almost... curious.

"You remind me of my sister," he said at last. "Before life broke her."

That caught her off guard. Her fingers stilled on the page.

He looked down. "She was the only good thing I ever had."

Lihle softened slightly but recovered quickly. "I’m sorry for your loss."

He waved it off. "You don’t need to mean it."

She packed up slowly, tension clinging to the space between them.

"We’ll meet again soon. We need to go over everything in detail."

He nodded. "Do I call you Advocate Bible?"

"Call me Ms. Ndleleni. That’s who’s representing you."

He smirked, but the humour didn’t reach his eyes.

As she stood and walked to the door, he watched her go, something unreadable flickering in his expression.

He muttered, "Langelihle... Why would someone like you walk into my hell?"

06/07/2025

TITLE: A Heart on Trial

CHAPTER 1: Called to Stand

The morning air in Pietermaritzburg was crisp and quiet, as if the city itself hadn’t quite woken up yet. Langelihle Samara Ndleleni sat at the edge of her bed, her Bible open on her lap, and the faint sound of Hillsong Worship playing softly in the background. She had woken just before 5 a.m., as she did every day, drawn out of sleep by the same mixture of purpose and pain that had lived in her chest for four years.

Her eyes lingered on the verse she’d just read—Isaiah 41:10: "Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God." She closed her eyes and whispered the words again. It wasn’t just scripture. It was survival.

The photo on her nightstand caught her eye. It was slightly worn at the edges now. Her father, Vuyolwethu Ndleleni, beamed with pride beside her in her graduation gown. That day had felt like prophecy fulfilled. Until the call came. Until joy was swallowed by loss.

He had died of a sudden heart attack just minutes before she was to give her speech as class representative. That day, her world had split in two—before and after. She remembered running to the hospital in her heels, her cap in hand, makeup streaking with tears.

Lihle touched the frame gently. "I’m still trying, Tata," she whispered. "Still standing. Just wish you could see it."

She got dressed quickly, in her usual sleek but modest workwear—tailored pants, a white blouse, and a blazer that made her feel stronger than she sometimes was. As she tied her braids into a low bun, her phone buzzed. Mama.

"Molo, Mama," she answered, balancing her phone between her shoulder and ear while pouring boiling water into her mug.

"Molo, mntwan’am," came the warm voice of her mother from Port Elizabeth. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did. And you?"

"We’re fine, shame. But your brother’s shoes are talking, Lihle. And Naledi wants to apply for nursing next year."

Lihle sighed, but smiled softly. "Tell her to apply. I’ll send money for registration. And I’ll sort Zuko’s shoes next week."

"God bless you, Samara. Your father would be proud, you hear me? Don’t forget what he said—‘God first, always.’"

"I won’t forget, Mama. I love you."

"I love you too, Nana."

She ended the call, sipped her tea, and stood by the window for a moment, watching Pietermaritzburg stretch into life. Taxi horns echoed faintly in the distance, and gospel music rose from a neighbor’s open kitchen window.

Today felt different. Heavy, somehow.

-

Lihle arrived at Shabangu Attorneys just after seven. The building stood proud and modern among older structures in the city centre. It still humbled her sometimes—to walk these halls as an associate attorney, not just a black woman from KwaZakhele in Port Elizabeth, but Langelihle Ndleleni, qualified and called.

She greeted the receptionist with a smile and headed straight for the elevator. On the fourth floor, the energy shifted. Phones rang, shoes clicked on polished floors, and quiet tension hung in the air as deadlines loomed. She passed several offices, her colleagues already typing furiously or sipping strong coffee. Most were older, many were white, and almost none had grown up like she had. Still, she had earned her place here.

Before she could settle into her office, her name rang out:

"Ndleleni!"

She turned. Mr. Mandla Shabangu, managing partner, stood by his glass-walled office, motioning her inside.

"Morning, Sir," she greeted, stepping in.

He nodded. "Take a seat. I won’t take long."

Her heart picked up a little. It wasn’t every day that Shabangu summoned her directly.

He slid a thick file across his desk. "You’ve been assigned a new case. Very high-profile. Very delicate."

Lihle opened the file slowly. The name on the top stopped her breath.

Sabelo Simphiwe Mazibuko.
Alias: Razor.

Charged with racketeering, attempted murder, possession of illegal fi****ms, and suspected links to at least three gang-related executions in KwaMashu.

Her throat dried. "Sir… this—"

"I know who he is," Shabangu interrupted, calm but firm. "He requested a female attorney. Said he wouldn’t speak to anyone else. And specifically someone who… resembles his late sister."

She blinked. "Sir, this is dangerous. What if—"

"Ndleleni, I’m not forcing you. But no one else wanted him. He needs legal representation. And between us? I think there’s more to him than the headlines."

She swallowed hard. "And if I say yes?"

"Your first meeting is tomorrow morning at Westville Prison."

-

Back in her office, Lihle locked the door behind her, leaned against it, and exhaled. The file felt radioactive in her hands.

She placed it gently on her desk, pulled out her Bible from her drawer, and dropped to her knees.

"God…"

The word came out broken. Her lips trembled as tears welled up.

"I didn’t come here for this. I came here to rise, to serve, to honour You. This man… he’s everything I’ve been warned about. I don’t understand why You’re placing this in my hands."

Silence.

She flipped her Bible to Proverbs 3, the scripture her father used to recite:

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”

She stayed there, kneeling, for a long moment.

And then, with trembling fingers, she reached for the file and opened it again.

"Not my will," she whispered, "but Yours be done."

She stood.

Her heart might’ve been on trial—but her faith was already standing.

Dreamscape Novels by Olivia K

11/08/2025

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