Chapter 1: Her foolish heart

Sinikiwe stared at the paper in her hands, unable to believe what it was accusing her of. She’d been standing in front of the large Mukwa desk for what felt like hours-if she looked any harder, the paper might have caught fire.

Earlier that morning, she had rushed out of her house, doing her utmost best to look presentable, never imagining that today she’d be facing accusations of industrial espionage.

All she’d wanted was to hear the man she loved finally admit his feelings for her-a small ray of sunshine in the dark two months she’d endured. Sitting in the backseat of the taxi having spent her last Kwacha to get here on time, nothing could have wiped the smile off her face.

She’d imagined George confessing his love, maybe even proposing. It didn’t matter if it happened in the office or some fancy restaurant; all she wanted was him.

Of course she knew it wouldn’t be easy. People would gossip, whisper biting rumours, and question her character.

In their African community, bed-hopping-especially among family members-was unforgivable sin.

But she hadn’t really bed-hopped.

Sure, she’d dated Abel Mwango, George’s cousin, but her heart belonged to George alone.

Even now, as George stood with his back to her, shoulders tense against the vast office windows, it was him her heart beat for.

“You should be grateful,” his cold, steely voice sliced through the silence and her swirling thoughts. He turned to face her, disgust etched on his handsome face. His cold and piercing brown eyes pinned her in place. There was no warmth in his gaze only authority; sharp and unforgiving.

Still, her heart raced.

It was pathetic, really. But she couldn’t help it-she loved him. He was the embodiment of power in a tailored suit. Every inch the clichéd CEO. Broad shouldered, impeccably dressed, and perpetually unsmiling, he carried an air of control that made other shrink in his presence. His height, an impressive six foot two only added to his commanding presence.

He was furious, his glare burning a hole through her. She flinched and looked down. She’d never seen him this mad before. Usually, he tolerated her like one might tolerate a buzzing mosquito- barely acknowledging her existence.

“You deserve nothing less than jail time,” he snapped. “If it were up to me, you wouldn’t even be standing here. Be grateful you once dated Abel. A scandal is the last thing I need.”

Jail.

They were planning to throw her in jail.

“I don’t understand,” she finally said, waking from her shock. The thought of prison jolted her alive.

What had started as a hopeful morning filled with dreams of love now landed her face-to-face with the threat of losing everything.

“Of course you’re going to say that,” he muttered dryly, his voice dripping with contempt.

“There must be some mistake,” she said her voice trembling.

Her job was everything now, more than ever. Two months ago, right after breaking up with Abel, she had handed in her resignation-only for Abel to intercept and refuse to process it. Back then, nothing mattered but her determination to break free and chase her happiness, the happiness she hoped to find with George.

Simple right? Break up, resign, pursue George.

But life was cruel.

Heartbreakingly so.

In an instant, everything had flipped upside down. She had forgotten her life wasn’t her own to play with.

Though she loved George secretly, she wanted it all-the love, the life, the future. He had made her feel alive, a woman. He made her heart race.

But when life isn’t your own, when you have mouths to feed and bills piling up, happiness becomes a luxury you can’t afford.

And now this-laughable, cruel, unbearable. What else could life throw at her? She couldn’t lose this job. Her son’s life depended on her pay check to cover mounting hospital bills.

“There must be a mistake. I don’t understand any of this,” she whispered, rubbing her temples as a headache clawed its way up.

Sleep had evaded her for weeks, and now this accusation was pushing her to the edge.

George picked up a lone white folder from the gleaming dark wood desk and slid it toward her.

“What’s this?”

He arched a dark bushy brow, the corners of his mouth twitching, not with humour, but amusement at her supposed confusion.

Sinikiwe hesitated , then opened it. Her stomach dropped. inside were photographs . Dozens of them. Her. With a man.

He was tall, dark, stocky with shoulder-length dreadlocks an a full beard. Some pictures showed them as casual acquaintances, others suggested something deeper. One showed them in the hospital cafeteria –she was sliding a USB flash drive toward him. 

And then she saw them. Bank statements. A dormant account she hadn’t used in a long while.

Her eyes bulged and widened.

She quickly counted the zeros-three, four, five zeroes.

Four hundred thousand kwacha!

Deposited just weeks ago.

Then another three hundred thousand. In total, seven hundred thousand Kwacha had been deposited in her account and later half of it was withdrawn.

Her skin went cold. Her throat felt like she hadn’t had a glass of water in ages. She had no idea where that money came from.

Just last month, she had applied for a loan and was turned down, which had pushed her into the dangerous world of private shark loans, known for their sky-high interest-but desperation made her careless.

To realize she had that much money sitting untouched in her account was staggering. Had she seen the bank notification, she would have gone straight to the bank for answers.

But she hadn’t. She hadn’t even been using her SIM card-she’d sold her phone to cover some bills.

“Unbelievable,” she murmured as the pieces clicked into place. Buried under debt, someone had decided to ruin her even further with a sick joke.