Slavvy texted that he was outside. I quickly slipped on my fancy black flip-flops, grabbed my purse, and hurried downstairs — almost tripping on my dress. I stumbled on a few steps and quickly picked myself up before Michael noticed.
He turned to glance at me, rolled his eyes, and focused back on the TV.
"Where are you going?" he asked just as I opened the door. I froze, not expecting him to say anything.
"Uhmm... I... uh," I stuttered, my fingers damp with nervous sweat.
"Whatever," he said flatly. "Just close the door when you leave."
Geez, what's his problem? I thought, wanting to snap back but deciding it wasn't worth it.
Outside, Slavvy's black Range Rover waited at the usual spot. When he saw me coming, he got out and opened the door with a soft smile.
"Hey," he greeted, pulling me into a warm hug. I hugged him back, comforted by his familiar scent of cologne and fresh air.
When he pulled away, his expression shifted—his eyes darker, more intense.
"You good?" he asked gently.
I nodded. "I'm fine."
He smiled and hugged me again, this time with a steady, reassuring grip. "Let's go," he said softly, guiding me to the car and opening the door like a gentleman.
I couldn't believe it—me, sneaking out for a boy. Back home, I was known as the quiet one, the girl who avoided drama and never looked twice at boys. And here I was, three months in Cape Town, heading out with someone I'd met six days ago.
My stomach growled loudly, breaking my thoughts. Oops—I'd forgotten to eat.
"You hungry?" he asked, glancing over with a grin.
"I guess I am," I admitted.
"We'll get food. Don't worry," he said. "I'll take care of you."
"There's no need," I said quickly. "I'm not that hungry."
(That was a lie. I was starving—but I didn't want to seem greedy.)
My stomach grumbled again, louder this time.
"I think your tummy disagrees," he teased, turning into the Chicken Licken drive-thru.
"Don't order too much food," I said, and he laughed.
"Don't worry, I won't," he said, leaning toward the window to order.
I noticed he was dressed in all black again—his usual look. It suited him. Maybe black was his favorite color. At least we were matching.
The lady at the window thanked him, but I barely heard the order. I was too lost in thought, watching the way he smiled politely, how easily he carried himself.
"You look beautiful, by the way," he said suddenly, and I felt my cheeks burn.
Nobody except my mother had ever told me that before. It made me smile in spite of myself.
A few minutes later, he handed me a takeout bag filled with sixty hot wings and a couple of chicken burgers.
"These look delicious," I said. "I love spicy food."
"Then dig in," he said with a grin.
As we drove, I couldn't help noticing the direction we were heading. The buildings grew larger, the roads smoother.
"Wait... is this the same house?" I asked, confused.
"Nope," he said, smiling. "This is my other villa. You'll like it here."
I looked out the window, my heart skipping a beat. The place looked grand—too grand. "How old are you to have all this?" I asked carefully.
He smiled, eyes glinting with amusement. "Let's just say I have my ways."
Something about the way he said it made me quiet. I followed him up the steps, unsure what to say.
He opened the door for me, his hand brushing mine—his touch felt warm but strangely tense, like he was holding something back.
"What's wrong?" I asked quietly.
"Nothing," he said with a faint smile. "You're just... something else."
There was a heaviness in his tone I couldn't place. My stomach turned slightly; something about his mood had changed.
As we walked into the villa, people rushed about—staff, I assumed. A woman stopped and bowed slightly.
"Sir," she said respectfully.
He barely acknowledged her and walked past, his expression unreadable.
Rude, I thought to myself, though I kept it silent.
Still, a strange feeling lingered in my chest—part awe, part unease—as I stepped further into the echoing halls of his world.
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