I didn't give him the satisfaction of looking back.
Whoever was watching me from the shadows of the sunken lounge could wait. I felt a surge of defiance, a need to prove I wasn't just a nervous interloper. When a heavy beat dropped, I let the Amapiano take over, moving my hips in a slow, rhythmic sway that matched Tariro's energy.
I was halfway through the second song when a man appeared in my peripheral vision. He was effortlessly handsome, with a sharp jawline and a smile that promised trouble. He didn't ask; he simply slipped into my space, movements fluid and confident. He smelled of expensive sandalwood and success. As we danced, he never touched me, but his presence was a physical heat that made the rest of the room fade away.
The heat eventually became too much. Breathless and flushed, I excused myself from the dance floor and navigated the sea of bodies toward the marble bar. I needed a moment of stillness. I perched on a high velvet stool, watching the bartender pour a stream of amber liquid into a crystal tumbler.
"He's going to keep staring, you know," a voice said beside me.
I turned, expecting the handsome dancer from before. It was him Mr Dibakwane but now, without the music moving us, I could see the sharp intelligence in his eyes. He looked like he belonged in a boardroom rather than a club.
"Mr. Dibakwane?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. My heart thudded hard against my ribs.
He chuckled, a warm, melodic sound that cut through the bass. "Not quite." He extended a hand with a heavy gold watch. "Today, it's just Simba. My friend over there is the one who owns the house and the shadows."
I followed his gaze. For a second, the bass of the Amapiano track faded into the background. It was just me in my bronze silk and a silhouette in the distance. The man in the lounge didn't smile, but he straightened up slightly. I could feel his gaze dropping to my gold heels before traveling slowly, deliberately, back up to my face.
"Simba," I repeated, trying to steady my breathing. "And why is your friend watching me like I'm a problem he's trying to solve?"
Simba's smile was slow, knowing. "Because Nthando doesn't usually spend his nights staring at the bar—but you've managed to break his streak. I've been trying to figure out if you're actually as composed as you look, or if that bronze dress is just a very beautiful suit of armor."
I barely had time to respond before Tariro appeared at my side, holding out a glass of something sparkling. "Paida? You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I took the glass, the cold condensation chilling my palm, but I didn't look at her. My eyes were still locked on Nthando in the shadows.
"Not a ghost," I whispered. "Something much more… dangerous."
Simba adjusted his white linen cuff and gave me one final, enigmatic wink. "Don't stay in the light too long, Paida. The shadows here have a way of catching up."
I shivered slightly not from the chill but from the knowledge that somehow, these shadows weren't just a part of the part. And somehow that excited me.