If there was one thing Zion Nkomo understood, it was control.
Control of rooms.
Control of deals.
Control of people.
It came naturally when you were raised to inherit an empire.
The glass walls of Nkomo Holdings stretched high above the city, reflecting the late afternoon sun like a mirror of power. From the top floor, the city looked small—cars crawling like insects, people rushing through lives that had nothing to do with his.
Zion leaned back in his leather chair, loosening his tie as he scanned financial reports on his tablet.
Numbers didn't excite him. Winning did.
His father had built the company from nothing but stubborn ambition. Now the responsibility of maintaining it rested on Zion's shoulders—whether he liked it or not. At twenty-eight, he was already the face most investors trusted. And he knew it.
The office door opened without a knock. Only one person had that kind of confidence.
"You're still working?" Xavier asked, stepping inside.
Zion didn't look up immediately. "Some of us actually run companies."
Xavier laughed, dropping into the chair across from the desk. "Correction. Your father runs the company. You just enjoy the benefits."
That finally earned a smirk from Zion. "And yet you're still here asking me for favors."
"Networking," Xavier corrected casually.
Tall, charismatic, and dangerously charming, Xavier had been Zion's friend long before money complicated life. He had a talent for talking his way into rooms most people couldn't enter—and into situations with women they rarely regretted.
"Where's Lloyiso?" Zion asked.
As if summoned, another figure appeared quietly in the doorway.
"Right here."
Lloyiso Maseko carried a calm authority that demanded respect without effort. Unlike Zion and Xavier, he didn't chase attention. But when he spoke, people listened.
"See?" Xavier gestured toward him. "The responsible one has arrived."
Lloyiso raised an eyebrow. "If I'm the responsible one, that says a lot about the two of you."
Zion chuckled softly, standing from behind the desk.
"So," Xavier leaned forward, "about tomorrow night…"
Zion poured three glasses of whiskey from the mini bar.
"The charity gala," he said.
Xavier accepted his glass. "Exactly. Rich people pretending they care about the world."
"They care about appearances," Zion corrected.
Lloyiso studied the amber liquid before sipping. "Your father expects you there," he reminded him.
"Of course he does."
Zion leaned against the desk, city lights slowly flickering on behind him. Events like this were less about charity and more about power: business alliances, political connections, media attention… and, of course—beautiful women.
Xavier grinned knowingly. "You always meet someone interesting at those things."
"Interesting is generous," Zion replied.
"Beautiful, then."
"More accurate."
Xavier laughed. "That's what I admire about you—your honesty."
Zion shrugged. Women had always been easy. They liked confidence. Power. Attention. And he had plenty of all three.
Dating seriously had never interested him. Commitment complicated things. One night. Two, sometimes. Then everyone moved on happy.
"Your father wants you to settle down eventually," Lloyiso said quietly.
Zion took a sip of whiskey. "My father wants a lot of things."
"And you don't?"
Zion smiled faintly. "I want peace."
Xavier snorted. "You're a hunter, my friend. Peace isn't your style."
Maybe he was right. Zion had never chased love. Only excitement. And excitement was everywhere.
He finished his drink and placed the glass down. "Tomorrow night will be boring," he said.
Xavier grinned. "Not if we make it interesting."
Lloyiso shook his head. "You two are going to cause trouble."
"Relax," Xavier said. "We're just attending a party."
Zion glanced out the window again. Hundreds of events. Same people. Same conversations. Same predictable outcomes. Nothing surprising. Nothing new. Nothing unforgettable.
Far below, another life followed a much humbler rhythm.
Mopping floors and scrubbing tiles had become routine for Shanice. Two years in one of the city's fanciest restaurants, and she still worked tirelessly, muscles aching but mind humming along with her music. Today, she almost forgot she might see her boss.
"Ahh, you're still in?" Mrs. Musuka asked, purse in hand and car keys dangling.
"Yes, ma'am. I was just about to knock off," Shanice replied warmly, continuing her mopping.
"Haa, alright then. I hope you make everything in this restaurant sparkle."
"Sure thing, ma'am."
"Good. I'll take my leave. You finish up, then you can go."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Goodnight, Shanice."
"Goodnight."
Her life had always been hard work, but Shanice held onto hope—hope that one day she would finally become the woman she had worked so hard to be: a lawyer.
She pushed the mop into the corner and wiped her brow, just as the restaurant door opened.
A man stepped in—tall, impeccably dressed, with an air that made the room feel smaller, as if he carried the city with him.
Shanice froze. Something about him felt different—dangerous, commanding… unforgettable.
And then he looked straight at her.
Her heart skipped a beat.
"Evening, sir," she said, trying to steady her voice.
"Hie… are you Shanice?" he asked, eyes locking onto hers.
And now she would rather not thinking of anything else other than the gentleman who kept mesmerizing.