Uncle Bakti smiled again. “It feels like stepping back in time.” His cheerful voice was at odds with the atmosphere choking the room. “It’s been so long since I last saw my children gathered like this.”
Zeraiah scoffed, and Zioh glared, dislike clear in their eyes.
Uncle Bakti seemed unbothered. He kept smiling and turned to me. “Since you’re all here, why don’t we have lunch?” He looked at each of us. “Have youeaten?”
I didn’t like this. The discomfort crawled over my skin.
His gaze returned to me as he stepped closer. “Since none of you is saying anything, I’ll take that as agreement, shall I?” His voice lowered, sending a chill through me. “Come now, Tshabina. Let’s have lunch together.” He glanced at the others, then back to me with a soft smile, raising his hand to touch me. “I can book us a restaurant nearby—”
Before his hand could reach me, Zioh lunged forward and seized his father’s wrist, jerking him to a halt. Then, with a sharp tug, he pulled me back against him until my spine hit his chest.
His voice came low, cold. “Tshabina has to meet the INDTV media team, who are documenting the new office project.” He leaned in, his gaze boring into his father’s. I felt the thrum of a heartbeat through my spine, the seep of body heat against my skin. A hard lump formed in my throat as I swallowed.
My body shuddered when he touched my skin again and guided me to his side. Zioh tilted his chin towards the corridor beside us, a silent signal for me to go.
I began to move, but Uncle Bakti blocked my way. “There’s no need to rush,” he said, his gaze flicking between his son and me. “The press conference hasn’t even happened yet. The production team still has plenty to arrange.”
A snarl rumbled from Zioh, and I looked at him. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw tight, then I turned to the other two men—they were the same.
Tsabinu stepped forward, held my hand tightly, and drew me to his side, away from them both. “No need, sir,” he said, his voice firm and his grip tightening on mine. “I’ll take my sister to lunch, and bring her back afterwards—”
“But I’d also like to talk with you, Tsabinu,” Uncle Bakti cut him off. “There are things I need to say to all of you.” His declaration left no room for refusal.
Silence swallowed us, and the looks exchanged between Zioh and Zeraiah—sharp, as though they spoke in their own language. Finally, Uncle Bakti turned, striding off first, and the two men in suits followed at his heels.
“Come,” he called over his shoulder. “A lunch together won’t be the end of you.”
Uncle Bakti disappeared down the corridor, the same way Zioh and I had come, leaving me staring after him. For a moment, we exchanged glances, then all eyes drifted to the corridor again.
Zeraiah sneered. “I began to think he was going to announce he’s getting married to that young slag,” he muttered under his breath once his dad was out of earshot.
The words made Zioh shoot him a warning glare, while I stiffened.
This wasn’t the Zeraiah I remembered. The boy who had never dared to speak like that, especially not about his dad. He had always admired him and longed to be like him. Yet here he was, mocking, spitting venom. His gaze, his tone, and his defiance, all of it proof that I no longer knew him at all.
At last, Zeraiah rolled his eyes and stalked off, leaving us behind, with his older brother following him. Tsabinu and I lingered. I was unsure what to do until my brother sighed. “Come on, Dek, let’s have lunch, and I’ll take you afterwards.”
When we reached the car park, we headed towards our own cars—Zioh and Zeraiah to theirs, Tsabinu leading me to his. But Uncle Bakti’s voice halted us. He had reappeared from the VIP parking area.
“Why are you separating?” he called out. “We’re only going for lunch. You all still have business at the office, right?”
We all stood in silence, staring at him like mannequins, and he added. “One car will do. Come.” He approached usone by one, gathering us together, his hands pressing at our backs, and I could hear a harsh snort.
He led us to one of the nearby luxury cars.
It turned out to be my former best friend’s car. “Fine! One car. But why mine—” Zeraiah began to protest, only for Uncle Bakti to shove his head down and push him inside before he could finish.
“Because yours is the first in line. And besides, it’s big enough. Convenient, you didn’t bring one of those ridiculous, noisy things today.”
“Ridiculous?” He snapped, lowering the window to glower out at him. “It’s a bloody McLaren—”
“I will send the location,” Uncle Bakti cut across, turning away towards his car. “Now go.” And with that, he disappeared into the back seat, his aides and chauffeur moving with him.
As Tsabinu and I climbed into the back seat, we exchanged a glance, and my heart thudded in an odd rhythm. Zeraiah, still scowling, muttered under his breath. “What the hell is wrong with that old man—”
“Just drive, Zer,” Zioh’s weary voice snapped from the seat beside him. “Don’t make it worse. You want this over quickly, don’t you? Then go.”
Zeraiah curled his lip and let out a harsh breath. “Sometimes you’re more of an arsehole than him, you know that?” he started the engine, pulling us out of the car park to follow their dad’s car.
