Chapter 4 - THE SIGNATURE THAT COULD STEAL AN ENTIRE DYNASTYHLENGIWE
By Friday morning, I had learned three things about the man I was supposed to marry.
First, he could transform into a wolf.
Second, his parents had probably been murdered.
Third, somebody inside or close to his family had been keeping dangerous secrets for nearly two decades.
Under ordinary circumstances, any one of those discoveries would have made me reconsider my wedding.
But ordinary circumstances had clearly abandoned me.
I stood at the ranch's enormous kitchen island, holding a cup of tea I had forgotten to drink.
Across from me sat Mangoane Lisebo.
Matla stood near the window.
His expression was unreadable.
"Aunt," he said quietly, "I need you to tell me everything you remember about the night my parents died."
Lisebo went still.
"Why are you bringing this up now?"
"Because someone sent me a video."
He placed his phone on the table.
She watched the recording.
Before it finished, her hand flew to her mouth.
"Where did you get this?"
"That's what I intend to find out."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Matla—"
"Were you supposed to be in that car?"
She looked away.
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Lisebo," Matla said, his voice breaking, "please don't make me beg for the truth."
She closed her eyes.
"Yes."
The word hung between us.
Matla didn't move.
"Your mother invited me to accompany them that evening," she continued. "We were going to meet someone about the ranch's financial affairs."
"Who?"
"Mandla Radebe."
Matla's jaw tightened.
"Why didn't you go?"
"He called me an hour before they left. He said the meeting had been postponed and there was no need for me to come."
"Did you tell my parents?"
"I tried. Their phones were unreachable."
She began trembling.
"The next morning, the police came."
Matla turned toward the window.
I could see how hard he was fighting to remain calm.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"You were fourteen years old."
"I'm not fourteen anymore."
"I know."
"Then stop treating me like I am!"
Lisebo flinched.
He immediately closed his eyes.
When he spoke again, his voice was softer.
"I'm sorry. But I need answers."
She nodded.
"I should have told you years ago. I thought I was protecting you."
I remembered our conversation on the roadside.
The same mistake.
Different people.
Generations of adults making decisions for others because they believed love gave them permission.
Before anyone could speak again, one of the household staff entered.
"Mr. Radebe has arrived."
The room went silent.
Matla slowly turned.
"Already?"
"He says he needs to discuss tomorrow's arrangements."
Lisebo's face changed.
"Matla, please be careful."
He looked at her.
"I'm done being careless with the truth."
Mandla Radebe entered ten minutes later.
He was a distinguished man in his late fifties, with a perfectly tailored suit, silver-rimmed glasses, and the confident smile of someone accustomed to being welcomed.
"Matla, my boy!"
He opened his arms.
Matla didn't move.
The smile faltered.
"Something wrong?"
"Just a long night."
Radebe nodded sympathetically.
Then his eyes settled on me.
"Ah. You must be the beautiful bride."
I forced a polite smile.
"Hlengiwe."
He took my hand.
His fingers were cold.
"I've heard wonderful things about you."
"That's interesting," I answered. "We haven't met."
Something flickered across his face.
Then he chuckled.
"Matla speaks highly of you."
He opened his briefcase.
"I won't take much of your time. There are a few documents that should be signed before tomorrow's family ceremony."
Matla frowned.
"What documents?"
"Routine trust acknowledgments."
He slid a folder toward me.
"Nothing complicated. Your future wife simply confirms that she understands the family property structure."
I opened it.
The first pages contained dense legal language.
The final section included something much more concerning.
A provision authorizing an outside development company to negotiate mineral rights and long-term land access.
I looked up.
"Why does a marriage acknowledgment discuss mineral extraction?"
Radebe blinked.
"That's standard language for assets held by the trust."
"Then why does it allow a company called Aster Ridge Holdings to negotiate a lease over protected land?"
His smile disappeared.
Matla stepped closer.
"What did you just say?"
I pointed toward the clause.
Radebe reached for the folder.
"It's merely a technical provision."
I pulled it away.
"Technical provisions still have consequences."
Radebe looked at Matla.
"Your fiancée is understandably unfamiliar with the details."
"Then explain them," Matla said.
Radebe adjusted his glasses.
"I can arrange a complete briefing next week."
"Then we'll sign next week," I answered.
He turned toward me.
"I'm afraid that could delay certain wedding arrangements."
I placed the folder on the table.
"Then they can be delayed."
Matla looked at me.
I met his gaze.
"I'm not signing anything I don't understand."
For a moment, I wondered whether he would support me.
Then he gently closed the folder.
"Neither am I."
Radebe's expression hardened before he managed another smile.
"Of course. No need to be difficult."
He gathered his documents and left shortly afterward.
As soon as his vehicle disappeared, Abby arrived with the materials she had promised to help organize for the lobola negotiations.
I explained what had happened.
She immediately became suspicious.
"My cousin works in corporate compliance," she said. "Send me that company name."
I photographed the relevant pages.
Thirty minutes later, Abby's phone rang.
She answered, listened, and slowly sat down.
"What?"
Her eyes found mine.
"Are you absolutely certain?"
She ended the call.
"Guys, we have a problem."
Matla stepped forward.
"What kind of problem?"
Abby turned her screen toward us.
A scanned document appeared.
It was an executed trust consent, supposedly completed earlier that week.
It carried Matla's signature.
And beside his name was mine.
I stared at the elegant handwriting.
My full legal name.
My identification number.
An electronic certification.
Everything appeared legitimate.
May you like
Except for one small detail.
I had never seen the document before, and somebody had already signed away my future rights using my name.
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