Princess Treatment

Chapter One: New Girl Energy

Three Months Ago

Azania Mphela's parents fussed over her like it was her first day of grade one. Her mother fluffed the pillows on the couch for the fifth time, while her father hovered around the fridge, checking expiry dates on the yoghurts she had just bought from Woolies.

"Mma, please," Azania groaned, rolling her eyes as she carried a box of shoes to her room. "I'm not going to war. I'm just starting varsity."

"Yingakho senza isiqiniseko sokuthi yonke into ilungile,"her mother said, adjusting a frame on the wall that didn't need adjusting. "Braamfontein is nice, but we know Joburg. Just... be careful, okay?" (That's exactly why we're making sure everything is perfect)

"Tell Lethabo that I'll miss her sooo much." she said.

Her father nodded, giving her a one-armed hug. "Call us if anything, okay? Anything. Even if it's just for airtime."

"I will and I very much promise," she said imitating a Zim accent at the end, receiving small laughter from her parents.

Once they finally left and the door clicked shut, peace settled in for exactly thirty seconds.

"So... Girly, iyiphi i-shelf yami?" came a voice behind her. (which shelf is mine)

Azania turned and came face-to-face with her new roommate, Prudence—Pru, as they called her. Dressed in an oversized graphic tee, biker shorts and a bonnet, she had the essence of someone who'd lived here forever, even though she had also just arrived two hours earlier.

"The one on the right," Azania replied coolly.

"I already took the left," Pru said, plopping on the couch and digging into a packet of Simba chips like it was popcorn at a movie. "Hope you don't mind that I took the bigger cupboard too."

Azania narrowed her eyes. "As long as you keep your stuff out of my side."

"Relax-a, ntombazane. Sizoba ama-besties makh'phela le-semester." (Relax, girl. We're gonna be besties by end of semester.)

Azania gave her a long look and sighed. "Ai, sizobona phambili." (We'll see)

The first week of school passed quickly in a blur of campus orientation lectures, awkward icebreakers, and trying to find lecture halls that seemed to change location like those Hogwarts staircases on Harry Potter. On Wednesday, in the Marketing Strategy lecture, she found herself seated next to a girl with glowing skin and an even glowing personality that matched her.

"Yonela," the girl said, extending a manicured hand. "Ujolise kakhulu ukuze ungaqondi. Mind if I stick with you for survival?" (You look too focused to not be smart)

Azania smiled. "Azania. And sure, survival sounds about right. I'm guessing you're a Xhosa, right?"

"Yes, I am. What about you?" she giggled.

"I'm Pedi and Zulu combined and no, I am no weapon of destruction"

They laughed, traded schedules and notes, and by Friday, were walking to campus cafés like old friends.

That weekend, she took an Uber to visit her boyfriend, Mahlatsi, who was doing Computer Science. They ate kota curled up on Mahlatsi's couch in his compact flat in Auckland Park. He was in his element, coding something she didn't understand.

"You know, I feel like you've replaced me with Python," she teased.

He looked up, grinning. "Python doesn't ask me to define the relationship."

They both laughed. Safe, comfortable, sweet. That's what Mahlatsi was. But even in that comfort, something inside her stirred—something restless.

Monday Morning – New Week, New Arena

Azania, Yonela, and a handful of their classmates arrived at their assigned internship site: Brand Collective—a sleek, minimalistic marketing agency housed on the 14th floor of an architecturally sharp building in Sandton. The name glowed in clean white font against matte black walls, the reception smelled like bergamot and ambition.

The first few days were filled with introductions, polite smiles, and learning how not to get in the way. Azania was naturally observant, and soon enough, she began to notice the workplace dynamics.

On Wednesday, Her first few days were a blur of onboarding, shadowing client meetings, and learning everyone's coffee orders. She quickly adapted, floating between departments with her notebook always in hand and a polite smile that said, I belong here. Maybe.

She discovered the Rooftop Café—where legends (and apparently gossip) were made. While grabbing a cappuccino at the Rooftop Café, she was intercepted by two employees who were mid-laugh over a shared meme. There, she met Abednego and Thish—the unofficial rumour mill of BrandVerse.

Abednego was tall, soft-spoken, with eyes that always looked like he was about to drop a juicy secret. Thish was loud, charming, and dramatic—an HR scandal waiting to happen. "Girl, sit," Thish said, pulling a chair beside them. "You're pretty. You deserve rooftop shade with pretty people."

"Abednego," he said, offering a hand. "And this is Thishan—Thish."

"I'm Azania," she offered, slightly overwhelmed but intrigued.

"Of course you are," Abednego said with a sly grin. "We've already seen your name on the intern list. You're in Client Strategy?"

"Yeah." she said in a low voice.

"Jou arme ding"(You poor thing) Thish said, sipping iced coffee. "Let us be your spirit guides. First lesson—never eat the salmon from the breakroom fridge. It's older than our pension scheme."

"Ew, really?!" she questioned in a disgusted tone.

Thish waved. "Lala, we know everything, just ask us. Especially the gossip. We only tell it to people who can keep it to themselves."

They pulled her into a table under the shade, and within minutes they were cackling like long-lost cousins. She learned that the Creative Director might be sleeping with the Art Director, that HR was on a warpath, and that the boss—the boss—never smiled. Ever.

"Except once," Thish said. "Rumor is, he smiled during a pitch in Dubai. But that was in 2020, so..."

"He probably regretted it," Abednego added. "Kumomotseka kukhulisa labanemandla." (Smiling ages the powerful)

They all burst out in laughter.

Day Three – The Meeting

Azania moved around in the boardroom arranging water bottles, stacking agendas, and adjusting the projector angle. She wore a navy-blue two-piece suit with a white and light-blue floral blouse tucked neatly in, clean white sneakers that kept her grounding her nerves. Confidence was the mask. Inside, her stomach was breakdancing.

The room filled slowly with colleagues, interns, execs. The chatter quieted as the room temperature dropped - figuratively.

Jared Mungai entered.

The air shifted. People straightened in their chairs like school kids caught cheating. His walk was precise, his expression unreadable.

Azania kept her cool.

He didn't speak until he sat.

"Let's begin."

Midway through the presentation, the lead strategist nudged Azania. "Explain the audience targeting segment you worked on."

Azania stood. "The target market for this campaign spans Gen Z and late millennials, heavily invested in socially conscious messaging—"

She explained cleanly, precisely. Her voice steady, hands moving with purpose, just like they practiced in class.

Jared's eyes locked on her. Watched like he was studying a rare painting or hearing an unfamiliar melody.

After the meeting, as people began to leave, Jared approached.

"You're new."

"Yes, sir."

"No need for 'sir.' Azania, right?"

She nodded, surprised.

"I make it a point to know people worth watching."

He walked away without another word.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

She stood there, blinking.

Within seconds, Abednego and Thish were at her side, shrieking like high schoolers.

"HE SMILED!"

"Sis, do you know what this means? You just broke a corporate record!"

She laughed it off. "Y'all are too much. Come, I'm starving."

They headed to the Rooftop Café.

At the Rooftop Café, Abednego and Thish were practically levitating.

"HE TALKED TO YOU?" Thish squealed. "The Iceman Himself?"

Abednego clutched his chest. "And he smirked. The man hasn't smiled since Jacob Zuma was president."

Azania rolled her eyes. "It was nothing. Just work."

"Girl, in BrandVerse? Nothing is just work," Thish said, winking.

Woodmead Country Club

Rain threatened to fall, but the golf carts kept rolling.

Inside, an old white man in a crisp beige sweater sipped Earl Grey tea.

His expression unreadable.

His name was Klaus Mungai, and he wasn't here for the weather. Jared entered, dressed like a golfer—still sharp, but more casual. He sat across from Klaus, facing the golf course.

"You're late," his father said.

"You're in my country," Jared replied coolly, pulling out a chair. "Let's not start with attitude."

"And yet it's your businesses I'm fixing," his father murmured. "You've gotten sloppy. You've got too many hands in the till."

"You don't launder millions by being neat," Jared said. "You do it by being quick."

"And that's why we clean it through real estate this time. No flashy cars. No art auctions. Property. Slow. Quiet. Safe."

Jared's jaw clenched. "Safe doesn't suit me."

"Neither does prison." said Klaus. " We need to move fast," Klaus said. "The Luxembourg account is waiting. Your fronts here—restaurants, consultancies—are slow."

"They're not slow. They're clean," Jared replied coolly. "I'm not risking exposure because you're impatient."

Klaus narrowed his eyes. "You're becoming reckless."

"I'm becoming rich."

The tension cracked between them like a lightning bolt. Jared stood abruptly, tossing his napkin on the table.

"We'll do it my way. Or not at all."

He stormed out, keys already in hand. The roar of his Porsche Mansory echoed through the hills as he sped down the wet roads, away from expectations and toward... something else.

Back at the Apartment – That Evening

Azania collapsed on the couch, face-first, still in her blazer. Her head pounded.

Today was long.

Today was weird.

Peace at last.

Just as her body gave in to sleep, a shrill scream echoed from the kitchen.

"AZANIA!"

She bolted upright. "Pru?!"

She rushed in to find the kitchen fogged with thick black smoke. Coughing, Azania yanked the window open. Through the haze, she saw Pru fanning a burnt pot with a dishrag.

"WHAT. DID. YOU. DO?!" Azania shouted between coughs.

"Bengizama ukwenza ama-popcorn!"(I was just trying to make popcorn!)

"POPCORN?! GIRL, YOU SET OFF A MINI APOCALYPSE!"

"Why was it in a pot and not a microwave?!"

"Ngoba ngi WATHANDA e-authentic!"

Azania groaned and waved smoke away. "You wanna get us killed or evicted?!"

"Pick one, babes. This economy doesn't let you fear both."

They stared at each other, then burst out laughing, coughing mid-laughs.

"You're chaos," Azania wheezed.

"And you love it here."

Azania shook her head and stomped to her room. "I'm locking my cupboard."

"Too late," Pru called out. "I already borrowed your pink wine glass!"

"PRU!"

"SOR-R-RY!" she said in a miniature voice, trailed with a Coloured accent.

Laughter echoed through the smoke-stained flat.