Princess Treatment

Chapter Two: Routine Rooftops

Azania's week had started with a to-do list so long it looked like a shopping receipt.

Mondays and Wednesdays were campus days—Wits Business School, east campus side. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays were for her internship at BrandVerse Collective. In between that, she had lectures to revise, marketing models to memorize, and the most annoying roommate in the Southern Hemisphere to survive.

But today was Tuesday, and she was back at the agency—coffee in hand, head down, box braids wrapped into a high bun, her blond streaks peeking through like highlights of rebellion.

Her braces clicked softly as she chewed gum and ran through her day mentally.

09:00 – Review notes for Consumer Behavior

10:00 – Prep reports for Client Strategy

12:00 – Rooftop lunch with the gossip twins

14:00 – Meeting in the Innovation Lounge

A soft ding of the elevator brought her back to reality.

Thish was already seated when she arrived. She wore a white mesh top, leather pants, and the loudest perfume known to humanity. Abednego, beside her, had a laptop open but was obviously not working.

"Azaniaaaaa," Thish drawled, arms wide. "You survived another day in Capitalism's mouth."

"I deserve a loyalty card at this point," she said, sliding into the chair across from them.

"Girl, if you survive Client Strategy with that team," Abednego said, taking off his glasses, "you should be given a car. Or at least a stress leave voucher."

"Speaking of," Thish whispered, leaning forward like a spy. "Did Jared Mungai talk to you again today?"

Azania raised an eyebrow. "No. And if he had, so what?"

Abednego blinked. "So what? The man is a legend—and I don't mean like 'uncle-who-braais-well' legend. I mean dark money, yachts-you'll-never-see, doesn't-smile-in-photos kind of legend."

Azania bit into her wrap and spoke through a mouthful. "Ubukeka kahle. Ngizomnika lokho"(He's good-looking. I'll give him that)

Thish dropped her spoon. "Wat jy sê? "(Excuse me?)

"Objectively. Like, fine-structure, nice eyes. But he gives... insurance vibes."

"Cold, hard, tax-avoidant beauty," Abednego murmured. "My favorite kind."

They burst into laughter. Azania sipped her iced tea. She had no idea what the big deal was. Jared Mungai was just her boss's boss. She had a life to focus on—a GPA to defend, after all.

"Yima, le nto yayifanele namhlanje?"(Wait, this was due today?) Yonela yelped, flipping through her Marketing 101 textbook as they sat outside the Amic Deck.

Azania nodded, chewing her pen cap. "Yeah. Short essay. Question two and three only."

Yonela groaned. "I'm dropping out. I'm moving to Bali. I'll braid tourist hair."

Azania giggled. "You'd make a fortune, to be honest."

"Why are you always ahead, though? Like, you've already printed yours out."

"I get anxious if I don't finish early," Azania shrugged. "Also, I need to use campus WiFi before I go back to work. The WiFi in our apartment acts like it's on sabbatical."

Yonela gave her a sideways glance. "Girl, I don't know how you do it. School and internship. At 18?"

"Barely," she sighed. "But I just keep telling myself: finish the semester strong, then maybe Mauritius will be the reward."

"Yoh, you and your bougie travel dreams."

"I dream in locations," Azania giggled. " Phela mina ngiyi-bad b***h"( Don't forget that Iam a bad bitch.)

She was running late for her shift at the agency. Her braids were slightly frizzy, and she'd forgotten her earrings. Still, she looked presentable in mom jeans, a white tee, and an oversized beige coat.

She was quietly organizing pitch boards in the Innovation Lounge when her supervisor popped her head in.

"Azania, can you set up the boardroom for the 4PM debrief?"

"Sure."

An hour later, the long white boardroom table gleamed under the ceiling lights. She placed water bottles, arranged notepads, and wiped the remote before placing it beside the screen.

She caught her reflection in the glass: braces, brows brushed up, soft lip gloss. Not bad for someone on five hours of sleep.

Everyone began filing in. Executives. Junior strategists. Art directors.

And then, Jared.

He walked in wearing a black turtleneck and charcoal slacks. Minimalist. Serious. His expression neutral, not unreadable. He greeted the room with a simple nod.

Azania felt... nothing unusual. Maybe a tiny flinch of curiosity. That's it. Nothing more.

When the presentation began, she was asked to clarify a slide she had helped put together.

She stood up, cleared her throat slightly.

"This graph shows user behavior patterns over a seven-day rollout. We observed that engagement spiked midweek, especially around interactive content—mostly i********: polls and t****k collabs. Based on that, I'd suggest shifting sponsored ads to Tuesday through Thursday instead of the full week."

The room murmured approval.

Jared looked at her. Quiet, unreadable.

"Concise," he said. "Good instincts."

Then turned back to his tablet.

That was it.

Still, her hands were a little sweaty when she returned to her seat.

"You spoke in a room where Jared was present," Thish hissed later. "And lived to tell the tale."

"I literally answered a question," Azania replied, amused.

"But did you see his face?" Abednego added. "He looked up. The last time he looked up in a meeting, I think Cyril was still dating his ex."

"Y'all are dramatic."

"Thank you."

Later That Night – Woodmead Country Club

Klaus Mungai watched the golf course through a rim of scotch. Grey clouds hovered low.

"Your intern has a spine," he muttered.

Jared, seated opposite him in a cream golf polo and Nike slacks, didn't look up. "She's not my intern."

"Yet she's clearly got your attention."

Jared's jaw tightened. "She's bright. That's all."

"Be careful, son. This country eats bright girls. Especially ones who don't know what they're walking into."

Jared stood, pulled his golf glove back on. "Maybe she'll learn."

And with that, he left the table.

Thursday Night – Fire and Flatmates

Azania tossed her laptop bag onto the couch, kicked off her sneakers, and face-planted into the cushions.

Peace.

Until—

"AZANIA!"

She jolted up to the smell of smoke. The kitchen was fogged out. Pru stood in her pajama shorts waving a dishtowel at the toaster.

"I WAS MAKING GARLIC BREAD!"

Azania coughed as she stumbled in. "It's not supposed to look like coal!"

"I put it on max heat for ten minutes—"

"WHY would you do that?!"

"I got distracted. There was a video about this girl who married a scammer and—"

Azania grabbed the window and yanked it open. "You're the scammer! This is arson!"

They both broke into hysterical coughing.

Then silence.

Then laughter.

Pru collapsed on the floor. "We're gonna die in this flat."

Azania sat beside her. "At least it'll smell like seasoning."