LAZY GIRL WANTED A BILLIONAIRE MAN BUT WASNT READY FOR THIS 

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Chasing Shadows

Lorato lay sprawled on her cream velvet couch, sipping a mango smoothie, her eyes glued to the gold-lit Instagram feed on her phone. “If I marry this old billionaire man—he’s already in his eighties—it’s just a matter of a few years before he dies. I’ll inherit everything once he’s gone,” she murmured, half to herself, half to the universe she believed owed her a life of luxury.

She’d always felt destined for abundance, but not the kind earned through hard work or skill. Lorato believed wealth was the reward for being chosen by the right man—a man who’d carry her like an egg, pay her bills, dress her in designer labels, and whisk her away to exotic beaches. The idea of learning a trade or acquiring a skill made her cringe. “Why should I stress myself?” she’d say to her younger sister, Nali. “Men have been working for decades so I can enjoy. That’s their job.”

Their small flat in Johannesburg buzzed with the sound of Nali’s diligence. Two years younger, Nali was Lorato’s opposite—responsible, practical, and always busy. She learned hairdressing, worked part-time at a salon, and managed their home. Lorato never lifted a finger, except to scroll or pose for selfies.

One evening, as Nali stirred a pot of pap, she tried again. “Depending on men like this will ruin you, Lorato.”

Lorato rolled her eyes, lounging across the couch. “Why are you always so dramatic? Look at this.” She flipped her phone around, showing off a girl in a Gucci dress, posing beside a luxury car. “Do you think she’s suffering? No. Men are meant to take care of women.”

“You don’t know her story, Lorato. Maybe she works, maybe she has a business,” Nali replied.

“Please. Stop preaching. You sound like Mama. Just say you’re jealous.”

Nali said nothing more. She’d tried too many times.

Lorato’s best friend, Thandi, was even more encouraging. If Lorato wanted validation, Thandi was always ready.

“Girl, I met a guy last night. Drives a Range Rover,” Thandi bragged as they strutted through Sandton City Mall. “He took me to a lounge in Rosebank. I told him I have a beautiful friend who needs spoiling, too.”

Lorato’s eyes lit up. “You’re the best, Thandi! Who says we need to suffer?”

They laughed, tried on expensive clothes they couldn’t afford, and snapped photos for social media. Later that week, they went clubbing—their Friday ritual. Hair laid, nails done, short dresses, and loud perfume. They weren’t there to dance. They were there to hunt.

At the VIP lounge, a group of older men caught their attention. These weren’t the usual young, flashy types. They were mature, reserved, and clearly wealthy. Their graying hair and expensive watches spoke volumes.

One of them, tall and dark, in his eighties, kept glancing at their table. Eventually, he walked over with a calm confidence. “Good evening, ladies,” he said, his voice deep but gentle. “May I join you?”

Thandi gave him a cold glance and looked away. Lorato smiled sweetly, nudging Thandi under the table. “Hi,” Lorato said, batting her lashes. “Of course, have a seat.”

He sat down, introduced himself as Mr. Jafta Duma. Thandi was uninterested, texting furiously, but Lorato leaned closer, smiling. “Lovely to meet you, Mr. Duma. I’m Lorato, and this is my best friend, Thandi.”

“You girls remind me of my daughters,” Jafta said kindly.

Thandi rolled her eyes. Lorato kicked her gently. “Thandi’s just shy,” she said quickly.

After a few minutes, Jafta leaned toward Thandi. “Would you mind if I got your number? I’d love to take you out to dinner.”

Thandi nearly choked. “Um, I don’t think so, sir. You’re… older.”

Lorato hissed under her breath, annoyed. Jafta smiled gently and stood up. “No worries, young lady. It was worth asking. Have a great evening.” He left.

Lorato grabbed Thandi’s arm. “Are you mad? That’s our jackpot!”

“He’s old. Could be your grandfather,” Thandi protested.

“And that’s exactly the point. He just wants company—and he’s rich, Thandi! Look at his shoes. Italian leather.”

Thandi hesitated. “But he’s old…”

“Old and rich. And do you know what happens with old rich men? They write you into their will. He’s going to give you money, cars, maybe even a house. You can still date whoever you want on the side.”

Thandi giggled. “You’re insane.”

“No, I’m smart,” Lorato replied, already typing on her phone. “I’m giving him your number.”

“What?”

“Relax. I’ll smooth it over. You’ll thank me when you’re driving a Porsche.”

Thandi stared, unsure if she should be angry or amused. “You’re actually serious?”

“I am. We don’t get offers like this every day. Stop thinking with your emotions. Think with your bank account.”

Lorato marched over to Jafta’s table, returned with a triumphant grin. “He’s expecting your call tomorrow,” she whispered.

Thandi covered her face. “Yo.”

Lorato laughed, sipping her cocktail. “This is it, babes. We’ve caught a shark.”

From that night, Lorato’s thoughts kept drifting to Jafta Duma. She couldn’t get over how calm he was, how confidently he spoke, and, most importantly, how much wealth he seemed to exude.

One afternoon, she sat at her vanity, brushing her braids, scrolling through WhatsApp. Later, she invited Thandi over. “So, you and that sugar grandpa—are you finally talking?”

Thandi rolled her eyes. “I told you, I’m not interested. He’s been calling. I just ignore it. He even left a voicemail.”

“You haven’t returned one call?”

“Not even one. He’s too old. I don’t care how rich he is. I just can’t force it. His name is… Jafta Duma or something?”

Lorato’s hand froze. “Jafta Duma?” she repeated slowly.

“Yeah. Why?”

Lorato waved it off, hiding her excitement. That night, she Googled Jafta Duma. The results stunned her. South African mining magnate. Net worth R5.2 billion. Photos of the same man, now in a suit and tie at business conferences.

Her jaw dropped. “Yo,” she whispered. “This man is a whole billionaire.”

She leaned back, already planning. Thandi just left him hanging. This is my man now.

The next day, Lorato visited Thandi. When Thandi went to the bathroom, Lorato memorized Jafta’s number from her phone. That night, Lorato called him.

“Hello?” came the deep, familiar voice.

“Hi, good evening. Is this Mr. Jafta Duma?” she said sweetly.

“Yes, speaking. Who’s this?”

“It’s Lorato. We met at the club. I was with Thandi.”

“Oh, I remember you. Thandi’s friend, right?”

“Yes.” Lorato giggled. “I just felt I should have been the one talking to you that night. I’ve thought about it since.”

Jafta chuckled. “You’re a bold one.”

“I believe in chasing what I want,” she said.

“I like that. Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“I’d love to.”

From that moment, Lorato’s life changed. Jafta was generous. After two weeks of dating, he surprised her with a brand new BMW parked outside her flat.

Nali was stunned. “Your man? The one from the club? That old man?”

“Don’t disrespect him,” Lorato said. “He’s a billionaire. He takes care of me.”

Nali shook her head. “You’re really gone, Lorato. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

But Lorato didn’t care. She was busy enjoying spa treatments, new wigs, expensive bags, and hotel getaways. Jafta gave her an allowance that made her forget every worry. She started dressing more elegantly, but hid everything from Thandi. When Thandi asked about Jafta, Lorato lied. “Nah, maybe he gave up. Old men don’t have time for games.”

Lorato’s new life was out of a magazine. Designer clothes, perfumes, keys to her BMW. Her Instagram glittered with luxury. But her friendships withered. Thandi noticed, but her calls went unanswered.

One breezy evening, Jafta turned to Lorato on his penthouse balcony. “I have something to ask you,” he said gently.

Lorato’s heart skipped. He pulled out a velvet box. Inside was a massive diamond ring. “Lorato, would you marry me?”

She gasped—not out of shock, but excitement. This is it, she thought. The ultimate jackpot. “Yes,” she beamed. “A thousand times, yes.”

But deep inside, she wasn’t thinking about love. He’s in his eighties. Surely he doesn’t have long. Once he’s gone, everything will be mine.

The wedding was elegant but quiet. Lorato kept everything secret. Thandi didn’t know. But secrets have a way of crawling into the light. At a salon, Thandi heard from a mutual friend, Mbali: “Lorato’s getting married. To Mr. Duma. The old man from the club.”

Thandi stormed into Lorato’s apartment, furious. “You stole him. You lied to me. You let me look like a fool while you played house with him.”

“You weren’t interested,” Lorato yelled. “I just took an opportunity.”

“You’re a snake,” Thandi spat. “We were supposed to be sisters.”

“You snoozed. I scored.”

Their fight was ugly. Hair was pulled, drinks spilled, tears shed. Thandi stormed out. Lorato’s heart pounded. “I’m this close,” she whispered to her reflection. “Nothing will stop me now.”

The first year of marriage was everything Lorato dreamed. Luxury trips, expensive gifts, even a baby boy. Jafta wept with joy at the scan. “A blessing at my old age.” Lorato smiled, thinking, “He’s our heir. Everything Jafta owns will pass to him, and eventually to me.”

But fate had other plans. On Jafta’s 85th birthday, he collapsed. In the hospital, he grew weaker. On the fifth day, he called Lorato to his bedside.

“I need to tell you something before it’s too late,” he said. “Six years ago, I lost everything. I went to a sangoma. He gave me five years of unlimited wealth. After that, I would die. When I die, everything disappears. The cars, the houses, the bank accounts.”

Lorato stared at him, speechless. “No. You’re lying.”

“I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you sooner.”

“You’re selfish,” she snapped. “You lied to me. I gave you my youth, thinking I was locking down a lifetime of wealth.”

“I’m sorry.”

She stormed out. When Jafta died, Lorato rushed to secure the inheritance. But the bank accounts were gone, the companies vanished, the mansion ransacked, the jewelry missing. The land was under dispute—government property. She was evicted.

Seven days later, with nothing but a tattered bag and her baby, Lorato knocked on Thandi’s door. “I have nowhere else to go. Please.”

Thandi looked at her, then at the baby. Silence stretched. Then Thandi stepped aside. “Come in.”

Lorato sat on the couch, her son fussing. “Everything is gone. I was wrong, Thandi. So wrong.”

“Forgive you?” Thandi asked. “You stole from me, betrayed me, blocked me. And now you want forgiveness?”

Lorato bowed her head. “I deserve every word, but I’m begging you—for my child. I chased a shortcut and ended up at the bottom.”

Thandi’s gaze softened for the baby. “I won’t let this child suffer because of your choices. You can stay. But this is not a clubhouse. I work now. Remote customer service. You’ll clean, help with food, sign up for online courses. No more sugar daddies. No more clubs. It’s time to rebuild.”

Lorato nodded. “Thank you, Thandi. I promise I won’t let you down.”

That night, Lorato fed her son, laid him to sleep, and sat beside Thandi. “You really seem happy,” she said quietly.

“Peace of mind is better than champagne with anxiety,” Thandi replied.

Lorato nodded thoughtfully. “I used to think money was everything. I had no character, no plan, just greed. Now I’m starting from scratch.”

“That’s the thing about shortcuts,” Thandi murmured. “They feel fast at first, but they always lead you off the road.”

Lorato looked at her old friend with new eyes. She stroked her son’s cheek. “For you,” she whispered. “I’ll build a new path. No more easy roads. No more lies.”

End.