God is a jealous God and His jealousy demands that we must show His sovereignty over all things by praising Him.

God is a jealous God and His jealousy demands that we must show His sovereignty over all things by praising Him.

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 5
The first time Jessica stepped out of that cold, confined room, her legs trembled—not from fear, but from the sudden rush of freedom.
Mr. Scar stood in the doorway, his massive frame blocking the light from the hall, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak. Just extended a hand, palm up, waiting.
Jessica hesitated.
"Take it," he growled. *"Or go back inside."
She took it.
His grip was firm, warm, swallowing her slender fingers whole as he led her down the dimly lit corridor.
She expected another prison.
What she got was a paradise.
The new room was nothing like the last.
Large windows draped with silk curtains let in the golden Lagos sunlight. A king-sized bed with Egyptian cotton sheets, a vanity table lined with perfumes and lotions, even a bookshelf stocked with novels—many of them her favorites, though she never told him that.
Jessica turned in slow circles, taking it all in, her heart pounding.
"Why?" she whispered.
Mr. Scar stood by the door, arms crossed, his usual scowl in place. But his eyes—those dark, dangerous eyes—watched her with something close to… satisfaction.
"Because I can," he said simply.
But they both knew it was a lie.
It started with a cough.
A small thing, insignificant. But by nightfall, Jessica was burning up, her skin slick with sweat, her body wracked with shivers.
She barely registered the door bursting open. Barely felt the strong arms lifting her from the bed.
But she would never forget the raw panic in Mr. Scar’s voice when he barked at his men:
"Get a doctor. NOW."
For three days, Jessica drifted in and out of consciousness.
And for three days, Mr. Scar never left her side.
She woke once to find him slumped in a chair beside her bed, his usually immaculate suit wrinkled, his scarred face shadowed with exhaustion. A damp cloth was clutched in his hand, as if he’d been wiping her brow moments before sleep took him.
Another time, she stirred to the feel of strong arms lifting her, holding her against a broad chest as he forced sips of water between her cracked lips.
"Drink," he ordered, his voice rough but oddly gentle.
Jessica obeyed, too weak to argue.
The fever broke on the fourth night.
Jessica woke to the sound of harsh, uneven breathing.
Mr. Scar sat on the edge of her bed, his head bowed, his shoulders trembling. Moonlight spilled through the windows, glinting off the wet tracks on his cheeks.
Tears.
The most feared man in Lagos was crying.
Over her.
Jessica’s breath caught.
He must have heard, because his head snapped up, his expression hardening instantly. But it was too late—she’d seen it. The vulnerability. The fear.
"Don’t," he warned, voice hoarse.
She said nothing. Just reached out, her fingers brushing his.
He didn’t pull away.
As Jessica grew stronger, Mr. Scar’s behavior grew more… confusing.
He allowed her to wander the villa freely, though guards always lingered just out of sight. He had chefs prepare her favorite meals, though she never told him what she liked.
And at night—
At night, he came to her room.
Not to hurt her. Not to demand anything.
Just to be there.
He would sit on the edge of her bed, sometimes reading, sometimes just watching her with those dark, unreadable eyes. And when the nightmares came—because they always did—he was there, pulling her into his arms without a word, holding her until the shaking stopped.
One night, as she drifted off against his chest, she heard him murmur something that made her heart stop:
"Please don’t leave me."
Jessica should have been afraid.
This was the man who’d locked her up, who’d threatened to kill her, who ruled the underworld with an iron fist.
But as the days passed, she found herself watching him too. Noticing the way his stern expression softened when he thought she wasn’t looking. The way his hands, so capable of violence, were endlessly gentle with her.
And one terrifying day, she realized the truth:
She didn’t want to leave.
The household noticed the change.
Hardened mafia men gaped as their boss carried Jessica to the garden when she was too weak to walk. The maids whispered when he personally tasted her food before letting her eat, a habit born from paranoia but now tinged with something else.
Protection.
Possession.
Love.
But no one dared say a word.
Because while Mr. Scar had clearly softened for Jessica, he was still a monster to everyone else.
The most surprising thing?
He never crossed the line.
No inappropriate touches. No demands. Just quiet companionship and a respect that left Jessica breathless.
One evening, as he turned to leave her room, she found herself speaking without thinking:
"Stay."
Mr. Scar froze. When he turned back, his eyes were blazing.
"Do you know what you’re asking?" he growled.
Jessica held his gaze. "Yes."
For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Then, slowly, he shook his head.
"Not like this," he said softly. *"Not until, you’re sure."
And with that, he left.
TO BE CONTINUED...

Very true

At least four residents of Ikpakpara village in Agu-Amed, Eha-Amufu, Isi-Uzu local government area of Enugu State, have been killed by suspected herdsmen.

Let dance

Benue State government is now escorting cows in Makurdi” – Man laments as he records a video showing cows being escorted last night by vehicles and security agents in Benue State

If Your Security Architecture Has Failed You, Be Humble Enough to Inform Nigerians So They Can Defend Themselves—Apostle Suleman Slams Tinubu's Govt parallelfactsnews.com/your-security-…

Nigerians, why are your religious leaders silent over the killings across Nigeria?

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 6
The morning of Jessica’s birthday dawned bright and golden, but her heart felt heavy.
She sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows of Mr. Scar’s villa, watching the sun rise over Lagos, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the glass. Birthdays had always been a quiet affair in the slums—if they were celebrated at all. Her mother would save for weeks just to buy a small cake, her father would whisper prayers of gratitude over her head, and her siblings would crowd around her, their laughter loud enough to shake their tiny one-room home.
Now, surrounded by luxury, she missed them more than ever.
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
She didn’t hear him enter.
Mr. Scar stood silently, watching her.
He had noticed the change in her these past few days—the way her smiles didn’t quite reach her eyes, the way she stared at her phone but never dialed, the way she flinched whenever someone mentioned family.
He knew why.
And he had planned something.
Clearing his throat, he stepped forward. Jessica quickly wiped her face, forcing a smile.
"You’re up early," she said softly.
Mr. Scar didn’t respond. Just studied her for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned and left.
Jessica’s shoulders slumped.
She shouldn’t have expected anything.
Two hours later, a sleek black dress was delivered to her room.
Silk. Designer. The kind of thing she used to admire in shop windows but could never afford.
A note was pinned to it:
"Wear this. Be ready by 7."
Jessica’s heart skipped.
The restaurant was breathtaking.
An entire five-star venue, emptied of all other guests, decorated in soft gold and white. Crystal chandeliers cast shimmering light over tables laden with food—not just any food, but her favorites. Jollof rice, peppered snails, even the small coconut cakes her mother used to save up to buy her.
Jessica turned in a slow circle, her mouth open.
"What… is all this?"
Mr. Scar stood beside her, his usual scowl in place, but there was something softer in his eyes.
"You thought I forgot," he said.
It wasn’t a question.
Jessica swallowed. "I didn’t think you… cared."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. Then, so quiet she almost missed it:
"I do."
For the first time in months, Jessica laughed.
Really laughed.
Mr. Scar’s men—usually so intimidating—had awkwardly attempted to decorate, hanging lopsided balloons and streamers. A massive cake was wheeled out, and though Mr. Scar refused to wear the ridiculous paper crown the chef offered, Jessica caught the faintest smirk when she put hers on.
Music played. She danced. And for a few hours, the weight on her heart lifted.
But as the night wound down, a familiar sadness crept back in.
Mr. Scar noticed.
"Come," he said, holding out his hand.
"Where are we going?"
"You’ll see."
The drive was quiet.
Jessica watched the city blur past, her mind racing. They left the bustling streets behind, winding into an upscale residential area—the kind where diplomats and billionaires lived.
Her pulse quickened when the car slowed.
A mansion loomed ahead, its gates ornate, its gardens lush under the moonlight.
"Whose house is this?" she whispered.
Mr. Scar didn’t answer. Just stepped out and offered his hand.
Jessica took it, her legs unsteady.
The doorbell echoed like a gunshot in the silent night.
Jessica held her breath.
Then—
The door opened.
And her mother stood there.
Time stopped.
Jessica’s knees gave out. She collapsed right there on the marble steps, her hands flying to her mouth.
"Mama?"
Her mother’s eyes filled with tears. "My baby!"
Then arms were around her—her mother’s familiar scent, her father’s strong embrace, her siblings’ voices shouting her name as they piled into the doorway.
Jessica sobbed.
They were here. They were healthy. Their clothes were new, their faces fuller, their smiles brighter.
How?
She turned, searching for Mr. Scar.
He stood a few paces back, his hands in his pockets, watching.
And for the first time, Jessica understood.
"You…" Her voice broke. "You did this?"
Mr. Scar shrugged, as if it were nothing. "I had them moved months ago."
Months.
That meant…
He had been taking care of them. All this time.
Jessica’s heart swelled until she thought it might burst.
Her father stepped forward, gripping Mr. Scar’s hand. "Thank you," he said, his voice thick. "You saved us."
Mr. Scar looked almost uncomfortable. "I don’t like debts."
But Jessica knew the truth.
This wasn’t about debts.
This was about her.
Later, when the tears had dried and the initial shock had worn off, Jessica found Mr. Scar standing alone in the garden.
She approached slowly.
"You never told me," she said.
He didn’t turn. "Would you have believed me?"
"No."
A pause. Then:
"They’re yours," he said gruffly. "The house. The cars. Everything. It’s in your name."
Jessica’s breath caught.
"Why?"
Finally, he faced her. The moonlight caught the scar on his cheek, the gold in his eyes.
"Because you smiled today," he said simply. "I wanted to see it again."
And with that, he walked away, leaving Jessica standing there, her heart in her throat.
As she watched him go, something inside her shifted.
This man—this dangerous, complicated man—had given her more than just a house or a party.
He had given her back her family.
Her happiness.
Himself.
And for the first time, Jessica didn’t just feel gratitude.
She felt love.
TO BE CONTINUED...

*Things women love during making love but afraid to tell you

for married!!👇🏻

Sexual rejection from a husband can make a woman see herself as less desirable and ruin her self esteem by 80%! One of the ways you can boost your wife's self esteem is to make her know she is super hot, super sexy, and sexually desirable to you.

Why is your wife cold in bed and doesn't respond sexually to you? Why does she hate sex? Why is she frigid? May be because you don't know these10 things and she is sick or afraid of telling you. Get to know them now and set her loose from all inhibition. By the time you are through and practice them continuously, your wife should have become a glorified husband seductress you never imagined! Let's go!

1. WOMEN LOVE VARIETY IN BED: Same touch, same way, same method, same place, same time is super boring to a woman! Women love adventure. That is why we don't wear same clothe 7 days a week. Variety is the spice of sex. How you touch her yesterday may not be how she wants to be touched today. She may want back rub yesterday but toe massage today. It is your job to notice her, read her like a book and know when she wants passion or tenderness.

2. WOMEN LOVE ROMANCE: gentle, passionate kisses, soft touches at the right places gradually sets a woman on fire!

3. WOMEN LOVE TO TALK BEFORE SEX. Listening to her about how her day went makes you super sexy to a woman. Do not undress her till you have undressed her heart.

4. WOMEN LOVE TO BE ON TOP: may be not all women but most. It keeps her in charge, control the depth and watch you enjoy her front view.

5. WOMEN WILL GLADLY GIVE A QUICKIE IN THE KITCHEN, TOILET, ANYWHERE, any how you want it if you will respect her, show love, be tender, affectionate and not see her as a sex object for quick release.

6. WOMEN LOVE TO HAVE THEIR CLITORIS STROKED TENDERLY, affectionately, appropriately at the right time before and during sex.

7. WOMEN DON'T CARE ABOUT THE SIZE OF YOUR P*NIS AS LONG AS YOU KNOW HOW TO MAKE GOOD USE OF IT, hit the right place, position at the right angle and get her moan in pleasure.

8. WOMEN WILL GLADLY OBLIGE TO ANY SEXUAL POSITION AS LONG AS IT GIVES HER ORGASM.

9. THE FUEL OF SEXUAL PASSION FOR A WOMAN IS LOVE, CARE, ATTENTION, AFFECTION AND GENEROSITY WHICH YOU MAKE A LIFESTYLE, give her all the time not just at the moment you want sex. It makes her bond with you emotionally and eagerly makes love to you.

10. WOMEN LOVE LONG DRIVE AND HATE PREMATURE EJACULATION. If you can withhold long enough before shooting and give her some pleasure, she will enjoy love making, enjoy you, pursue you and eagerly have sex with you.

Note that SEX IS STRICTLY FOR THE MARRIED.

The post is strictly for legally married couples not kids who should be facing their studies. If you go into premarital sex, you lose favour with God, experience shame, sorrow and a crises laden marriage awaits you.

Waiting for sex in marriage pays. You will have all the sex you want and enjoy it to the maximum if you do things right!

There is absolutely no need to rush. May your marital sex life catch fire!

Thanks for reading and sharing to educate others,

Give true love always and be faithful to your partner.

May God bless our Marriage ✍🏻

This was how they shared Africa among themselves

Not every day will feel fast or exciting. Just don’t stop. Keep going. You’re doing better than you think.

*I no kuku dey follow una drag good person*
*Bad people day this world and I’m one of them*

The snake has met his end

“You cannot sneak in through the window and start cleaning up the house.”

- Peter Obi

Nigerians, why are your religious leaders silent over the killings across Nigeria?