HONEST TALK

Faithful God. It's all about you.

Welcome to gada.chat

SHE'S A SKY FULL OF STARS
She's a sky full of stars
A beautiful celestial map
She's a universe of wonder in a velvet lap
She's candlelight's flicker, such a radiant display
Where the constellations cluster and playfully sway
Sparkle resides within her eyes, do you see her cosmic gleam?
It reflects galaxies woven in your waking dreams
She is a nebula of passion right down to her fiery core
There resides a burning with poems she's waiting to pour
Watch the distant planets circling with mysteries that reside
They carry secrets whispered softly on a starlit tide
She's a supernova bursting in hot or cold
Listen as her story is mystically spoken in her own world
Gaze into her eyes if you dare to see
The limitless expanse of what she could be
She's a sky full of stars forever bright as sparkling's cast
She's a treasure to be cherished-
And a memory to eternally last

I DO NOT BOAST I AM A CAPTAIN

On darkest nights, mid-ocean wide,
my boat and I with waves collide.
Why, Poseidon, such disdain?
Am I to blame I steer my reign?
The storm will hurl us through the sky,
then slam us down, yet still we try.
I fear, but cry not out in pride,
nor claim I rule this raging tide.
Should I not reach the harbor near—
the table waits for fish and cheer.
If I don’t make it, someone grieves...
That’s why, that’s why—I fight to leave!
What marvels rise—I never tell,
nor fear, nor hope where sea-storms dwell.
No sailor bows to tales or fame,
to say this wrecked boat bore my name.

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Among all the people wey no like me, none of them get Benz
Very poor enemies

```W𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬!𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞????```

```𝟏. 𝐁𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞
🥹𝟐. 𝐍𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐞.
𝟑. 𝐖𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧.```
```𝟒. 𝐖𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩.
𝟓. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐮𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩.
𝟔. 𝐈 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.
𝟕. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞.```
𝟖. *I don't know. I really don't know*
```𝟗. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 .```

Don’t let the internet pressure you ooo, nobody is posting their failures 🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 10
The morning sun streaming through the penthouse windows felt like a lie. Jessica woke alone, the space beside her in the massive bed cold and empty. A hastily scribbled note lay on Scar’s pillow, the bold, slashing script stark against the linen: "Urgent business. Stay inside. William guards the door. - S." The initial felt like a wall. Sebastian. His real name, used by the ghost now haunting their home.
A knot of dread tightened in Jessica’s stomach. Stay inside. Like she was a prisoner again. But the thought of facing the day trapped in the bedroom, listening for Amanda’s footsteps, was suffocating. She needed air, even if it was just the curated atmosphere of the penthouse living room. She needed to feel normal, if only for a moment. Surely, she could go downstairs, make some tea, sit by the window overlooking the city she’d fought so hard to rise above.
She dressed carefully in simple, elegant trousers and a soft cashmere sweater – clothes Scar had chosen for her, clothes that felt like armor against the memory of rags. She took a deep breath, unlocked the bedroom door, and stepped into the hushed corridor. William stood rigidly a few feet away, his expression grim.
"Miss Jessica," he murmured, his voice low. "The Boss said—"
"I just want some tea, William," Jessica interrupted, forcing a calm she didn’t feel. "Downstairs. I won’t leave the penthouse." She met his worried gaze. "Please."
William hesitated, then gave a curt nod. "I’ll be right outside the living room door, Miss."
The walk downstairs felt endless. The usual opulent silence of the penthouse now felt charged, oppressive. As she reached the bottom step, the scent hit her – heavy, cloying perfume, expensive but overwhelming. And there she was.
Amanda sat regally on the central cream sofa, bathed in the morning light. She was breathtaking. Her skin, a deep, flawless mahogany, glowed against the stark cream fabric. Her hair, a cascade of meticulously defined blonde curls, framed a face of sculpted perfection – high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, full lips painted a dangerous, glossy crimson. She wore a designer red gown, short and daring, showcasing long, toned legs crossed elegantly. She looked like a fashion icon, a goddess casually inhabiting their space. She held a delicate porcelain cup, sipping coffee with an air of utter ownership.
Jessica’s breath hitched. She forced her feet to move, aiming for the kitchen doorway across the expansive room. "Good morning," she murmured, her voice barely audible, keeping her eyes downcast.
The sound of the cup being placed sharply on its saucer echoed like a gunshot. "Well, well," Amanda’s voice purred, smooth as velvet but laced with ice. "Aren’t you going to stop and greet me properly? Or do they not teach manners in the gutter?"
Jessica froze mid-step. Slowly, she turned. Amanda’s dark eyes, fringed with impossibly long lashes, raked over her with open contempt. A predatory smile played on her crimson lips.
"I said good morning," Jessica repeated, her voice firmer this time, though her heart hammered against her ribs.
Amanda laughed, a light, tinkling sound devoid of warmth. "Good morning? Is that all? Darling, when you encounter the lady of the house, you curtsy. Or at the very least, introduce yourself. Who *are* you? The new maid? Though you’re dressed rather presumptuously for a maid." Her gaze swept over Jessica’s outfit with disdain.
Jessica swallowed hard. "My name is Jessica."
"Jessica," Amanda drawled, tasting the name like it was something unpleasant. "How... ordinary. And what exactly are you doing here, Jessica?" She leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing. "Scrubbing floors? Warming Sebastian’s bed?"
The crudeness, delivered in that cultured, elegant tone, was a slap. Jessica felt heat flood her cheeks. "I live here," she stated, holding Amanda’s gaze, refusing to flinch.
Amanda’s perfect composure cracked. A flash of pure, unadulterated fury contorted her beautiful features. "Live here?" she spat, her voice losing its velvety smoothness, turning shrill. "In my home? With my fiancé? You insolent little SLUT!"
Jessica recoiled as if physically struck. The venom in the word was paralyzing.
"You think you can just waltz in here, you gutter rat?" Amanda hissed, rising from the sofa with feline grace, her red gown swirling around her. She stalked closer, her perfume now choking. "You think your cheap tricks and slum-bred desperation can replace me? ME?!" She stopped inches from Jessica, towering slightly in her heels. "I was chosen for Sebastian when we were SIX YEARS OLD! Our fathers bound empires! We are destiny! You?" She let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "You’re nothing! A temporary distraction! A prostitute he picked up off the streets! A gold-digging cockroach crawling where it doesn’t belong!"
Each word was a lash, meticulously designed to wound. Gutter rat. Prostitute. Gold digger. Home wrecker. They struck Jessica’s deepest insecurities, the ghosts of Lagos’s slums she thought she’d buried. Tears blurred her vision, hot and humiliating.
"Look at you," Amanda sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. "Crying already? Pathetic. You don’t belong here, you filthy little whore. You’re a stain on this house. On him." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Pack your cheap rags and crawl back to whatever filthy hole you came from. Today. Or I swear, I will make you wish you’d never laid eyes on Sebastian Scar. Do you understand me, you slum TRASH?"
The final words, delivered with such vicious certainty, shattered Jessica’s fragile composure. The revelation of the childhood engagement – the fiancée – echoed like a death knell in her mind. *Why hadn’t he told her? The betrayal, layered on top of the searing humiliation, was too much.
A choked sob escaped Jessica’s lips. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak. She turned and fled, her vision swimming, Amanda’s cruel laughter ringing in her ears like the shriek of harpies. She stumbled up the stairs, past William’s shocked face, fumbling with the bedroom door handle, finally bursting into the room and slamming the door behind her, locking it with trembling fingers.
She slid down the door to the floor, her body wracked with violent sobs. The luxurious rug beneath her felt like cold concrete from her past. Fiancée. Engaged since six. Destiny. Gutter rat. Prostitute. The words swirled in her head, a toxic whirlpool dragging her down. How could he? How could he hold her, love her, whisper promises, and never mention this? Was she truly just a distraction? Was everything he’d said and done a lie? The beautiful room, the sanctuary he’d built for her, now felt like a gilded cage built on deception. The weight of Amanda’s words, the terrifying history they implied, crushed her. She cried until her throat was raw, until her head throbbed, until exhaustion pulled her into a fitful, tear-stained sleep on the floor by the door. She didn’t eat. She didn’t drink. The day passed in a blur of despair.
The sound of the penthouse door opening in the evening jolted Jessica awake. Dusk had painted the room in deep blues and purples. Her body ached from the hard floor and the emotional ravages of the day. She heard muffled voices downstairs – Scar’s deep baritone, sharp and questioning, and then Amanda’s voice, artificially bright and laced with malice.
Jessica pressed her ear against the cool wood of the door, her heart pounding anew.
"Sebastian! Darling, you’re back!" Amanda’s voice was syrupy sweet. "Did you have a productive day, burying bodies or whatever it is you do?" A tinkling laugh. "Oh, but wait! I met your little… project today. Jessica, was it?"
A beat of heavy silence. Jessica could imagine Scar freezing, his senses on high alert.
"What did you do, Amanda?" His voice was dangerously low, a growl that vibrated through the floorboards.
"Me? Nothing!" Amanda feigned innocence. "We just had a little chat. Girl to girl. Or rather," her voice dropped, turning venomous and loud, deliberately carrying, "Lady to gutter trash! Hahaha! Oh, Sebastian!" Her laughter was sharp, hysterical, filled with cruel amusement. "I’ve seen the cheap little whore you replaced me with! Hahaha! Your taste has certainly… changed! From royalty to RAGS! A slum-dwelling prostitute! Is that what gets you hard now, darling? The stink of desperation?!"
Downstairs, Scar’s world tilted. It wasn’t Amanda’s insults that terrified him; it was the knowledge that Jessica had heard them. He saw the trap Amanda had laid, the poison she’d injected directly into the heart of the only thing that mattered to him. The image of Jessica’s face, hearing those vile words – his Jessica, who carried the scars of the slums like hidden wounds, who had fought so hard for dignity – it unleashed a primal fear deeper than any enemy’s threat. The fear of loss. The terror of her pain, her disillusionment… her *leaving*.
His carefully controlled composure evaporated. The feared King of Lagos didn’t think. He *fled*. He took the stairs two at a time, his heart hammering against his ribs like a frantic bird, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin. He skidded to a stop outside their bedroom door, seeing it firmly shut. The silence behind it was more terrifying than any scream.
"Baby!" His voice was raw, stripped bare, cracking with panic. He pounded on the solid wood with his fist. *BAM! BAM! BAM!* "Open this door! Please, baby, open the door! Jessica!" The pleading, the raw desperation in his voice, was utterly alien to him. "Please! I need to talk to you! Let me explain! Please, open the door!"
He pressed his forehead against the cool wood, his breathing ragged. Guilt, thick and suffocating, washed over him in a sickening wave. He’d been a fool. A coward. He’d buried the Amanda chapter, hoping it would stay dead, never imagining Jessica would be confronted with that toxic history in the cruelest way possible. He’d wanted to protect her from the ugliness, but his silence had become the weapon Amanda used against her.
He slid down the door, mirroring Jessica’s position on the other side, his back against the wood. He could feel the faint vibration of her presence, the stifled sound of her breathing. He rested his head in his hands.
"Jessica," his voice was a broken whisper now, muffled against his palms. "I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. Please… please just open the door. Let me see you. Let me…" His voice choked off. How could he explain a lifetime of obligation, violence, and a broken engagement born of madness? How could he make her understand that Amanda belonged to a past he’d thought buried, a past that meant *nothing* compared to what he felt for her? The thought of her silent tears, her shattered trust, the possibility that she believed Amanda’s lies… it was a physical agony worse than any bullet wound. He was hurt, terrified for her, and utterly confused about how to mend the devastation Amanda had wrought with just a few vicious words. The mighty Scar was brought low, not by an enemy’s bullet, but by the fear of losing the woman who had thawed his frozen heart. He sat slumped against her door, a fortress of muscle and power reduced to a supplicant, whispering pleas into the uncaring wood, waiting for a sign of life from the woman who held his soul captive on the other side.
TO BE CONTINUED...

Benjamin Netanyahu:

“I do not rule out the elimination of Khamenei. I am not interested in peace talks with Iran. Eliminating Khamenei will not escalate the war—it will end it.”

My first day on gada. Let's build something

Another aide to Eno resigns, says he prefers to stay in PDP

"The insults I endured in the White House, where a propaganda video was shown to me and my cabinet, left me with one regret: why did South Africa surrender the keys to her nuclear powers? From the way things appear, it’s clear that the abundance of ‘nuclear power’ in your possession is tantamount to the level of respect you command.” ~ Ramaphosa, President of South Africa

Your thoughts on this ...

"I don’t understand why VDM, an Edo man, is the one giving us updates on the situation in Benue, while we have Pastor Enenche, 2Face, Kiddwaya, Moses Simon, Terry G, & others. Does it mean they can’t speak for their people?" - Man says

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 11
The silence behind the door was a living thing, thick and suffocating. Scar’s pleas had dwindled into ragged breaths, his forehead pressed against the cool wood, his powerful frame slumped in defeat. The raw vulnerability he’d shown – the begging, the panic – had scraped him hollow. He’d faced down armies, orchestrated empires built on fear, yet here he was, brought to his knees by the silence of one woman. The image of Jessica hearing Amanda’s vicious poison, the thought of her believing even a fraction of it, was a physical wound in his chest.
Then, a sound. Faint. A scrape of metal. The softest click.
Scar froze, his breath catching. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the heavy bedroom door inched open.
Jessica stood there, backlit by the dim light filtering through the curtains. The sight tore through Scar like shrapnel. Her eyes, usually bright with intelligence or warm with affection, were swollen almost shut, raw and red-rimmed from hours of crying. Tear tracks had carved paths through the faint flush of humiliation still staining her cheeks. Her posture was defeated, shoulders slumped inward as if trying to make herself disappear. She looked impossibly young, fragile, and utterly broken. The vibrant, determined woman he loved seemed reduced to a ghost of herself.
"Jessica..." The name was a choked whisper.
Before he could say more, she flinched, taking a half-step back into the room’s shadows. The movement, the sheer *hurt* radiating from her, shattered the last remnants of his control. He surged forward, not with force, but with a desperate, aching need. He crossed the threshold and gathered her into his arms, pulling her fragile form against his chest with infinite gentleness, as if she were spun glass.
She was stiff at first, unyielding. But as his arms closed around her, as the familiar scent and solid warmth of him enveloped her, a tremor ran through her. Then another. A choked sob escaped her lips, muffled against his shirt.
"Baby,"
Scar murmured, his voice thick with remorse, his own eyes burning.
He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in, anchoring himself.
"I’m sorry. God, Jessica, I am so, so sorry."
His arms tightened, a protective cag.e
. "I should have told you. Everything. About her, about the past, about the ****** engagement
that meant nothing*
." His voice cracked.
"I was a coward. I thought… I thought if I buried it deep enough
, it would just go away.
I never imagined… I never dreamed she’d come here, that she’d…" He couldn’t even bring himself to repeat Amanda’s words.
"I’m sorry you found out like this. I’m sorry she hurt you. Please… please forgive me."
Jessica pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. Her tear-filled eyes searched his face, filled with a pain that mirrored his own.
"Why,
Scar?" Her voice was a raw whisper, scraped thin by tears and despair
. "Why didn't you tell me? I… I thought you loved me. I thought you trusted me."
A fresh wave of tears spilled over.
"She… she humiliated me. Called me… called me horrible things. Names I… I heard in the slums."
Her breath hitched.
"And maybe… maybe she's right? Maybe I am just a… a home wrecker?
Coming between destiny?" Her voice broke completely. "Just… just let me go, Scar. Please. Stay away from me. It’s better… it’s better this way."
"The words"
‘let me go’
were ice water down his spine. Panic, colder and sharper than any battlefield fear, seized him. His hands tightened on her arms, not to hurt, but to anchor, to keep her from vanishing.
"No!"
The word was a low roar, laced with desperation.
"You go *nowhere*, Jessica! Do you understand? *Nowhere!*"
He forced his voice down, trying to sound rational through the terror.
"It’s not safe.
Not out there alone. My enemies… they watch. They’d grab you the second you stepped foot outside unprotected.
Please, baby."
He cupped her face, his thumbs wiping away her tears, his eyes pleading.
"Listen to me. I broke it off with her five years ago. It was *over*. Finished. She was toxic, dangerous… *insane*. That’s why I sent her away. To protect people *from* her."
Jessica searched his eyes, the turmoil within her warring with the undeniable love and fear she saw reflected back.
"Then… then why is she here?" she whispered, a fresh tremor in her voice.
Scar took a deep, steadying breath.
"She’s… manipulative. She twisted things, lied, to get back. But she won’t stay. She *can’t* stay." His voice firmed with conviction. "She’ll be gone. Soon. A few days, maybe less. Her father… he’ll come for her. He knows the deal. He knows what happens if she stays." He leaned his forehead against hers, his voice dropping to an intense, intimate murmur.
"Please, baby. Please trust me, just a little longer. I love you. More than anything. More than this empire, more than my own life. You are my destiny. Not her. Never her." He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her tear-stained cheeks, each touch a fervent vow. "Everything… everything will be alright. I swear it. I’ll make it alright."
For a moment, the world contracted to just the two of them in the dim room. Jessica leaned into him, a fragile hope battling the deep-seated hurt. His words, his touch, the raw sincerity in his eyes, were a balm on her wounded spirit. She started to nod, a tiny, hesitant movement, her fingers tightening slightly on his shirt.
Then, the spell shattered.
A sound like shattering crystal – cold, sharp laughter – echoed from the doorway. Amanda stood there, leaning casually against the frame, impeccably dressed now in tailored slacks and a silk blouse, her blonde curls perfect. She was slowly clapping her hands, a cruel, mocking smile twisting her beautiful face.
"What a touching performance,"
she drawled, her voice dripping with venomous amusement.
"Really, Sebastian,
you should be on stage. The reformed villain, the devoted lover… it’s almost believable." She pushed off the doorframe and took a step into the room, her dark eyes fixed on Jessica with predatory glee.
"News flash, darling," she spat the word at Scar, "I’m not packing my bags. I’m not going anywhere.
Did you really think I’d sit quietly in Italy while this… this gutter rat" her voice rose, sharp and hateful on the slur, "takes my place? Takes what’s mine? Scar, never—"
The crack of the slap echoed like a gunshot in the sudden, shocked silence.
Amanda’s head snapped sideways with brutal force. The mocking smile vanished, replaced by utter, stunned disbelief. A vivid red handprint bloomed across her flawless cheek. She staggered back a step, her hand flying to her face, her eyes wide with shock and dawning rage. Silence, thick and heavy, descended. Jessica gasped, frozen.
Scar stood rigid, his hand still raised, his face a mask of cold, terrifying fury. Every ounce of the feared underworld king was present in that moment, radiating lethal intent. His voice, when it came, was dangerously low, quieter than a whisper yet carrying the weight of absolute command.
"How *dare* you," he breathed,
the words slicing through the air like shards of ice.
"How dare you call my woman that filth. In my presence. In *her* home."
He took a single, deliberate step towards Amanda, who shrank back, genuine fear flickering in her eyes for the first time.
"You have exactly until tomorrow mor
ning," Scar continued, his voice gaining volume, becoming a thunderous roar that seemed to shake the room, "to be OUT of my house. Out of my city. Out of my *life*. Do you understand me? GONE!"
Amanda recovered slightly, her shock morphing into indignant fury. Her hand dropped from her cheek. "But… but Sebastian! Did you just slap me? Because of this… this dirt?!" Her voice rose hysterically.
Scar moved faster than thought. In a blur, his hand dipped beneath his jacket and came up holding a sleek, black pistol. He leveled it directly between Amanda’s wide, terrified eyes. The metallic *click* of the safety disengaging was obscenely loud.
"One. More. Word. "Scar’s voice was glacial, devoid of all emotion except lethal promise. His finger tightened on the trigger.
"One more insult. One more syllable out of your poisonous mouth. And I swear on everything I am, I *will* put a bullet in your head. Right here. Right now."
Amanda froze, her mouth hanging open in a silent scream, all color draining from her face. The raw, homicidal intent in Scar’s eyes was undeniable. He wasn't bluffing.
The standoff lasted only a heartbeat, but it felt like an eternity. Then, a choked cry broke the tension. Jessica, unable to bear the violence, the gun, the terrifying look on Scar’s face, the palpable hatred radiating from Amanda, turned and fled. She darted past Scar, past the frozen Amanda, and ran out of the bedroom door, down the hallway towards the stairs, desperate for air, for escape, for anywhere but this suffocating nightmare.
Scar’s head snapped towards her fleeing figure, the gun still trained on Amanda. "JESSICA!" he roared, the fury in his voice instantly replaced by panic. The woman he’d just sworn to protect was running headlong into the unknown, and the most dangerous threat was still standing in his bedroom, a gun pointed at her face. The sanctuary was shattered, and chaos reigned.
TO BE CONTINUED...