THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 3
The night Jessica met Mr. Scar, the air smelled like danger and expensive cologne.
She had been in the VIP lounge of La Reine, the most exclusive club in Lagos, where rich men paid to forget their sins. Lady Lily had warned her about this job—*"Don’t ask questions. Don’t look him in the eye too long. Just be perfect."
But the moment he walked in, Jessica knew this man was different.
Mr. Scar wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense. His face was all sharp edges—a jagged scar running from his left eyebrow down to his jaw, a souvenir from a life lived in blood. His suit was black, tailored to fit his broad frame like a second skin, and his gold watch glinted under the dim lights.
But it was his eyes that froze her. Dark, calculating, the kind of eyes that saw everything.
He didn’t leer at her like the others. He studied her, like she was a puzzle he wanted to solve.
"You’re new," he said, his voice low and rough, like gravel.
Jessica forced herself to smile, the way she’d been trained. "First time here, sir."
He smirked, swirling his whiskey. "You’re lying."
Her pulse spiked.
For hours, they talked. Not the empty, lust-filled chatter of her usual clients, but *real* conversation—politics, books, even her studies. He listened when she spoke, his gaze never leaving her face.
"Why do you do this?" he asked suddenly.
Jessica hesitated. The truth sat heavy on her tongue—Because my family is starving. Because I have no choice.
But she gave him the practiced answer instead. "Money."
Mr. Scar laughed, but it wasn’t cruel. "Finally, an honest woman."
And just like that, she saw it—the flicker of interest in his eyes.
She had his attention.
And in his world, attention was dangerous.
Three nights later, Jessica was snatched off the street.
A black van screeched to a halt beside her, and before she could scream, gloved hands yanked her inside. A hood was thrown over her head.
When it was ripped off, she was in a warehouse, tied to a chair. A man in a crisp white suit—Mr. Scar’s rival, Kazeem—smiled down at her.
"Pretty thing," he mused, tapping her cheek with a knife. *"Scar likes you. That makes you useful."
Her blood turned to ice.
"Seduce him," Kazeem ordered. "Get the ledger with his black-market deals. Do it, and I’ll pay you triple what he ever could."
Jessica’s mind raced. If she refused, she was dead. If she agreed…
She was playing with fire.
She tried. God, she tried.
For a week, she met Mr. Scar—dinners, late-night drives, even his penthouse. She laughed at his jokes, let him touch her, all while searching for that damn ledger.
But he was smarter than she expected.
One evening, as she pretended to sleep in his bed, she heard him on the phone. "She’s working for Kazeem."
Her heart stopped.
The next thing she knew, a hand fisted in her hair, yanking her up. Mr. Scar’s face was a mask of cold fury.
"You ****** girl," he snarled. "Did you really think I wouldn’t know?"
Terror choked her. "I—I had no choice—"
"Everyone has a choice," he hissed. Then, to the guards looming behind him: "Take her."
The basement was damp; the walls stained with things Jessica didn’t want to think about.
Mr. Scar paced in front of her, his rage a living thing. "I trusted you," he spat, like the words tasted bitter.
Jessica shook, tears streaming. "They threatened me! I didn’t want to—"
"Liar." He backhanded her.
Pain exploded across her cheek. But worse than the sting was the betrayal in his eyes.
And then—
He stopped. Stared at her. Really looked at her.
For the first time, Jessica let him see the truth. The fear. The desperation. The shame.
Something in his expression shifted.
"Who owns you?" he demanded.
She swallowed blood. "No one."
A long silence. Then, slowly, he crouched in front of her, tilting her chin up.
"Wrong answer," he murmured. "Now you’re mine."
TO BE CONTINUED...

STOP TRYING TO PROVE LOVE WITHOUT RESOURCES

Listen, King — this world doesn’t honor your pure intentions.
It honors results.
And in a world run by survival, security, and social proof…
Love without provision is a liability.

Let’s unpack this painful truth:

1. A Woman May Appreciate Your Heart — But She Respects Your Hustle.
You can give her attention, affection, poetry, and prayers.
But when rent’s due, when emergencies hit, when her friends flex their soft life…
Your pure love won’t keep her loyal.
Resources sustain relationships — not sweet words.

2. Love Without Money Turns a Man into a Burden.
If you keep showing up broke, unavailable, or dependent,
You stop being a lover and start being another problem.
And trust me — no woman wants to babysit a man she can’t lean on.

3. Provision Isn’t About Luxury — It’s About Stability.
She’s not asking you to buy mansions and Bentleys.
She needs to know you can handle life.
That you can protect, provide, and lead when the storm comes.
Without that?
Your love is a beautiful poem in a sinking boat.

4. The Harsh Reality: Broke Men Are Easily Disrespected.
Even if she loves you today…
Pressure will test her.
Her family, friends, society — all will ask:
"Why are you wasting time with a man who can’t even sustain himself?"
And slowly, the disrespect creeps in.

5. Love Is a Seed — Money Is the Water.
Without resources to build, travel, grow, and secure the future,
Even the deepest love will wither.
Not because it wasn’t real —
But because it wasn’t protected.

---

FINAL WORD

Stop chasing women with empty pockets and full hearts.
In this game of life, love without provision is vulnerability.
You can’t give a woman a future if you’re still fighting for survival.

Build your kingdom first.
Then invite a worthy queen in.

Because a broke king is just another man in line for rejection.

Legacy first. Love later.

After years abroad, Nancy (Nancy Isime) returns home only to find that her mother (Shaffy Bello) is set to marry Nancy’s ex, Victor (Bolanle Ninalowo). Victor insists he never knew they were mother and daughter when he rekindled things with Mom. As wedding day nears, the shock deepens: Nancy discovers she’s pregnant with Victor’s child following a twisted night of passion. Torn between protecting her mother’s bliss and revealing a secret that could shatter their world, Nancy must decide how much she’s willing to sacrifice for family.

Breaking News

The CEO of Air India Campbell Wilson just announced that they will be giving out $114k dollars to all the families of the 241 passengers that lost their lives .

The sad thing is there is a couple that died with their children , surely their extended family will receive the cash .

Moral lesson : The guy who survived will also be given enough money to care for himself .

25 THINGS A WOMAN SHOULD SAY TO HER HUSBAND WITHOUT FEELING SHY.

1. Honey, let's make love...

2. Here are my free days...ovulation days...We can have r@w $€x as much as possible on days I'm free without getting pregnant (if you are using natural family planning method).

3. I need more money...
4. I don't like the way you chat with your ex...
5. I just sent some money to your account for you to enjoy yourself this weekend...
6. Pray for me...
7. Send more money to your mum...
8. I'm not comfortable with the way you touch ladies/give them too much attention...
9. Let's pray over this...
10. Kiss me...
11. I love how you make l0ve to me....
12. I love your p£nis...
13. You are so handsome...
14. Thanks for working hard to take care if us...
15. Your sacrifice for our wellbeing is beyond measure...you always amaze me...
16. Your $exy body turns me on...
17. You are such a man of wisdom! The Solomon of my life...
18. I love you...
19. Can you please, help me wash my panties... (when you are sick, tired, stressed and has no one else to help)
20. Thank you for asking me to marry you...
21. No man can ever catch my attention as you do...
22. You are the best of all male species the good Lord ever created...
23. You rock my world...
24. God bless your mother for giving birth to such a great man like you...
25. I love your mum...

And many more!

Why do some women find it difficult saying these to their husband's?

If you want to enjoy your family life & live long as a man your wife must be happy or else BP ends your life early

Nobody wakes up and plans to lose a leg.
But that’s what diabetes can do.
Let me tell you something people don’t like to hear:
When your foot starts smelling, turning black, or refusing to heal after a small cut—that’s not village people. That’s diabetes.
It starts quietly:
—You pee too often.
—You’re always tired.
—You feel pins and needles in your feet.
—Small wound refuses to heal.
Before you know it, one toe is swollen.
Next thing? Doctor says: “We have to cut it off before it spreads.”
You think this is film trick?
Go to any teaching hospital and see for yourself.
Amputations everywhere. Not because of accidents. Because of sugar.
But you still hear people saying:
— “We will all die one day.”
— “It’s not that serious, jare.”
— “Nobody has it in my family.”
— “Doctor of the Future, is it your sugar?”
Okay now.
But when they lay you on that theatre bed to cut off your foot because of diabetes you ignored for 7 years—you’ll know what’s serious and what’s not.
Let’s stop pretending.
Diabetes doesn’t just affect your sugar level.
It messes with your:
—Eyes (many go blind)
—Kidneys (many end up on dialysis)
—Nerves (some can’t feel their legs again)
—Sex life (yes, that too)
And guess what?
It didn’t start in one day.
It started with:
—Sugary drinks
—Skipping real food
—Too much white rice, bread, noodles
—No movement
—Constant snacking
Now you know.
Diabetic foot is real.
Gangrene is real.
Amputation is not hype.
So if you’re reading this and still playing with your food choices…
You are not being brave. You’re being reckless.
Choose life.
Fix your diet.
Control your blood sugar before it controls you.

A PASTOR'S BETRAYAL
FINALE
The morning sun shone brightly as Grace stepped out of the car, smoothing her dress with nervous hands. Michael stood beside her, his warm fingers intertwining with hers—a silent promise of strength.
"Ready?" he murmured.
Grace took a deep breath, looking at their children—Sarah, Daniel, and Joy—standing behind them like soldiers ready for battle.
"More than ready."
Today, the truth would be heard.
The sanctuary was packed.
As Grace and Michael walked down the aisle together, whispers erupted like wildfire. Heads turned. Eyes widened.
Pastor Gideon, mid-prayer at the pulpit, froze when he saw them. His mouth went slack, his hands gripping the podium until his knuckles turned white.
Grace met his gaze—and smiled.
The pastor's face drained of color.
When testimony time came, Grace didn't wait to be called. She stood, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she walked to the microphone.
Michael joined her, his presence steady beside her.
"Good morning, church," Grace began, her voice clear. "Some of you know me. Some of you... have heard lies about me."
She turned to face Pastor Gideon, whose smile had turned sickly.
"But today, you'll hear the truth."
And then, she told them everything.
How Pastor Gideon had preyed on her during her weakest moment.
How he'd twisted scripture to convince her to abandon her marriage.
How he'd taken her money—every last naira—while pretending it was "God's will."
Michael stepped forward then, his voice booming as he revealed the bank statements, the manipulated texts, the other women who'd come forward—widows, single mothers, all victims of the same scheme.
The congregation erupted.
"Sister Ngozi lost her house because of him!" a woman shouted.
"He told me my sick child would die if I didn't give offerings!" another cried.
Pastor Gideon stumbled back, sweat pouring down his face. "T-these are lies—!"
Then Sarah stood, holding up her phone. "No. This is a lie."
And she played the recording—his voice, clear as day, demanding Grace's last millions.
The church exploded.
Pastor Gideon bolted.
He shoved through the crowd, knocking over chairs as he sprinted for the exit. But the ushers—men who'd once obeyed his every word—grabbed him.
"You devil!" one roared.
The mob surged. Fists flew. A deacon's punch sent the pastor crashing into the communion table, wine spilling like blood across his white robes.
Grace didn't flinch.
Police sirens wailed outside.
The trial was swift.
Fifteen years for fraud. For exploitation. For shattering lives under the guise of God.
As the judge pronounced the sentence, Grace exhaled—a weight she hadn't known she carried lifting at last.
Michael squeezed her hand.
It was over.
Months later, the Thompson home was alive with laughter again.
Michael, once a workaholic, now built pillow forts with Joy on Saturdays.
Sarah, no longer sullen, sang as she helped Grace cook Sunday dinner.
Daniel, quiet but content, taught Grace how to use social media—"To help others spot wolves in sheep's clothing," he said wisely.
One evening, as they sat around the firepit, Grace looked at her family—whole again—and felt tears prick her eyes.
Michael kissed her temple. "What is it?"
Grace smiled. "I almost lost this. Lost you."
Joy climbed into her lap. "But you didn't, Mama."
And as the fire crackled, warming them all, Grace knew—
No false shepherd could touch them now.
The new pastor was kind. Real.
Under his leadership, the church became what it was meant to be—a refuge. A family.
And every Sunday, front and center, sat the Thompsons.
Together.
The End.
The wolf was gone. The flock was safe. And the Thompson family?
They thrived.

A PASTOR'S BETRAYAL
PART 9
The morning sun streamed through the curtains of the Thompson family home, painting the walls in warm gold. Grace stood by the kitchen window, watching as Michael played with Joy in the backyard—their laughter floating through the open window like music.
Six months had passed since the hospital. Six months of healing—of late-night talks, family dinners, and slow, steady rebuilding.
Grace smiled as she poured tea into two cups—one with two sugars and a splash of milk for Michael, the other just the way she liked it.
She had never thought she would feel this kind of peace again.
It happened on a quiet evening.
Grace was curled up on the couch, flipping through an old photo album—pictures of birthdays, vacations, moments she had almost lost forever.
Michael sat beside her, watching her face as she traced a finger over a snapshot of their wedding day.
"Grace," he said softly.
She turned to him—and froze.
Michael was on one knee, holding a simple gold band. Not a new ring.
Her ring.
The one she had left behind.
"Marry me again," he whispered. "Not because we have to. Because we want to."
Grace’s hands trembled as she reached for him. "Yes," she breathed. "A thousand times, yes."
They decided to do it in the south of France—just the five of them.
No fanfare. No crowds. No pressure.
Just love.
The ceremony took place on a small cliff overlooking the Mediterranean, the sea breeze carrying the scent of salt and blooming flowers. Sarah and Daniel stood as witnesses, grinning as they held the rings. Joy, dressed in a tiny white dress, scattered petals at Grace’s feet.
When the officiant pronounced them husband and wife (again), Michael didn’t wait for permission to kiss her.
Grace melted into him, her heart so full she thought it might burst.
Later, as they watched the sunset paint the sky in shades of pink and gold, Michael squeezed her hand.
"We’re going to make him pay, Grace," he murmured.
She didn’t need to ask who he meant.
Pastor Gideon.
The flight home was filled with quiet planning.
"We can’t just accuse him," Sarah said, surprisingly sharp for a teenager. "We need proof."
Michael nodded. "I’ve already started looking. There are others—women he’s manipulated, money he’s stolen."
Grace’s stomach twisted. She had been one of many.
But not the last.
Never the last.
"We’ll expose him," she said, her voice steady for the first time in months. "Publicly. So he can’t hurt anyone else."
The children exchanged glances, then grinned.
It was time for revenge.
The Sunday after their return, Grace walked into Pastor Gideon’s church for the first time since her collapse.
Heads turned. Whispers followed.
Pastor Gideon, mid-sermon, faltered when he saw her.
But Grace didn’t flinch.
She walked straight to the front row—where Michael and the children waited—and sat down.
The pastor’s smile was strained. "Sister Grace! What a... surprise."
Grace merely smiled.
You have no idea what’s coming.
After the service, Grace requested a private meeting.
The pastor’s office was just as she remembered—opulent, suffocating.
"You look... well," he said, eyeing her warily.
Grace folded her hands. "I am. Thanks to my family."
A flicker of unease crossed his face.
She leaned forward. "I know what you did, Pastor. And I’m not the only one."
His smile froze. "I don’t know what—"
Michael stepped out of the shadows, holding a recorder. "We have testimonies from five other women. Bank records. Even your *texts*."
Pastor Gideon paled.
Sarah, standing in the doorway with her phone, smirked. "Oh, and this is being livestreamed to the entire congregation."
The pastor’s chair screeched as he stood. "You can’t—"
Grace rose, her voice calm. "Watch us."
TO BE CONTINUED...

A strong man is person who don't depend on parents, sister, brothers, uncle or any of his family members but he still survive

Family for life

STOP TRYING TO PROVE LOVE WITHOUT RESOURCES

Listen, King — this world doesn’t honor your pure intentions.
It honors results.
And in a world run by survival, security, and social proof…
Love without provision is a liability.

Let’s unpack this painful truth:

1. A Woman May Appreciate Your Heart — But She Respects Your Hustle.
You can give her attention, affection, poetry, and prayers.
But when rent’s due, when emergencies hit, when her friends flex their soft life…
Your pure love won’t keep her loyal.
Resources sustain relationships — not sweet words.

2. Love Without Money Turns a Man Into a Burden.
If you keep showing up broke, unavailable, or dependent,
You stop being a lover and start being another problem.
And trust me — no woman wants to babysit a man she can’t lean on.

3. Provision Isn’t About Luxury — It’s About Stability.
She’s not asking you to buy mansions and Bentleys.
She needs to know you can handle life.
That you can protect, provide, and lead when the storm comes.
Without that?
Your love is a beautiful poem in a sinking boat.

4. The Harsh Reality: Broke Men Are Easily Disrespected.
Even if she loves you today…
Pressure will test her.
Her family, friends, society — all will ask:
"Why are you wasting time with a man who can’t even sustain himself?"
And slowly, the disrespect creeps in.

5. Love Is a Seed — Money Is the Water.
Without resources to build, travel, grow, and secure the future,
Even the deepest love will wither.
Not because it wasn’t real —
But because it wasn’t protected.

---

FINAL WORD

Stop chasing women with empty pockets and full hearts.
In this game of life, love without provision is vulnerability.
You can’t give a woman a future if you’re still fighting for survival.

Build your kingdom first.
Then invite a worthy queen in.

Because a broke king is just another man in line for rejection.

Legacy first. Love later.

➥𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐰𝐞𝐲𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐌𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐢 𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐲𝐚𝐰𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐳𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐨❤‍🩹