THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 8
Sunlight, warm and honeyed, streamed through the bulletproof glass of the penthouse bedroom, painting stripes across the rumpled silk sheets. Jessica lay curled against Scar’s chest, her ear pressed to the steady, powerful beat of his heart. Months. It had been months since the night that changed everything, months since she’d knelt in gratitude and been met with a firestorm of possession that had consumed them both. Now, the air itself hummed with the intensity of their connection, a tangible force field woven from trust, fierce protectiveness, and a love that had shocked them both with its depth.
His large hand traced lazy, possessive circles on the bare skin of her back, calloused fingers whispering over the curve of her spine. "You’re thinking too loud, my little lioness," his voice rumbled, a low vibration against her temple. He hadn’t called her anything else since that first morning.
A small smile touched Jessica’s lips. "Just… happy," she murmured, nuzzling closer. The gnawing fear for her family was a dull ache now, soothed by the knowledge they were safe in the mansion he’d given them, guarded by men whose loyalty was absolute. Her own world had shrunk and expanded simultaneously – confined within the gilded fortress of his empire for safety, yet boundless within the sanctuary of his regard.
"You should be thinking about your studies," he said, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. He’d been relentless on this point. Weeks ago, he’d presented her with a state-of-the-art laptop and a meticulously researched list of accredited online degree programs. "Law," he’d stated, not asked. "You have the mind for it. Sharp. Analytical. You understand the cost of injustice." He saw the education not as an escape from *his* world, but as armor *within* it. "Knowledge is power, Jessica. Especially here. I won’t have you vulnerable."
She’d enrolled. The discipline forged in the slums and honed juggling escort work and school served her well. Her days now held structure: intense study sessions in the morning light, often with Scar nearby, silently reading intelligence reports or conducting hushed calls; afternoons learning the intricate, often terrifying, workings of his empire – not the violence, but the strategy, the networks, the delicate balance of power he maintained. He trusted her. Explicitly. Implicitly. He introduced her to key, vetted players not as his mistress, but as *Jessica*. The respect they showed her was born of his unwavering authority and their dawning recognition of her own quiet intelligence.
"You worry I’m not focusing enough?" she teased, tracing the infamous scar that ran down his jaw with a feather-light touch. It was a gesture of intimacy only she was permitted.
His eyes, usually so hard and assessing, softened as he looked down at her. They held a warmth reserved solely for her, a stark contrast to the chilling authority he wielded elsewhere. "I worry about many things concerning you," he admitted, a rare vulnerability in his tone. "But your mind? Never. I know the steel in it." He captured her wandering hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips. "I just want you to have everything. Everything you were denied. Everything you deserve."
The tenderness, the absolute conviction in his words, still had the power to steal her breath. This ruthless kingpin, feared across continents, whose name was whispered with dread, held her as if she were spun glass and tempered steel combined – precious and unbreakable.
The lazy tracing on her back became less idle, more purposeful. His gaze darkened, the familiar heat igniting. Months had done nothing to dim the explosive chemistry between them. If anything, the deep well of trust and affection had only made the physical connection more potent, more layered. He knew her body now with devastating intimacy, knew exactly how to unravel her, just as she knew the secret paths to melt his formidable control.
"Enough studying for today," he declared, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous register that never failed to send shivers down her spine. He rolled her gently but decisively beneath him, his weight a welcome anchor. The sunlight gilded the hard planes of his chest and shoulders as he looked down at her, his eyes burning with possessive fire. "Right now, I require your undivided attention."
Jessica laughed, a breathless, happy sound, and made a playful half-hearted attempt to wriggle away. It was a game they played. He loved the chase, even within the confines of their bed. "Demanding, aren’t you?" she teased, pushing lightly against his chest.
A predatory grin slashed across his face. He easily pinned her wrists above her head with one large hand. "Always," he growled, lowering his head to nip at the sensitive skin of her neck, sending sparks skittering through her veins. "Especially where you’re concerned." His free hand slid down her side, over her hip, igniting a trail of fire. "Now, come here, my little lioness."
He kissed her, deep and claiming, silencing her playful protests. Jessica melted into him, her body arching instinctively, meeting his hunger with her own. The world outside their sanctuary – the danger, the underworld machinations – dissolved. There was only him, the heat of his skin, the intoxicating scent of him, the overwhelming sense of belonging. His mouth moved to her collarbone, then lower, his touch both reverent and demanding. She gasped his name, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.
"Scar…"
He growled in response, the vibration against her skin tightening the coil of desire low in her belly. He released her wrists, his hands moving to cup her face, holding her gaze captive as he positioned himself. The intensity in his eyes was breathtaking – love, lust, and an absolute, terrifying possessiveness.
"Say it," he commanded, his voice thick.
"Yours," Jessica breathed, the truth resonating deep in her soul. "Always yours."
He surged forward, joining them in one powerful, claiming stroke. Jessica cried out, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. This was worship, this was possession, this was home. He moved with a rhythm that was both familiar and eternally new, building the pleasure with relentless precision. Her world narrowed to the feel of him, the sound of his ragged breaths, the sight of his face – fierce, focused, utterly consumed by her. She met his thrusts, her own cries mingling with his low groans, climbing higher and higher towards the inevitable, shattering peak.
Just as the tension coiled unbearably tight, poised to break, a sharp, urgent knock shattered the intimate cocoon.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Scar froze above her, his body rigid, every muscle locked. The tender lover vanished instantly, replaced by the chilling visage of the crime lord. A low, dangerous snarl ripped from his throat, pure fury radiating from him like heat from a furnace. The interruption wasn't just unwelcome; it was a cardinal sin against the sanctity he fiercely guarded around Jessica.
"WILLIAM!" Scar roared, the sound echoing off the walls, vibrating with barely leashed violence. "This better be a fucking war starting at my doorstep, or I swear to God, I will personally remove your head from your shoulders!"
Jessica flinched at the raw fury, the sudden shift from passionate lover to deadly predator always jarring, even now. She placed a calming hand on his sweat-slicked chest, feeling the thunderous beat of his heart beneath her palm. "Scar," she murmured softly, trying to diffuse the atomic tension radiating off him. "Just… let him say what it is."
Scar’s jaw clenched so tight Jessica heard his teeth grind. He didn’t move off her, his body still intimately connected, his gaze fixed murderously on the door. After a tense, silent beat where Jessica half-expected the heavy wood to splinter under his glare, he finally barked, "Come in!" The command was a whip-crack.
The door opened cautiously. William, Scar’s imposing second-in-command, stood framed in the doorway. His face, usually impassive, was pale, etched with a tension Jessica had rarely seen. His eyes flickered towards the bed for a microsecond, registering the scene – his boss pinning Jessica beneath him, both flushed and clearly interrupted – before snapping back to Scar’s face with rigid discipline. He looked profoundly uncomfortable, acutely aware he was treading on lethally thin ice.
"Sir," William began, his voice strained. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "I apologize… profoundly… for the intrusion. But…"
"SPIT IT OUT, WILLIAM!" Scar snarled, his patience evaporated. The hand not braced beside Jessica’s head curled into a fist.
William flinched almost imperceptibly. He took a breath, steeling himself, his gaze locking onto Scar’s. The news he delivered was delivered in a flat, urgent tone, cutting through the charged air like a shard of ice:
"It’s Amanda, sir. She’s returned."
The effect was instantaneous and terrifying.
Scar didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. The fury that had consumed him a second ago vanished, replaced by a sudden, profound stillness that was infinitely more frightening. The color drained from his face beneath his tan, leaving his scar stark and livid. The possessive fire in his eyes extinguished, replaced by a chilling, hollow shock that Jessica had never witnessed before. It was the look of a man who’d seen a ghost – a ghost capable of unraveling everything.
"What?" The word was a whisper, devoid of its usual power, rough with disbelief. He pushed himself off Jessica abruptly, sitting upright on the edge of the bed, his back rigid, facing away from her. His broad shoulders were taut as steel cables. "When? When did she leave Italy?"
William shifted his weight. "Just confirmed, sir. She landed privately an hour ago. We don’t know her destination yet, but… she’s here. In Lagos."
The silence that followed was deafening, thick with unspoken history and looming catastrophe. Jessica sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around her, her own heart pounding against her ribs. She stared at Scar’s rigid back, the sudden distance yawning between them colder than any physical separation. The name hung in the air, charged with an ominous weight she couldn’t comprehend.
Amanda.
Who was she? What power did this name hold that it could fracture the invincible composure of Mr. Scar in an instant? The sanctuary of their love, so fiercely guarded just moments before, suddenly felt fragile, exposed to a storm Jessica couldn’t yet see. The trust, the safety, the future they were building – all suspended on the razor’s edge of this single, devastating name.
TO BE CONTINUED...

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...

BREAKING NEWS!! Sad news just confirmed the passing of… See more
https://kingdomofnews.pro/archives/125

"Abacha is the best Head of State to rule this country so far. If Abacha no go, wetin them fit do? To me oh! Make he stay. Civilians do am two times, dem no do am well. Shagari own na the worst. Make Abacha stay jare"

- Fela Anikulapo Kuti
(PM News, Friday, February 21, 1997)

@StartArchiving

She stopped moaning after marriage”
He used to make her shiver.
Now she lies there like a cold slab.
Not because she stopped loving him.
But because her body stopped responding.
Low zinc.
No protein.
Stress hormones hijacking her orgasm.
You see, pleasure is not a switch. It’s chemistry.
And many women are emotionally available but physically offline.
No sensation.
No desire.
No release.
Because her diet is killing her libido and her hormones are tired of surviving.
Heal her body. Watch her moan again.

Its #Mekweweekend

A LONG READ

How do we choose the people we fall in love with?

The Romantic answer is that our instincts naturally guide us to individuals who are kind and good for us.

Love is a sort of ecstasy that descends when we feel ourselves in the presence of a benign and nourishing soul, who will answer our emotional needs, understand our sadness and strengthen us for the hard tasks of our lives.

In order to locate our lover, we must let our instincts carry us along, taking care never to impede them through pedantic psychological analysis and introspection or else considerations of status, wealth or lineage.

Our feelings will tell us clearly enough when we have reached our destiny. To ask someone with any degree of rigour why exactly they have chosen a particular partner is – in the Romantic world-view – simply an unnecessary and offensive misunderstanding of love: true love is an instinct that accurately and naturally settles on those with a capacity to make us happy.

The Romantic attitude sounds warm and kind. Its originators certainly imagined that it would bring an end to the sort of unhappy relationships previously brokered by parents and society. The only difficulty is that our obedience to instinct has, very often, proved to be a disaster of its own.

Respecting the special feelings we get around certain people in nightclubs and train stations, parties and websites and that Romanticism so ably celebrated in art appears not to have led us to be any happier in our unions than a Medieval couple shackled into marriage by two royal courts keen to preserve the sovereignty of a slice of ancestral land. ‘Instinct’ has been little better than ‘calculation’ in underwriting the quality of our love stories.

Romanticism would not at this point, however, give up the argument quite so easily. It would simply ascribe the difficulties we often have in love to not having looked hard enough for that central fixture of Romantic reverie: the right person. This being is inevitably still out there (every soul must have its soulmate, Romanticism assures us), it is just that we haven’t managed to track them down – yet.

So we must continue the search, with all the technology and tenacity necessary, and maybe, once the divorce has come through and the house has been sold, we’ll get it right. But there’s another school of thought, this one influenced by psychoanalysis, which challenges the notion that instinct invariably draws us to those who will make us happy.

The theory insists that we don’t fall in love first and foremost with those who care for us in ideal ways, we fall in love with those who care for us in familiar ways. Adult love emerges from a template of how we should be loved that was created in childhood and is likely to be entwined with a range of problematic compulsions that militate in key ways against our chances of growth.

We may believe we are seeking happiness in love, but what we are really after is familiarity. We are looking to re-create, within our adult relationships, the very feelings we knew so well in childhood – and which were rarely limited to just tenderness and care.

The love most of us will have tasted early on was confused with other, more destructive dynamics: feelings of wanting to help an adult who was out of control, of being deprived of a parent’s warmth or scared of his or her anger, or of not feeling secure enough to communicate our trickier wishes.

How logical, then, that we should as adults find ourselves rejecting certain candidates not because they are wrong but because they are a little too right – in the sense of seeming somehow excessively balanced, mature, understanding and reliable – given that in our hearts, such rightness feels foreign and unearned.

We chase after more exciting others, not in the belief that life with them will be more harmonious, but out of an unconscious sense that it will be reassuringly familiar in its patterns of frustration. Psychoanalysis calls the process whereby we identify our partners ‘object choice’ – and recommends that we try to understand the factors semi-consciously governing our attractions in order to interrupt the unhealthier patterns that might be at play.

Our instincts – our strong undercurrents of attraction and revulsion – stem from complicated experiences we had when we were far too young to understand them, and which linger in the antechambers of our minds.

Psychoanalysis doesn’t wish to suggest that everything about our attractions will be deformed. We may have quite legitimate aspirations to positive qualities: intelligence, charm, generosity… But we are also liable to be fatefully drawn towards trickier tendencies: someone who is often absent, or treats us with a little disdain, or needs to be surrounded all the time by friends, or cannot master their finances.

However paradoxical it can sound, without these tricky behaviours, we may simply not be able to feel passionate or tender with someone.

Alternatively, we may have been so traumatised by a parental figure, we cannot approach any partner who shares qualities with them of any kind, even ones disconnected from their negative sides. We might in love be rigidly intolerant of anyone who is intelligent, or punctual or interested in science, simply because these were the traits of someone who caused us a great deal of difficulty early on.

To choose our partners wisely, we need to tease out how our compulsions to suffering or our rigid flights from trauma may be playing themselves out in our feelings of attraction. A useful starting place is to ask ourselves (perhaps in the company of a large sheet of paper, a pen and a free afternoon) what sort of people really put us off.

Revulsion and disgust are useful first guides because we are likely to recognize that some of the traits that make us shiver are not objectively negative and yet feel to us distinctly off-putting. We might, for example, sense that someone who asks us too much about ourselves, or is very tender or dependable, will seem extremely eerie and frightening.

And we might equally well, along the way, recognize that a degree of cruelty or distance belong to an odd list of the things we appear genuinely to need in order to love. It can be tricky to avoid self-censorship here, but the point isn’t to represent ourselves as reassuring, predictable people, but to get to know the curious quirks of our own psyches.

We’ll tend to find that some ostensibly pretty nice things are getting caught in our love filters: people who are eloquent, clever, reliable, sunny can set off loud alarms. This is vital knowledge. We should pause and try to fathom where the aversions come from, what aspects of our past have made it so hard for us to accept certain sorts of emotional nourishment.

Each time we recognize a negative, we’re discovering a crucial association in our own minds: we’re alighting on an impossibility of love based on associations from the past projected onto the present. An additional way we can get at the associations which circulate powerfully in the less noticed corners of our brains is to finish stub-sentences, that invite us to respond to things that might charm or repel us about someone.

We get to see our own reactions more clearly when we write things down without thinking too much about our answers, catching the mind’s unconscious at work.

For instance, we can deliberately jot the first things that come into our heads when we read the following:
• If I tell a partner how much I need them, they will…
• When someone tells me they really need me, I…
• If someone can’t cope, I…
• When someone tells me to get my act together, I …
• If I were to be frank about my anxieties …
• If my partner told me not to worry, I’d…
• When someone blames me unfairly, I …

Our honestly described reactions are legacies. They are revealing underlying assumptions we have acquired about what love can look like. We may start to get a clearer picture that our vision of what we are looking for in another person might not be an especially good guide to our personal or mutual happiness.

Examining our emotional histories, we see that we can’t be attracted to just anyone. Getting to know the past, we come to recognise our earlier associations for what they are: generalisations we formed – entirely understandably – on the basis of just one or, hugely impressive, examples.

We’ve unknowingly turned some local associations into strict rules for relationships. Even if we can’t radically shift the pattern, it’s useful to know that we are carrying a ball and chain. It can make us more careful of ourselves when we feel overwhelmed by a certainty that we’ve met the one, after a few minutes chatting at the bar.

Ultimately, we stand to be liberated to love different people to our initial ‘types’, because we find that the qualities we like, and the ones we very much fear, are found in different constellations from those we encountered in the people who first taught us about affection, long ago in a childhood we are starting at last to understand and free ourselves from.

The Counsellor

BREAKING NEWS:
A CURE FOR HIV/AUDS HAS JUST BEEN FOUND
A cure for HIV could be a step closer after researchers found a new way to force the virus out of hiding inside human cells.

The virus’s ability to conceal itself inside certain white blood cells has been one of the main challenges for scientists looking for a cure. It means there is a reservoir of the HIV in the body, capable of reactivation, that neither the immune system nor drugs can tackle.

Now researchers from the Peter Doherty Institute for Infection and Immunity in Melbourne, have demonstrated a way to make the virus visible, paving the way to fully clear it from the body.

It is based on mRNA technology, which came to prominence during the Covid-19 pandemic when it was used in vaccines made by Moderna and Pfizer/BioNTech.

In a paper published in Nature Communications, the researchers have shown for the first time that mRNA can be delivered into the cells where HIV is hiding, by encasing it in a tiny, specially formulated fat bubble. The mRNA then instructs the cells to reveal the virus.

Globally, there are almost 40 million people living with HIV, who must take medication for the rest of their lives in order to suppress the virus and ensure they do not develop symptoms or transmit it. For many it remains deadly, with UNAids figures suggesting one person died of HIV every minute in 2023.

It was “previously thought impossible” to deliver mRNA to the type of white blood cell that is home to HIV, said Dr Paula Cevaal, research fellow at the Doherty Institute and co-first author of the study, because those cells did not take up the fat bubbles, or lipid nanoparticles (LNPs), used to carry it.

The team have developed a new type of LNP that those cells will accept, known as LNP X. She said: “Our hope is that this new nanoparticle design could be a new pathway to an HIV cure.”

When a colleague first presented test results at the lab’s weekly meeting, Cevaal said, they seemed too good to be true.

“We sent her back into the lab to repeat it, and she came back the next week with results that were equally good. So we had to believe it. And of course, since then, we’ve repeated it many, many, many more times.

“We were overwhelmed by how [much of a] night and day difference it was – from not working before, and then all of a sudden it was working. And all of us were just sitting gasping like, ‘wow’.”

Further research will be needed to determine whether revealing the virus is enough to allow the body’s immune system to deal with it, or whether the technology will need to be combined with other therapies to eliminate HIV from the body.
#HIVawareness #HIV #hivprevention #hivcure

FINALLY, HIV DOES NOT HAVE PLACE AGAIN IN THE HUMAN BODY

CRISPR Just Snipped HIV Out Of Human Immune Cells — And It Stayed Gone!

In a stunning leap forward, scientists have used CRISPR/Cas9 gene editing to delete HIV-1 DNA from human T-cells.

Unlike treatments that only suppress the virus, this approach completely removes HIV’s genetic code from the immune system’s core cells.

Even more impressive?

The edited cells resisted reinfection in lab tests—showing the potential for a real, permanent cure.

This could be the breakthrough that finally cracks the toughest part of the fight against HIV: eliminating the virus from the body once and for all.

BREAKING MEDICAL NEWS!
Researchers in Australia have reportedly discovered a cure for HIV/AIDS — a breakthrough that could change millions of lives globally!

But here's the twist:
Something similar was discovered years ago in Africa, yet it was ignored... Why?
Was it the location? The politics? The prejudice?
Now that it's gaining recognition from the West, the world is finally ready to listen.

It's time we start valuing African innovations just as loudly as we celebrate others.
Talent has no continent.
Let’s give credit where it’s due — and respect the minds behind the cure, no matter where they come from.

Share this if you believe every discovery deserves a global stage — not just when it comes from the 'right' place.
#HIVCure #MedicalBreakthrough #AfricaMatters #GlobalHealth #ScienceForAll #EndTheBias

If you have not be mining Dot it is not late to start. Just click https://dotchain.network/refer/Amaechiv

- The 7th edition of National Tree Day announced for June 21, 2025!!!

The 7th edition of the National Tree Day (NTD) will take place on June 21st, 2025, in Manga (capital of the Central South Region) under the high patronage of @CapitaineIb226.

Its theme is, “Medicinal Plants: A Source of Community Health and Climate Resilience.” This edition, Minister Baro emphasized, will mark a key step in accelerating the battle to strengthen our country's vegetation cover.

It comes, he noted, in a context marked by the return of internally displaced persons to their home communities, hence the imperative, he said, to integrate the issue of population resilience through the nutritional and health benefits of trees into the 2025 reforestation campaign.

This 7th NTD is based on the concepts of “one province, one medicinal grove,”covering at least 2 hectares; “a school, a botanical garden,” for 100 educational institutions; “a green space, a landscaped area”; “the President's time to regreen Faso,” with the planting of 10 million seedlings; “a department/municipality with at least 2 km of row plantings”; a “Pedal for the Tree” cycling race.

Yesterday, I listened to the coordinator of the event and he said that the goal is that, we want at least 5M Burkinabè to plant a tree on June 21st, between 8am-9am, in one hour.

This time, they want everyone to make it his responsibility to care for the plant until it grows and not just planting trees that will be left out without proper maintenance. We want to change the face of the Sahel and it’s doable.

So, within the one hour time, measures are put in place so that those who will plant their trees wherever they are in the four corners of Burkina Faso can report to the local authorities for their names to be recorded in the archives. Moreover, they are encouraged to share their plants on social media to encourage others.

In the long run, we want to be able to recognize all those who will really take care of their trees. So, to all daughters and sons of Burkina Faso, each one of us must have their own tree(s) for a green and prosperous Burkina Faso!!!

I was with Iruoma in the meeting room when Kosi badged into the room unannounced.

Immediately I disassociate from Iruoma. Kosi cleared her throat. My friend will you speak up and stop acting up. Iruoma said to Kosi.

Sorry ma, Just that someone wants to see the manager. Kosi said. Me? What's the problem? I asked Kosi.

She wouldn't say, She just wants to see you and she has threatened to bring the hotel down if you don't see her right this moment. Kosi said.

Okay bring her to my office. I said to Kosi. Excuse me ma. I would like to attend to this issue. I said as I left the meeting room to my office.

When I got to the office which previously belong to Cynthia. I had cold shiver run through my spine. I didn't know if I should have rejected the position as a manager , I felt like I had a hand in the dëåth of my friend Mike.

I have already asked Iruoma, but her response wasn't certain. The response she gave me back in the meeting room kept ringing in my head. I asked her if she had something to do with the dëath of Mike, she replied me "What if I did". The reply had a lot of questions.

As I sitted and soliloquize in the office, a beautiful black lady walked into the office.

But I'm currently in lot of trouble lately because of women, so I just had to let this beauty go.

Are you the new acting Manager? She asked me. Yes Madam, How can I be of help? I asked her.

I want to know the reason why my sister was unjustly arrested for a crime she didn't commit. The lady said to me. Who is your sister? I asked her. Cynthia Boniface. My name is Sandra Boniface. Why was my sister arrested? The lady asked. She was really angry and pissed, I could sense it all around her.

I assure you, we are working on getting to the root of the matter, you just have to calm down. I said to Sandra. I'm not calming down when my sister is unlawfully detained, infact I want to see the owner of this hotel. Sandra said.

Sandra I know you are måd, pissed and angry, but I want you to calm down as the hotel is working on something. Just go home. I said. Nothing must happen to my sister. She is innocent. Sandra said.

I was still speaking with Sandra when the security came into my office and took her away. I didn't call the security. But then as soon as she was taken away, Iruoma passed through my door smiling.

She left that day, I was left with the workers of the hotel.

Soon I started hearing rumors in the hotel that I had a hand in the dé-åth of Mike, I planned everything framed Cynthia so that I could take her position.

How could I possibly frame Cynthia? I asked Kosi. She likes you the most, she vulnerable around you. Everyone knows that Cynthia likes you. Kosi said. I don't know that. I said. You choose not to see it. Kosi said to me. You choose not to see the people who truly cares about you. Kosi said before going home that day.

To get my name clear, I decided that I was going to confront Iruoma one more last time and she must tell me what really happened to Mike that day he visited her, No more games, No play, if she doesn't I would tell the police everything I know.

After the Job for the night. I went home to rest a little before returning back to work. My New Job required a lot of time.

When I got home, Olivia was already waiting for me in my room. She has my room key.

Olivia. I said in surprise as I saw her, it's been days I last heard from her. "Ayochidi you couldn't even call me". Olivia said with a babyish face. I called severally, you didn't pick. You said you needed space. I gave you space. I said. You didn't even persist. You just gave me space because I said I needed space. Olivia said.

I'm still not done with Iruoma, I still haven't found Mike's killer. Maybe- before I could complete the statement. Maybe we should stick together as a couple and find out who really k!lled your friend. Olivia said to me.

I was surprised that Olivia finally wanted to help me to find the person who k!lled Mike. Maybe this will ne easier than I thought.

Your shares is my biggest motivation to continue...

To Be Continued...

Title: Room Service 15.
Follow like and comment for the next episode