Chelsea an Man U fans,mek una gather here,now de question goes lik dis,wot is de full meaning of una Coach grandmother? A winner will go home wit a very big price

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...

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...

*Public service annoucement from fathers*

We are hereby giving advance notice of acceptable fathers days activities:

*FATHER'S DAY*
Sunday 15th June, 2025

*Order of proceedings for the the day:*

6: 45 am: Good morning and beginning of receipt of gifts ...

7:00: am Breakfast in bed (fry-ups or Akara/Moi-Moi & Pap with plenty honey).

7.30am to 9:00am:
Men's arrival in the church and prayer.

9:00am to 11:00am: Sunday service

11:00am to 12:00pm: medical check up.

1: 00 pm: - Mummy (and/or children) takes Father out on her bill.

2:00: pm Chopped fried Plantain with egg sauce or various infusions.

2: 30: pm Lunch - Pounded Yam or Eba, with Efo riro soup or Amala+abula, infused with assorted fresh and dry fish, Periwinkle, and large Snails, served with chilled non-alcoholic wine.

3: 30 pm: Grilled assorted meat and juice, followed 2hrs later by Goat Meat Peppersoup, and more chilled drinks.

8: 00 pm: Unwrap gifts, Nkwobi or Isi-Ewu with more drinks.

9: 00 pm: and if the body endures: Dinner (Jollof Rice with spicy Chicken Wings) + Chilled drinks.

*10.00 pm: - lights out.


Please pass this communication to the children and the wives so they do not plan anything "weird" that day.

Note: Give this notice timeously, so that they do not come with the excuse "I did not remember".

God bless us all.

Wahala Tie Rapper

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, and everything seemed peacefu until 8PM. The front door burst open

A loud, angry ropber stormed in, pointing a big scary gnn and yelling,
Hey, Give me all the money in this house or else I’ll scatt er ur head

Inside the room, chaos exploded like popcorn in hot oil.

The woman in red underwear jumped up, totally shocked. Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates. She was so scared she forgot she wasn’t fully dressed

But the real drama? That came from the man in the bed.
He screamed, waved his hands in the air, and shouted,
Pls don’t shoot! I’m not her husband. I was just passing

Passing?! Through the bed?! With no pants?

The robber paused for a second, confused. Even he didn’t expect this nonsense. The woman looked like she wanted to disappear. The man kept begging, sweating like a waterfall.

Now the robber had a decision to make: rob the house or solve the mystery of the passing man.

In the end, he burst out laughing.
This house is more messed up than my life,he said, and ran off without stealing a thing.

If you’re just passing, wear pants. Always.

He Wasn’t Perfect, But He Tried — A Father’s Day Reflection

Not every father knows how to say “I love you” out loud. Some don’t attend every school event or express affection in obvious ways. But often, their love shows up in quieter moments — fixing broken toys without being asked, saving the last piece of meat for someone else at dinner, or waiting in the car during a storm to make sure everyone gets inside safely. Their love may not always be loud, but it’s steady — expressed through presence, sacrifice, and small, consistent acts of care.

Fatherhood doesn’t come with a manual, and many men were raised in homes where emotional expression was mistaken for weakness. Yet, they tried. They built love through action when words failed them. They carried pressures in silence, wore pride like armor, and often battled private storms we may never fully understand. Some fathers showed up through presence, others through provision — both forms matter.

And for those whose fathers didn’t show up at all, or caused more harm than good — this day is still yours, too. Healing from a fractured father-child bond is a journey of reclaiming your own voice, learning to father yourself, and perhaps, rewriting the story with your own children. You may not have had the model you deserved, but you can become one.

So today, we honor the trying fathers. The healing fathers. The present fathers. And those who are learning how to be better. This Father's Day, may we extend grace — and where needed, draw boundaries — with love. Because fatherhood isn’t about perfection; it’s about presence, growth, and legacy.

*If Your sugar range is 230, how severe is it to your health and the consequences*:

A blood sugar level of 230 is considered high or severely abnormal and can have significant effects on your overall health. If you're experiencing this level of blood sugar regularly, it's essential to take action to and prevent long-term complications.

*Health Risks:*

- *Organ damage*: High blood sugar can strain your organs, weaken your immune system, and increase the risk of serious complications like heart disease, kidney damage, and nerve damage.
- *Vision problems*: Elevated glucose levels can cause fluid buildup in the lens of your eye, leading to blurred vision.
- *Nerve damage*: Excessive sugar can damage the delicate inner lining of your arteries, increasing the risk of neuropathy.
- *Kidney disease*: High blood sugar can make your kidneys work harder, leading to long-term kidney disease.

*Symptoms:*

- Increased thirst and urination
- Fatigue
- Blurred vision

*Treatment and Management:*

- *Dietary changes*: Focus on eating whole foods like fruits, vegetables, lean proteins, and whole grains. Avoid sugary beverages, processed foods, and high-carb snacks.
- *Regular exercise*: Engage in physical activity to help lower blood sugar levels.
- *Monitoring blood sugar*: Regularly check your blood sugar levels to track your progress.
- *Medications*: You need our natural Herbal Supplement called SPIDEX 15, Fafaron, spudex19 and Sàlud also contain insulin therapy to help manage your blood sugar levels.

*When to Seek Medical Attention:*

*If you experience persistent or severe symptoms, or if your blood sugar levels continue to rise above 80/120, consult a healthcare professional for personalized guidance and treatment. They can help you develop a plan to manage your blood sugar levels and prevent long-term complications.*

Humans are quick to judging others without making inquiries.so sad how perfect pple claim to be #@we are all sinners displaying in different form

Humans are quick to judging others without making inquiries.so sad how perfect pple claim to be #@we are all sinners displaying in different form

*Public Service Announcement For Real Fathers.

We are hereby giving advance notice of acceptable *FATHER'S DAY* activities:

*FATHER'S DAY* *FATHER'S DAY*
*FATHER'S DAY*

*Sunday 15th June, 2025*

*Order of proceedings for the the day:*

*6: 45 am: Good morning and beginning of receipt of gifts ...*

*7:00: am Breakfast in bed (fry-ups or Akara/Moi-Moi & Pap with plenty honey).*

*7.30am to 9:00am:*
*Men's arrival in the church and prayer.*

*9:00am to 11:00am: Sunday service.*

*11:00am to 12:00pm: medical check up.*

*1: 00 pm: - Mummy (and/or children) takes Father out on her bill.*

*2:00: pm Chopped fried Plantain with egg sauce or various infusions.*

*2: 30: pm Lunch - Pounded Yam or Eba, with Efo riro soup or Amala+abula, infused with assorted fresh and dry fish, Periwinkle, and large Snails, served with chilled non-alcoholic wine.*

*3: 30 pm: Grilled assorted meat and juice, followed 2hrs later by Goat Meat Peppersoup, and more chilled drinks.*

*8: 00 pm: Unwrap gifts, Nkwobi or Isi-Ewu with more drinks.*

*9: 00 pm: and if the body endures: Dinner (Jollof Rice with spicy Chicken Wings) + Chilled drinks.*

*10.00 pm: - lights out.*


*Please pass this communication to the children and the wives so they do not plan anything "weird" that day.*

Note: Give this notice timeously, so that they do not come with the excuse *"I did not remember".*

*God bless us all.*


*Please do the needful tomorrow, as shine shine women wey una be, our men deserve some treats*