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...

BREAKING NEWS: Over 2027 Election, Fight Erupts At APC Meeting Over Alleged Plot To Drop Shettima From Tinubu's Tickets

A stakeholders’ meeting of the All Progressives Congress (APC) in Gombe State descended into chaos on Sunday after Vice President Kashim Shettima was conspicuously excluded from a public endorsement of President Bola Tinubu’s second-term bid.

The North-East zonal meeting, attended by high-ranking party officials including APC National Chairman Dr. Abdullahi Ganduje, federal ministers, governors, and lawmakers, was expected to affirm the party’s cohesion in preparation for the 2027 general elections..

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 2
The first time Jessica stepped into the VIP lounge, her stomach twisted with shame. The air smelled like expensive whiskey and desperation, a far cry from the stench of the slums she had grown up in. The neon lights flickered, casting shadows over the faces of men who watched her like she was a meal. She was nineteen, dressed in a tight black dress that clung to curves she hadn’t even known she possessed—a far cry from the bony girl who used to count grains of rice in the dirt.
Lady Lily, the woman in the sleek car, had painted this life as glamorous. "You’ll wear designer clothes, sleep in five-star hotels, and make in one night what your parents sweat for in a year," she had said.
But the first time a client touched her, Jessica had locked herself in a bathroom afterward and scrubbed her skin raw.
Not all of it was hell.
There were nights when the men were kind—older businessmen who preferred conversation over groping, who tipped her extra when they saw textbooks peeking out of her bag. Some even admired her ambition.
"You’re too smart for this," one had said, a silver-haired executive who paid her just to listen to him talk about his failed marriage. He left her an envelope thick with cash and a note: "For your education."
On those nights, Jessica allowed herself to hope. She would return to her tiny apartment—a step up from the slums, but still a far cry from luxury—and spread her books across the bed. Economics. Law. Literature. She devoured knowledge like a starving woman, her highlighter bleeding across pages late into the night.
And then there was the money.
Every month, without fail, she sent home stacks of cash—enough to feed her siblings, to pay for medicine, to finally get her father’s cough checked by a real doctor. Her mother’s voice on the phone was lighter these days, no longer frayed with exhaustion. "God bless you, my daughter," she would say, and Jessica would swallow the lump in her throat.
They never asked where the money came from.
She never told.
But then there were the other nights.
The ones where men didn’t see her as a person, just a body. The ones where their hands left bruises, where their laughter was cruel, where they called her names that made her want to vanish.
One client, a politician with a gold Rolex and dead eyes, had smirked as he threw cash at her feet. "Pick it up," he ordered.
She did.
That night, she cried in the shower until the water ran cold.
Lady Lily had warned her: *"This life will eat you alive if you let it."
Jessica refused to let it.
She kept a strict schedule—classes in the morning, study sessions in the library between appointments, nights "working" only when she had to. She learned how to read men, how to manipulate their desires, how to give them just enough to keep them coming back without losing pieces of herself.
And she never, ever let herself forget why she was doing this.
Her siblings were slipping away—one sister pregnant at sixteen, a brother dropping out of school to hawk goods in traffic. The slum was a monster, and it was hungry.
But Jessica had claws too.
Then came the night she met him.
A crime lord.
Not just any client, but the kind of man even powerful people whispered about. His name was a rumor, a shadow. And when he walked into the VIP lounge, the air shifted.
He didn’t leer at her like the others. He studied her.
"You don’t belong here,"* he said, his voice low.
Jessica met his gaze without flinching. "Neither do you."
For the first time in years, someone saw her—*really* saw her.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
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...

War against Yahoo-Yahoo is not ending anytime soon!

WHY?

Listen to the following reasons by the Executive Chairman of the EFCC @OlaOlukoyede_

The Eagle is relentless!

#EndYahooYahoo
#EFCCNigeria

War against Yahoo-Yahoo is not ending anytime soon!

WHY?

Listen to the following reasons by the Executive Chairman of the EFCC @OlaOlukoyede_

The Eagle is relentless!

#EndYahooYahoo
#EFCCNigeria

This is so inhuman

Story: 14yrs old JSS3 girl says she sl€€ps with 12 to 20 men daily for ₦1k.

Yesterday, Amotekun busted a s£x trafficking syndicate in Ogun state. Where they lure kids and use them as s€x slaves charging customers as low as ₦1k per session.

14yrs old victim said they brought her from Akwa Ibom on the promise that she’ll work as a sales girl.

On getting there, they gave her some drugs, the boss lady cut her hair and told her that, if she runs away, she’ll use the hair to kill her.

Ever since, she has been working as a prostitute for her madam, Mrs. Edem Joy. Who claimed she also had a boss, Mrs Okutoro Yemisi, 60.

They lure g!rls from Akwa Ibom, Calabar and Delta State .. but mostly from Akwa Ibom — make them swear with their blood, hairs and or Bible.. that they’d never confess or runaway.

After which, tie them down with drugs and charms and dispatch them to different hotels.. with the promise of letting them go after a year and settling them with a phone and a box of clothes.

The girls hinted that, their boss uses the tissue used by the men for ritual purposes, because they ensured they submitted it after every session.

They charge as low as 1k and as high as ₦5k, but submit all the cash to Mrs Edem.

The youngest amongst them was a 12yrs old girl. Authorities received an anonymous tip on 8th of February. They were arrested at , Railway Line Hotel, Old Bank Bus Stop, in Ifo town.

Lubricant, drugs, cash and charms were reportedly recovered from the suspects

E get as man go lie give u eeh u go first pause,move back small con find small chair sit down,con dey admire talent

An Italian museum has called on patrons to "respect art" after a couple was filmed breaking a chair covered in hundreds of glittering crystals
 
Watch here: https://bbc.in/3HGyzKg

*SOME NIGERIAN NEWSPAPER HEADLINES+, 16/06/2025*

Tinubu orders security chiefs to restore peace in Benue

Benue killings: Military deploys air surveillance, IG takes over security

Brent bounce: Nigerian crude hits $77 as Israel-Iran tensions boil

Appeal Court nullifies Emefiele’s asset forfeiture

Fed Govt set to acquire 12 Viper jets to boost NAF’s capability

Dangote refinery to begin petrol, diesel distribution nationwide August 15

Lagos mandates e-call-up for trucks June 16

Again, Oliseh frowns at foreign coaches

Davido cancels UK show at Tottenham Hotspur stadium amid production issues

Tanzania names major road after AfDB President, Adesina

Iran-bound businessman arrested at PH airport for ingesting 53 wraps of cocaine

Italy-bound passenger arrested with drugs hidden in winter jackets

Three nabbed in Ghana for smuggling stolen Nigerian SUVs

Nigerian nationals in India beg FG: We want to come home


-----------------------------
*DID YOU KNOW?*

* The Magna Carta, meaning “Great Charter,” is a historical document that King John of England agreed to in 1215, granting certain rights and liberties to barons and free men. It established the principle that the king was not above the law and paved the way for limited government and the rule of law.

* 99.9% of your DNA is identical to very other human – it’s the 0.1% that makes us unique.
-----------------------------

Tinubu hails fathers as pillars of nation-building

Tinubu congratulates Gen. Abdulsalami Abubakar at 83

Senate pledges electoral reform, constitutional review ahead of 2027

Senate introduced 983 Bills, passed 108 into law in two years, says Bamidele

Reps to convene legislative dialogue on national security architecture Monday

Tinubu not first president to borrow, Oshiomhole defends loan request

Court orders execution of Ebonyi man over teen’s death in rape case

Lawyer summoned over missing suspect in N36.8m cybercrime case

Special forces deployed to battle terrorists in Benue

Terror kingpins surrender, free 16 hostages in Katsina amnesty deal

Umahi frowns at slow pace of work on Enugu-Onitsha highway

Livestock devt: FG moves to resuscitate 144,000 hectares Gombe grazing reserve

Trade ministry halts office relocation, to renovate headquarters

Lagos to host Africa’s supply chain devt summit

N3.6bn ground rent: FG in last-minute talks with embassies

FCTA to protect elderly people from abuse

UniAbuja, UNN governing boards yet to meet over substantive VCs’ appointments

CONMESS: S’West medical lecturers confirm payment post-strike

Nigerian editors to discuss national security, cohesion at Enugu convention

Ohanaeze Ndi-Igbo applauds Tinubu, Umahi on East-West Road, others

2027: Electronic Transmission Of Results Should Be Mandatory – Prof. Jega

I nearly contested for President after June 12 struggle — Soyinka

E-call-up: IPMAN directs members to boycott Lekki-Epe corridor

Despite short week, stock market posts N513bn growth

Israel-Iran conflict: Marketers hike petrol prices as crude oil hits $74pb

Tinubu’s solo endorsement by N’East APC leaders triggers outrage

2027: Aiyedatiwa backs Tinubu’s re-election bid

Okowa, Delta deputy gov absent as Nwoko hosts APC meeting

Adeleke warns Osun radio stations against inciting public, threatens sanction

I’ve no problem with my predecessor, says Eno

Gov mourns as Plateau CAN chairman dies

God sent me to crush cultism in Edo – Okpebholo

Imo claims cabals behind state judiciary crisis

Lagos tanker drivers threaten to stop fuel loading over e-call-up fees

Akure families evict landlords, cite S’Court victory

Kwara Pilgrims Get $500 Refund After Dollar Swap Fraud In Saudi Arabia

Kogi plans rent-to-own housing scheme for civil servants

NYSC halts Lagos camp renovation for orientation exercise

Lagos builds psychiatric hospital to tackle gambling, others

Lagos CP redeploys tactical commander, orders probe over N10m ‘bribe’, others

Bauchi CP mourns as about-to-wed DPO, two friends killed in crash

Two arrested for possessing stolen cement trucks in Anambra

Church Collapses On Worshippers In Taraba

-----------------------------

*TODAY IN HISTORY*

* On this day in 1976, South African police killed hundreds of protesting schoolchildren. An estimated 20,000 youth were protesting against the introduction of Afrikaans as the languages of instruction in their schools when police officers started firing into the crowd.

-----------------------------

You gotta keep ur head up even when the road is hard, never give up. – Tupac Shakur

Good morning

*Compiled by Hon. Osuji George [email protected], +234-8122200446*

Auckland City Squad are made up of the following:

- Teacher.
- Sheet metal worker.
- Customer service at Samsung.
- Factory employee.
- Hardware store owner.
- Hairdresser.
- Sales manager at Coca-Cola.
- Painter

None of them earn a salary, just a travel allowance of $90.