What a man can do a woman seems to do better.

KNOW THE SECRET OF A WOMAN.....

Woman with engagement

HOW THE APOSTLES DIED.

1. Matthew
Suffered martyrdom in Ethiopia, Killed by a sword wound.

2. Mark
Died in Alexandria, Egypt , after being dragged by Horses through the streets until he was dead.

3. Luke
Was hanged in Greece as a result of his tremendous Preaching to the lost.

4. John
Faced martyrdom when he was boiled in huge Basin of boiling oil during a wave of persecution In Rome. However, he was miraculously delivered From death.
John was then sentenced to the mines on the prison Island of Patmos. He wrote his prophetic Book of Revelation on Patmos . The apostle John was later freed and returned to serve As Bishop of Edessa in modern Turkey . He died as an old man, the only apostle to die peacefully

5. Peter
He was crucified upside down on an x-shaped cross.
According to church tradition it was because he told his tormentors that he felt unworthy to die In the same way that Jesus Christ had died.

6. James
The leader of the church in Jerusalem , was thrown over a hundred feet down from the southeast pinnacle of the Temple when he refused to deny his faith in Christ. When they discovered that he survived the fall, his
enemies beat James to death with a fuller's club.
* This was the same pinnacle where Satan had taken Jesus during the Temptation.

7. James the Son of Zebedee,
was a fisherman by trade when Jesus Called him to a lifetime of ministry. As a strong leader of the church, James was beheaded at Jerusalem. The Roman officer who guarded James watched amazed as James defended his faith at his trial. Later, the officer Walked beside James to the place of execution. Overcome by conviction, he declared his new faith to the judge and Knelt beside James to accept beheading as a Christian.

8. Bartholomew
Also known as Nathaniel Was a missionary to Asia. He witnessed for our Lord in present day Turkey. Bartholomew was martyred for his preaching in Armenia where he was flayed to death by a whip.

9. Andrew
Was crucified on an x-shaped cross in Patras, Greece. After being whipped severely by seven soldiers they tied his body to the cross with cords to prolong his agony. His followers reported that, when he was led toward the cross, Andrew saluted it in these words: 'I have long desired and expected this happy hour. The cross has been consecrated by the body of Christ hanging on it.' He continued to preach to his tormentors For two days until he expired.

10. Thomas
Was stabbed with a spear in India during one of his missionary trips to establish the church in the Sub-continent.

11. Jude
Was killed with arrows when he refused to deny his faith in Christ.

12. Matthias
The apostle chosen to replace the traitor Judas Iscariot, was stoned and then beheaded.

13. Paul
Was tortured and then beheaded by the evil Emperor Nero at Rome in A.D. 67. Paul endured a lengthy imprisonment, which allowed him to write his many
epistles to the churches he had formed throughout the Roman Empire. These letters, which taught many of the foundational Doctrines of Christianity, form a large portion of the New Testament.

THEGOSOEL THAT TOOK THE BLOOD OF THE APOSTLES IS THE ONE TAKING YOUR PASTORS TO THE BANK, AND BECOMING THE RICHEST IN FORBS LIST

THIS SHOULD TELL U THAT THEY ARE PREACHERS OF ANOTHWR GOSPEL,

ON THE DAY OF JUDGEMENT, U WILL UNDERSTAND BETTER

𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗜𝗔𝗚𝗘 𝗜𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗜𝗢𝗨𝗦

It’s a simple law: 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗔𝗡 𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗦. 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡 𝗙𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗢𝗪𝗦.

𝗠𝗲𝗻, 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗿!

“𝗧𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 — 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗜𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗪𝗶𝗹𝗱 𝗛𝗼𝗿𝘀𝗲𝘀!”

If she wants total freedom with zero accountability…
If she’s shouting “I’m a full woman, nobody can control me!”
If submission sounds like oppression to her…
Then marriage is not for her. Let her remain in her father’s house.

𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘂𝗱, 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗯𝗯𝗼𝗿𝗻, 𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗝𝗲𝘇𝗲𝗯𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘀 “𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗽𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿” 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘇𝗲𝗿𝗼 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲.

Marriage is not a democracy. It’s a divine order.
The man leads. The woman follows. That’s the law.

If she can’t let the man lead…
If she always challenges your decisions, raises her voice, and wants to be the head…
She doesn’t need a man. She needs space and healing.

𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱:

Teamwork (not competition)

Respect (not rivalry)

Order (not confusion)

Men, stop trying to fix those who don’t want to learn.
You can’t force anyone to be a wife.
Let her go and post “independent woman” online. She’ll learn with time.

𝗬𝗢𝗨?
Build with a woman who is humble, loyal, obedient, and ready to be a teammate—not a burden.

𝗪𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗡 𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗜𝗧 𝗕𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥.

"Because of money, I lost even the woman my mum knew I would marry." ~ Rude Boy

"Reason with me" was exactly what happened to me. I had this girl that I loved so much; even my mum knew I would marry her. But the big boys came and did their thing. Anything I did became offensive to her, even my greetings. But I thank her for making me hustle more. You see, money? It will make a girl leave you and blame it on something else." ~ Rude Boy

Lesson: Money is good, no doubt. May God bless every genuine hustle that you engage in."Because of money, I lost even the woman my mum knew I would marry." ~ Rude Boy

BILLIONAIRE HEIRESS PRETENDS TO BE A POOR WAITRESS TO FIND TRUE LOVE
EPISODE. 1

Emily Johnson at 26 years old had everything anyone could dream of. She was the only daughter of Mr. James and Mrs. Mary Johnson, one of the wealthiest families in the country. Her father owned a large empire of companies while her mother was a renowned philanthropist. Emily had grown up in luxury, surrounded by expensive cars, grand mansions, and all the finest things money could buy.

However, despite all the riches, Emily felt something was missing. People around Emily always seemed more interested in her family’s fortune than in her as a person. She had friends, but over time she realized they cared more about her lifestyle than who she really was. The men she dated were the same—interested in her wealth and status, but never her heart.

Emily longed to be loved for who she truly was, not for her family’s wealth. One evening, after a particularly shallow conversation with a man her father had introduced her to, Emily knew something had to change. This man, like so many others, was more interested in impressing her with his wealth than learning anything about her.

She wanted more. She wanted a life where she could be herself and find love not based on her family’s name, but on who she truly was. Emily decided that she needed to leave her life of privilege behind, at least for a little while. She wanted to experience the world outside her bubble, to live simply and discover if she could find love in a place where no one knew her background.

Before she made any drastic decisions, Emily sat down with her parents to discuss her plan. They were sitting in the large dining room of their mansion.

“I’ve been thinking about something for a while,” Emily began, her heart racing. “I want to leave the city for a while. I need time to find myself away from everything here.”

Her mother, Mrs. Mary, immediately frowned. “Leave? Emily, you’re a young woman. The world outside is harsh, especially for a girl like you. You don’t need to go anywhere. We can find you a good husband here, someone who will love and care for you.”

Emily sighed, knowing her mother wouldn’t understand. “But that’s the problem, Mom. All the men I meet are only interested in what I have, not in me. I want to live a simple life for a while, away from all this. I want to find someone who loves me for who I am.”

Mrs. Mary shook her head. “It’s not safe out there for a girl like you. What if something happens? How will you survive without the comfort and protection of this home? You don’t need to struggle when everything you need is right here.”

Emily looked at her father, hoping for support. Mr. James, a stern but thoughtful man, had been listening quietly.

“I won’t be gone forever,” Emily said, turning to her father. “I just need some time to figure things out. If I don’t find what I’m looking for, if I can’t find love on my own, I’ll come back. I’ll agree to marry the man you want me to marry.”

Her father raised an eyebrow. “You mean the tech billionaire David, who you have adamantly refused to meet?”

“Yes,” Emily nodded. “I’ll meet him eventually, but first I need to do this. I need to know if I can live a life where people see me for me, not for our name.”

Mr. James leaned back in his chair, considering his daughter’s words. He loved Emily dearly, and as much as he wanted her to marry someone powerful like David, he understood her need for independence. He had seen her frustration over the years, trying to find someone who valued her for more than her wealth.

Mrs. Mary, however, was not convinced. “James, tell her this is a bad idea. She’s a girl. She can’t just wander off on her own. The world isn’t kind to women, especially one who’s never known hardship. It’s dangerous.”

But Mr. James gave Emily a small nod of approval. “If this is what you need to do, Emily, then I’ll support you. I don’t want you to regret not trying to find your own path.” He turned to his wife. “She’s strong, Mary. We have to trust her.”

Mrs. Mary sighed, still uneasy. “Fine. But promise me you’ll be careful, Emily.”

“I will, Mom,” Emily said with a smile. “I won’t be gone long. I just need time away from all the trouble here.”

And with that, Emily’s plan was set. She packed a small suitcase with only simple clothes, leaving behind her expensive dresses, jewelry, and the life of luxury she had always known.

The next day, with her father’s reluctant blessing and her mother’s worried gaze, Emily left the city. She boarded a bus to a faraway place, hoping to start fresh.

The city she chose was Makalani, a small but bustling town known for its vibrant markets and hardworking people. It was a place where no one would recognize her as the wealthy heiress from the capital. Here, Emily could blend in and live a simple life, just like anyone else.

When Emily arrived in Makalani, she found a small one-room apartment to rent. It was nothing like the mansion she had grown up in, but it was enough for her. The apartment had only a bed, a table, and a window that looked out onto the busy streets below. There were no luxuries, no servants to cater to her every need. But for the first time in her life, Emily felt free.

Now that she was settled, Emily knew she needed to find a job. She couldn’t live off her family’s wealth if she truly wanted to experience life as an ordinary person. After walking around the streets of Makalani for a few days, she came across a small restaurant called Mama Kay’s Kitchen.

The diner had a cozy, inviting atmosphere with the smell of home-cooked meals filling the air. It was always busy with people coming and going, and something about the simplicity of the place drew Emily in. With her heart racing, Emily walked inside and asked Mama Kay, the owner, if she had any job openings.

Mama Kay was a kind woman in her mid-50s with a round face and a warm smile. She looked Emily over, noticing her neat but modest clothes, and asked a few questions.

Satisfied with Emily’s answers, Mama Kay decided to give her a chance. “We can use another waitress around here,” Mama Kay said, “but it’s tough work. You’ll be on your feet all day serving tables, cleaning up, and dealing with all kinds of customers. Do you think you can handle it?”

Emily smiled, determined to prove herself. “Yes, I can handle it. I’ll do my best.”

And so Emily began her new life as a waitress at Mama Kay’s Kitchen. The work was much harder than she had ever imagined. She spent long hours on her feet, carrying trays of food, cleaning tables, and taking orders. Her back ached and her hands became rough from the constant cleaning.

But despite the exhaustion, Emily found a sense of purpose in this simple life. For the first time, she was living a life that wasn’t handed to her on a silver platter.

The customers at Mama Kay’s Kitchen were regular people—workers, families, and students who came in for affordable meals. They treated Emily just like any other waitress, and that’s exactly what she wanted. She was no longer the rich heiress from a powerful family. She was just Emily, the new waitress at the diner.

As Emily wiped down a table one evening, she looked out at the busy streets of Makalani and smiled to herself. She had left behind the world of wealth and privilege, but in doing so, she had found something more valuable: freedom.

She wondered what the future held. Would she find the love she had been searching for? Or would she eventually return to her old life, marrying the man her father wanted?

For now, she was content to wait and see. This was her time to find out who she truly was.

And her journey had only just begun.

TBC…

She Was a Virgin Maid—Until the Billionaire Took What He Wanted
Episode 2

The silence in Alhaji Malik’s room was thick like smoke when Aishah entered. The curtains were drawn, soft lights glowed from golden wall lamps, and he was seated on the edge of the massive bed, dressed in a black kaftan, sipping something from a glass that looked like wine but smelled stronger. She kept her eyes on the floor, her arms trembling as she clutched the edge of her hijab. “Come closer,” he said calmly. She didn’t move. “I said come.” His voice was not raised, but it carried a weight that pushed her forward like invisible hands. Her heart was beating like a drum, her feet cold against the tiled floor, her mind racing with every verse of protection she could remember. When she reached him, he stood and walked around her slowly like a lion circling prey. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asked. She didn’t answer. “I’ve had models in this house. Politicians’ daughters. But none of them made me feel like this.” His words fell like acid on her skin. She wanted to run, scream, vanish—but she stood still, trapped in fear, her hands tightly gripped together. Then he touched her. Just her chin at first. Then her waist. Then the scarf around her neck. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you if you just relax.” But there was no relaxing. There was only dread. Only betrayal. Only helplessness. And when he finally took her—without violence, without shouting, but with complete control—Aishah left her own body. She stared at the ceiling. She counted the lights. She tasted the salt of her tears. She did not scream, did not fight, did not speak. When it was over, he pulled the blanket over her like it was affection, like he had done her a favour. “I’ll take care of you now,” he said, stroking her hair. “No one else will touch you. You’re mine.” She got up slowly, her legs barely carrying her weight. Blood stained her gown. Pain bloomed between her thighs. Her soul felt hollow. She walked back to the servant quarters like a ghost. She scrubbed her body until it burned. She prayed until her knees gave out. But no matter how hard she cried, she couldn’t wash away what he took. The next morning, she was called to work like nothing happened. And so she worked. She scrubbed floors. She served food. She changed bedsheets. And each time she saw him, he smiled at her like they shared a secret. He would brush her waist when he passed, whisper her name like it was a pet, drop wads of cash in her locker. She never touched the money. She never spoke to him. But her silence didn’t stop him. Weeks passed. The others began to notice something had changed. Her smile disappeared. Her appetite vanished. And one morning, she collapsed while cleaning the hallway. A test was done. The result came back positive. She was pregnant. Malik didn’t flinch. “It’s mine,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.” But Aishah didn’t want care. She wanted her old life back. She wanted her innocence, her safety, her faith. The head maid accused her of seducing the master. Some of the maids whispered that she planned it all to trap a rich man. But she said nothing. Not a word. Even when her aunt came crying, shouting, slapping her, she remained silent. Her mother was told, and the shame crushed the woman like illness never could. “You’ve disgraced me,” she said over the phone, coughing and sobbing. “You were supposed to help us—not end up with a bastard in your belly.” Aishah cried for days. She tried to abort. She starved herself. Drank strange herbs. But the baby stayed. And so she carried it. Through pain. Through shame. Through Malik’s constant presence. He decorated a room for her. Bought clothes. Paid nurses. Called it love. But love didn’t feel like this. Love didn’t taste like violation. When labour came, it came fast and wild. She screamed for hours in the private hospital he arranged. And when the child came—a girl—she stared at her daughter’s face and saw both beauty and trauma. The child looked like him. But her tiny fingers wrapped around Aishah’s hand like a lifeline. She named her Amatullah. Servant of Allah. Because only Allah had stayed with her. Malik came with gifts. He held the baby and called her perfect. He looked at Aishah with soft eyes and said, “I want to marry you. I’ll make you my second wife.” She stared at him, her face blank. “So that you can make it halal after already ruining me?” she whispered. “So that I will thank you for giving me what I never asked for?” He frowned. “Don’t be ungrateful. You could have been nothing. Look at your life now.” Her voice broke as she replied, “I was more than nothing before you touched me. I had dignity. I had peace.” She refused his offer. Took her baby. Left the mansion. He let her go, maybe out of guilt, maybe out of boredom. He transferred money into her account. Gave her a house in a quiet town. But she never answered his calls again. She built a small life with her daughter, opening a tailoring shop, staying close to the mosque, crying quietly at night. The child grew, smart and curious, always asking, “Mummy, who is my father?” And Aishah would answer, “Someone I never want you to become.” But the world is small. News spreads fast. One day, the TV screamed headlines: “Billionaire Malik Okoye Dies in Road Crash.” Aisha froze. Her daughter stood beside her. “That’s him, isn’t it?” she asked. Aishah nodded slowly. “Yes. That’s him.” And when the reporters came asking for statements, she gave none. She went to the mosque, prayed for his soul, and whispered, “Only Allah knows what you were.” Then she walked home, held her daughter close, and for the first time in years, slept without tears.

Get you a woman, not a little girl.

A real woman will pour into you when life gets overwhelming. She’ll speak life into you when you’re feeling drained. If your money is low, she won’t shame you—she’ll step in where she can. When your mind is heavy, she’ll be your safe place, not your stress.

You need a partner, not a burden. Someone who pushes you to be better, stands beside you when life gets tough, and builds with you, not against you. She won’t be perfect, but she’ll be real, she’ll be willing, and she’ll be down for you in ways you didn’t even know you needed.

They exist, fellas… choose wisely.

A narcissist wants you to forgive and forget, to move on, and to let it go, so they can escape accountability and apologies, and keep treating you in the same manner. They don't want to do the work it takes to change their rude, hurtful, negative, controlling, bullying, or manipulative behaviors. They want to blame you, sweep it under the rug, and pretend the conflict never happened. They want to police your emotions and feelings, have power and control, be right, micromanage everyone around them, and feel superior. Acting like a mature, healthy adult, introspecting, self-reflecting, and taking accountability for how they treated you are not things they are capable of.

To a narcissist, your pain is an inconvenience, your boundaries are a threat, and your voice is something to silence. They aren't interested in building healthy relationships; they’re focused on maintaining dominance and image. When you try to address issues, they gaslight, deflect, or minimize your experience. They might offer hollow apologies, not out of remorse, but as a tactic to reset the cycle and regain control. Forgiveness, to them, is a license to continue hurting you. Their version of "moving on" is erasure—erasing your truth, your wounds, and your right to heal.

Healing from narcissistic abuse means resisting their narrative. It means holding onto your truth, your emotions, and your right to closure, even when they deny it. It means refusing to normalize disrespect just to keep the peace. Don’t let them convince you that your standards are the problem. You’re not too sensitive, too emotional, or too difficult. You’re a human being deserving of respect, safety, and authentic connection. Narcissists will never admit fault, because doing so would shatter the illusion they cling to. But you don’t need their validation to stand firm in your reality.

➥𝐼𝑓 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑡 & 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑒⇅