Dirty water doesn’t stop plants from growing. In the same way, negative energy from people cannot stop you from fulfilling your destiny. It is not their hatred, gossip, or envy that can stop you. It is only your own decision to give up that has the power to limit you. Keep growing, keep pushing, and keep believing. What God has ordained for your life cannot be cancelled by the opinions of men.
No attack, no resistance, no opposition can stop a man whose time has come.

Dirty water doesn’t stop plants from growing. In the same way, negative energy from people cannot stop you from fulfilling your destiny. It is not their hatred, gossip, or envy that can stop you. It is only your own decision to give up that has the power to limit you. Keep growing, keep pushing, and keep believing. What God has ordained for your life cannot be cancelled by the opinions of men.
No attack, no resistance, no opposition can stop a man whose time has come.

HEALTH TALK FOR TODAY - (Please Read &Share)
POLYCYSTIC OVARY SYNDROME (PCOS):

What is PCOS?

Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS) is a hormonal disorder common among women of reproductive age. It's characterized by irregular menstrual periods, excess androgen levels, and polycystic ovaries.

Symptoms:

1. Irregular periods or amenorrhea (no periods)
2. Weight gain and obesity
3. Acne and skin issues
4. Excess hair growth on face, chest, and back
5. Male pattern baldness
6. Fertility issues

Causes and Risk Factors:

1. Hormonal imbalance
2. Genetics
3. Insulin resistance

Management and Treatment:

1. Hormonal birth control to regulate periods
2. Anti-androgen medications for acne and hair growth
3. Fertility medications for women trying to conceive
4. Lifestyle changes: healthy diet, regular exercise, weight management

Importance of Early Diagnosis:

Early diagnosis and treatment can help manage symptoms, improve quality of life, and reduce risk of long-term complications like diabetes and heart disease.

Here are some additional points about PCOS:

Complications:

1. Infertility: PCOS is a leading cause of infertility in women.
2. Metabolic Syndrome: Increased risk of developing diabetes, high blood pressure, and heart disease.
3. Mental Health: Women with PCOS are at higher risk of depression, anxiety, and eating disorders.

Lifestyle Changes:

1. Diet: Focus on whole, unprocessed foods, and avoid sugary and high-carbohydrate foods.
2. Exercise: Regular physical activity can help manage weight, improve insulin sensitivity, and reduce symptoms.
3. Stress Management: Yoga, meditation, and deep breathing can help reduce stress and anxiety.

Support:

1. Support Groups: Joining a support group can connect you with others who understand what you're going through.
2. Online Resources: There are many online resources and forums dedicated to PCOS, where you can find information, support, and community.

Remember to:

1. Get Regular Check-Ups: Regular health check-ups can help monitor your symptoms and adjust treatment plans as needed.
2. Stay Informed: Educate yourself about PCOS, its symptoms, and treatment options.

If you're experiencing symptoms or have concerns about PCOS, don't hesitate to reach out to a healthcare provider. Let's break the stigma surrounding PCOS and prioritize our health!

How Buhari’s Military Coup Saved Oba Sikiru Adetona from fellow Ijebu Governor

On November 23, 1981, Governor Victor Olabisi Onabanjo of Ogun State signed a formal order suspending Oba Sikiru Adetona from office as the Awujale of Ijebuland until further notice. However, it soon turned to a deposition, and the removal was scheduled to take effect on January 2, 1984.

But the Muhammadu Buhari coup of December 31, 1983, which toppled President Shehu Shagari's civilian government, halted the plan. Buhari’s intervention inadvertently preserved the Awujale’s reign for the next 41 years.

By the early 1980s, Oba Sikiru Kayode Adetona, the Awujale of Ijebuland, and Governor Victor “Bisi” Onabanjo, both sons of Ijebu, had entered a tense phase. The foundation had been set years earlier, when Adetona had generously assisted Onabanjo during his illness and even provided accommodation and support while he studied in London. Yet as politics took centre stage, friendship gave way to rivalry, and personal ire would lead to a constitutional crisis.

In August 1981, Oba Adetona wrote to the governor notifying him of his upcoming trip to London for medical reasons, including his overseas address and phone number, purely informative, not requesting permission. Onabanjo replied, demanding more details of the trip and the health grounds, apparently implying that it needed his approval.

Oba Adetona bristled, reminding him that his letter was purely a courtesy update and that, as a traditional monarch, he did not require permission to travel. Defiant, he departed anyway, changing his phone number to avoid further contact.

On November 23, 1981, Governor Onabanjo issued a proclamation suspending the Awujale from office, an unprecedented move. He established a Commission of Inquiry under Justice Solomon O. Sogbetun to investigate Oba Adetona’s perceived insubordination and administrative conduct.

True to the governor’s intentions, the commission reported unfavourably, and by early 1982, the Awujale was formally deposed by the Ogun State Executive Council.

Oba Sikiru Kayode Adetona mounted a legal challenge against the Ogun State Government, contesting the validity of the Sogbetun Commission of Inquiry, which had recommended his deposition. His legal team was formidable, led by none other than Chief F.R.A. Williams, one of Nigeria’s greatest legal minds, and supported by Chief Sina Odedina, a prominent Ijebu lawyer.

As the case made its way through the courts, political events moved with dramatic speed. Governor Bisi Onabanjo, the man who had orchestrated the deposition, was re-elected and sworn in for a second term on October 1, 1983. For a time, it appeared that the Awujale’s fate had been sealed.

But destiny, always patient, waited quietly in the wings.

Just two months and 30 days later, on December 31, 1983, the Nigerian Second Republic collapsed in a swift military coup. In a broadcast, Brigadier Sani Abacha announced the takeover of the government by the military. The democratically elected administration of President Shehu Shagari was overthrown, and Major-General Muhammadu Buhari assumed the role of Head of State.

In Ogun State, Brigadier Oladipo Diya, a fellow Ijebu son from Odogbolu, was appointed the new Military Governor. The terrain had shifted.

Then, in 1984, the defining moment arrived.

Justice Kolawole of the Ogun State High Court delivered a landmark judgment. The court nullified the findings of the Sogbetun Commission and ruled that Oba Adetona’s deposition was unlawful. It ordered his immediate reinstatement to the stool of the Awujale of Ijebuland.

The military administration of Brigadier Diya, rather than appeal the ruling, respected the court’s decision. Without drama or delay, the judgment was enforced. And thus, Oba Sikiru Kayode Adetona returned to his throne in Ijebu Ode—restored, vindicated, and unbroken.

The monarch who had been deposed returned not in disgrace, but in quiet triumph. Like a cat with nine lives, he resumed his place not only as a custodian of tradition, but as a symbol of endurance, dignity, and the power of lawful resistance.

From that moment, a new era began: an era that would span decades, as Oba Adetona continued to reign with wisdom, courage, and conviction. The scars of 1981 remained, but they became part of a larger story, one of resilience in the face of injustice, and of a king who refused to be cowed.

Over the next 41 years, until his transition on July 13, 2025, Oba Sikiru Kayode Adetona would go on to become one of Nigeria’s longest-serving monarchs, revered across the nation not only for his longevity, but for the strength of his character and the example he set.

The Transition to True Love – Three Stages
Stage 1: Recognition of Ego and Self-Love
I become aware of my innate tendency to prioritize myself over others.

My thoughts naturally seek what is best for me, often at the expense of others.

This self-centeredness, or ego, drives a fundamental separation from others.

I observe that I want to dominate, use, or disregard others for personal benefit.

At this stage, love is impossible—what I perceive as "love" is actually attachment, desire, or dependence.

"I see how I think of myself first and others last. I recognize the ego in action."

Stage 2: Hatred of the Ego and the Desire to Separate from It
I begin to see the ego as the true barrier to connection, unity, and love.

My ego, once a trusted guide, is now revealed as the source of suffering and separation.

I develop a genuine dislike for my ego—not for myself, but for the force that isolates me from others.

I feel inner conflict: I still live with the ego, but I no longer want it to control me.

This is a painful but critical stage. It’s where transformation begins.

"I cannot love until I reject the force that keeps me apart from others—my ego."

Stage 3: Love Above the Ego
I no longer act according to egoism, even if it still whispers within me.

I consciously choose to rise above it, giving to others despite inner resistance.

True love emerges—not from the ego, but above it.

This love is unconditional, selfless, and connective—it seeks the well-being of the other as if they were me.

Paradoxically, only by confronting the darkness of ego do I discover the light of love.

"Now I can love—not by nature, but by choice. I act above my ego, and there, love is born."

Summary Insight
True love cannot exist within egoism. It is born only after we first recognize the ego (Stage 1), then reject its dominion (Stage 2), and finally act contrary to it (Stage 3). Anything that precedes this process is illusion, not love. @followers @topfans #kabbalah

BREAKING :

Mohammad Baqer Qalibaf, The Speaker Of Iranian Parliament Stated

"Just like during the war against Iraq, the Supreme Leader [Ayatollah Khamenei] was directly present in the operations room, giving orders and directing the commanders.

Within a few hours after the Israeli attack, Imam Khamenei managed to rally the armed forces and get them out of the initial state of shock."

#Iran #ImamKhamenei #AyatollahKhamenei #TruePromise #TruePromise3 #Tp3 #WadaSadiq #WadaSadiq3 #WadaeSadiq
Https://Telegram.me/ResistanceMediaNews

Fela Kuti and his wife, Remilekun (Remi) Taylor, shared a love story that began long before the spotlight of fame and the roar of political resistance. In the early 1960s, the two young lovers were far from the bustling streets of Lagos or the pulsating energy of the Shrine—Fela was a music student at the Trinity College of Music in London, and Remi, a British-born Nigerian woman, was part of his new world abroad.
They met in the vibrant cultural mix of post-war London, where African students, British jazz, and global ideas intermingled freely. Drawn together by shared heritage and a growing affection, they got married in 1960—the same year Nigeria gained independence. Their union marked the beginning of a personal journey that would produce not only a family but also the early emotional foundations of Fela’s legendary career.
Remilekun Taylor became Fela’s first wife and the mother of his first three children: Yeni, who would later become a renowned dancer and cultural curator; Femi, who would inherit and expand his father’s Afrobeat legacy; and Sola, their only daughter, who sadly passed away in 1997. During their early years together in London, Remi stood beside Fela as he experimented with sound, identity, and direction—far from the rebel icon he would later become.
Photographs from the 1960s capture them in quiet, elegant moments: a young couple full of promise, navigating life, music, and love in a foreign land. At that time, Fela was still Olufela Olusegun Oludotun Ransome-Kuti—a disciplined musician and dreamer—before he dropped the colonial “Ransome” and embraced “Anikulapo,” meaning “he who carries death in his pouch.”
Though their marriage eventually ended as Fela’s life took a more radical, unconventional turn—including his later controversial marriage to 27 women in 1978—Remilekun’s role in his life remains deeply significant. She was part of the quieter, more grounded chapter of Fela’s story—the years of building, of beginnings, of becoming.
In the grand narrative of Fela Kuti—the revolutionary, the cultural warrior, the Afrobeat pioneer—Remi stands as the woman who loved him first, the mother of his first children, and a witness to his transformation from a promising young musician to a global icon.

*LET FOOD BE YOUR MEDICINE*

Most of the chronic diseases troubling Nigerians today didn’t come from our soil.

They came from our silence.
From the things we stopped eating.
From the foods we abandoned in our pursuit of status.

We had everything.

Bitterleaf and ogbono.
Acha, ofada, tigernuts, baobab, African oil bean, locust beans.
We fermented, roasted, sun-dried, and slow-cooked meals that healed the gut and kept the liver sharp.

But somehow, someone convinced us that the very foods that kept our ancestors alive were dirty, local, primitive, and “not balanced.”

And that’s where the problem began.

Walk into most homes in Lagos or Abuja today and ask a child, “What did you eat for breakfast?”
The common answers? Bread and tea. Cornflakes and milk. Chocolate-spread sandwich.

Pap, yam and oil, abacha, moi moi, or okpa have now been reduced to “village food.”
Yet these were the same meals that built strong teeth, fertile wombs, and clean arteries for generations.

So what really changed?

It wasn’t just colonialism, it was mental colonization.
The kind that continues today through food ads, Western medical policy templates, and shelves stacked with boxed and packaged meals.

And now we’re seeing the results:
confused diets, weak immunity, hormonal disruption, stunted metabolism, and chronic inflammation from childhood.

We’ve even changed how often we eat.
People now eat three to four times a day while moving less than 1,000 steps daily.
They wake, sit in traffic, sit at work, get home, sit again, and still believe they must eat something every few hours to “stay strong.”

Our ancestors walked to the stream, tilled the ground, fetched firewood, ground melon with stones, and trekked markets on foot.
Their meals were earned. Their digestion was natural. Their energy, clean.

Today, we mistake laziness for luxury.
We stop our children from sweating and call it love.
We buy them sugar-coated snacks, fast food, and flavoured drinks thinking it’s care.
Meanwhile, prediabetes, insulin resistance, and fatty liver are already developing quietly in many under-18s.

Open the average Nigerian fridge today.
Soda. Instant noodles. Sausages. Ice cream. Bread. Yoghurts with corn syrup. Chocolates.
All ultra-processed. All pro-inflammatory. All slowly damaging the brain, liver, and gut microbiome.

Professor Carlos Monteiro, from the University of São Paulo, coined the term ultra-processed foods in 2009.
He warned that these items are not merely unhealthy, they are industrially modified substances designed to be addictive and nutrient-empty.

And he was right.

In 2023, The British Medical Journal published a sweeping review of 45 meta-analyses covering 9 million participants.
The results?
Clear associations between ultra-processed food consumption and 32 major health problems, including cardiovascular disease, depression, type 2 diabetes, and premature death.

But in Nigeria, these same foods are branded as premium.
Imported equals superior.
Processed equals civilized.
And native equals backward.

Even worse, our policymakers follow the same logic.

Most African dietary guidelines are borrowed from the U.S. Food Pyramid or British medical templates.
We wait for WHO, CDC, or USDA to validate the food growing in our backyard.
We ignore the science our grandmothers lived by, science rooted in soil, in climate, in memory.

This is not just a public health issue.
It is a cultural amnesia.

The late Prof. Catherine Acholonu once said, “Our ancestors did not just eat to fill their stomachs they ate to align with nature.”
That’s not superstition.
That’s bio-adaptive nutrition.
That’s metabolic intelligence passed down across time.

And yet, we now look for imported keto kits, foreign wellness apps, and pharmaceutical supplements to solve problems that our food heritage already knows how to prevent.

Dr. Barry Popkin of the University of North Carolina described this global shift as the Nutrition Transition.
He divided it into five stages.
Africa, right now, is in Stage 4—marked by excessive sugar, seed oils, refined flour, and sedentary living.
What comes next is an epidemic of degenerative diseases.

So let’s be clear:
We’re not just eating wrong.
We’re thinking wrong.

You don’t eat what’s trending, you eat what your DNA understands.
You eat to reduce inflammation.
You eat to support your organs, not to stuff your fridge.

And when sickness finally knocks, the options are fewer.
That’s why prevention is no longer advice, it’s survival.

Self-care is no longer luxury, it’s a return to memory.

The healthiest food you can ever eat is the food your ancestors survived on.
It’s coded in your enzymes.
It’s aligned with your gut flora.
It’s built into your bones.

Eat with sense. Not with shame.
Protect your children from food confusion.
Let them grow up knowing that agidi is not lesser than croissant, and that ogi can nourish better than milk from a tin.

We don’t need another diet plan.
We need cultural clarity.
We don’t need to import everything.
We need to remember.

Because what kept us alive for 1,000 years is not backward,
…it’s what will save us now.

*Today's health Tips*

Let’s talk about PCOS.
But let’s go deeper.
Let’s talk about your gut.

Because most people treating PCOS are treating symptoms.
Not root causes.

You see those pills they give you?

Metformin. Birth control. Spironolactone.
They’re just bandages.
Not healing.

Here is what you need to know:
PCOS is not just a hormonal issue.

PCOS stands for Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, a hormonal disorder common among women of reproductive age. It's characterized by irregular or skipped periods, excess androgens (male hormones), and/or polycystic ovaries, which are enlarged with small cysts.

*Here is a more detailed explanation:*
Hormonal Imbalance:
PCOS involves an imbalance in reproductive hormones, specifically an excess of androgens.

*Ovarian Problems:*
This imbalance can affect the ovaries, causing them to produce too many androgens and potentially leading to irregular or infrequent ovulation.

*Cysts:*
While not all women with PCOS have ovarian cysts, the term "polycystic" refers to the presence of multiple small, fluid-filled sacs (cysts) on the ovaries.

*Symptoms:*
PCOS can manifest with a variety of symptoms, including irregular or missed periods, excessive hair growth (hirsutism), acne, weight gain, and difficulty getting pregnant.

*Causes:*
The exact cause of PCOS is unknown, but it's believed to be a combination of genetic and environmental factors.
Management:

PCOS cannot be cured, but its symptoms can be managed with various treatments, including lifestyle changes, medications, and in some cases, fertility treatments.

Further information
It’s not just your ovaries.
It’s a gut issue. A metabolic issue. An inflammation issue.

Here is the full picture:

Insulin resistance – You crave sugar. You can’t lose weight. You bloat. You gain around your belly.

High androgens – Your voice deepens. Chin hair. Chest hair. Cystic acne. Hair loss. Yet they say, “It’s normal.”

Chronic inflammation – Anxiety. Depression. Skin issues. Period pain. Your body is screaming, and no one is listening.

Left untreated?
PCOS can open the door to:

– Type 2 Diabetes
– Infertility
– Estrogen-dominant cancers
– Thyroid issues
– Autoimmune conditions
– Hormonal hell

Now here’s what they don’t tell you:

Your GUT controls all of this.
The bacteria living in your intestines affect how you digest carbs, handle insulin, regulate estrogen, and fight inflammation.

Your gut is not just about digestion.
It is your second brain.
It controls mood. Metabolism. Menstruation.

And what’s wrecking it?

– Antibiotics
– Sugar
– Milk
– Seed oils
– Soy
– Ultra-processed foods
– Even toxic makeup, creams, and perfumes

You’re inflamed, overfed, undernourished, and your gut is leaking.
LITERALLY. Leaky gut = hormonal confusion = PCOS storm.

Healing PCOS starts from the gut.

And no, this is not guesswork.
We’ve helped dozens of women balance hormones, lose weight, regulate periods, and even get pregnant—by fixing their food, not stuffing them with drugs.

Here’s the actual healing template:

Eat protein like your hormones depend on it. Because they do.

Prioritize gut-loving vegetables: cabbage, cauliflower, broccoli.

Use healthy fats: butter, olive oil, animal fats.

Avoid: sugar, wheat, soy, margarine, and seed oils.

Eat real food. Organic where possible.

Eat 1–2 meals a day. Fasting helps reset insulin and inflammation.

Walk. Breathe. Sleep. Say no to chronic stress and over-exercising.

And check your skin/hair products.
They might be estrogenic toxins in disguise.

You are not cursed.

You are inflamed.

You are not broken.

You are biologically confused.

And we can fix it.

We are helping women reverse the therapy you ignored.

Troops from the 22nd Armoured Brigade, stationed at the Forward Operating Base in Patigi, Kwara State, have arrested eight suspected kidnappers and rescued two victims during a significant operation.



Lieutenant Stephen Nwankwo, Acting Assistant Director of Army Public Relations for the 22 Brigade in Ilorin, reported this in a statement on Sunday, June 22, 2025. He mentioned that the troops also seized two motorcycles and recovered two spent cartridges from the suspects, who are believed to be part of a kidnapping gang operating in the area.



The coordinated operation was initiated based on credible intelligence.


“In continuation of sustained efforts to rid Kwara State of criminal elements and ensure public safety, troops of 22 Armoured Brigade, deployed at Forward Operating Base (FOB) Patigi, have successfully conducted a coordinated raid on a suspected kidnappers’ enclave,” the statement read.

"Acting on credible intelligence, the troops launched a tactical operation on Saturday, 21 June 2025, targeting a hideout on the outskirts of Latandaji Village in Patigi Local Government Area.

"During the operation, the troops encountered mild resistance but swiftly overpowered the criminals with superior firepower. The raid resulted in the rescue of two kidnap victims, identified as Mr. Amos Moses and Mr. Philip Michael, and the arrest of eight suspected kidnappers.

"However, one individual, Mr. Mohammed Mohammed, sustained gunshot wounds during the exchange of fire and was promptly evacuated to Bachita Teaching Hospital for medical attention.

"A further search of the area led to the recovery of two motorcycles and two expended cartridge shells believed to have been used by the suspects.

"All arrested individuals are currently in military custody undergoing preliminary investigation and will be handed over to the appropriate authorities for prosecution.

"This operation stressed the Nigerian Army’s unwavering commitment to safeguarding lives and property across the country. Members of the public are encouraged to continue providing timely and actionable intelligence to security agencies as we collectively work to dismantle criminal networks.Travel packages

“The Nigerian Army remains resolute in its mission to protect communities and restore lasting peace in all areas of deployment.”

Modern Marriages Collapse Faster—Because They Come Late

Written by Enety Tazvivinga

Let’s talk about what nobody wants to admit:

The later a woman marries,
the harder she is to build with.

Because while the world praises “maturity” and “independence,”
real men know:

You don’t marry potential at its expiration date.

Let’s break it down:

—

1. Youth Means Flexibility—Age Means Resistance

A young woman comes into marriage fluid.
She’s teachable. She’s open. She adapts.

Not because she’s weak—
But because she hasn’t been hardened by life yet.

At 19, she learns through love.
At 29, she only learns through trauma.

By 30?

She’s no longer learning.
She’s negotiating.

And now every instruction feels like control.
Every correction sounds like oppression.
Every standard gets labeled as “toxic.”

You can’t lead someone who thinks they’ve already arrived.

—

2. Early Marriage Protects Fertility—And Your Future Bloodline

Science doesn’t lie.

The earlier she conceives,
the healthier her eggs.
The lower the risk of miscarriage, ADHD, and birth complications.

You don’t hear this in the media.
But even sperm damage can be offset by young, healthy eggs.

She’s not just your wife.

She’s the gatekeeper of your legacy.

And age is not kind to the gate.

—

3. She’s Not Bringing a Clean Slate—She’s Bringing a Resume of Regret

By 30, most modern women have:

– 12+ exes
– 5+ heartbreaks
– 3 years of therapy
– A list of emotional triggers
– A soul tired of trusting men
– A past funded by men better than you—and worse

Now you walk in as the cleanup crew.
You marry her leftovers.
You inherit a wounded soul packaged in soft glam.

And no matter how loving you are?

She can’t bond with you.
Because her heart is still haunted.

—

4. She Wasn’t Picked—She Settled

When a woman marries young,
she does so at her peak.

She was wanted.
Chosen.
Desirable.

And she sacrificed from the top of her value.

But when she marries late?

It’s not out of abundance.
It’s out of fatigue.

She’s not submitting.
She’s surrendering—because the streets stopped calling back.

And now you, the “good man,”
become her retirement plan.

Not her reward.

—

5. She’s Not Building With You—She’s Billing You From Day One

She doesn’t know your story.
Didn’t sacrifice in your grind.
Doesn’t understand your foundation.

But she demands protection…
Provision…
And prenup-free access to your life’s work.

She’s not entering a partnership.
She’s entering an inheritance.

And if it collapses?

She takes half—and posts about "reclaiming her peace."

—

6. Her History Is a Mystery—And You Pay the Price

Modern men are signing prenups not out of paranoia—
But survival.

You’re not marrying a blank page.
You’re marrying a woman with:

– Untold trauma
– Invisible scars
– High expectations
– No endurance
– And a legal system behind her

You can’t vet 15 years of dating history.

You’re walking into a maze with no map.
And when she taps out?

You get taxed for trusting too late.

—

7. When a Woman Marries Too Late—She’s Already Emotionally Retired

You can’t spark loyalty in someone who’s seen too much.

You can’t teach femininity to a woman who wore masculinity for 12 years.

You can’t start fresh with someone whose past is a landfill of emotional damage.

Late marriage turns relationships into negotiations.
Not commitment.
Not sacrifice.
Just trade-offs.

She gives you what’s left.
Then sets an exit strategy.

And you?
You’re just the landing pad.

—

Final Word: You Can’t Build a Kingdom on Expired Foundations

This is not hate.
It’s a warning.

Marry early.
Build while she's moldable.
Invest in someone who grows with you—not someone who's tired of failing elsewhere.

Because when you marry late?

You're not starting life.
You're inheriting her debt—emotional, financial, and spiritual.

And when she finally leaves?

She won’t feel guilt.

She’ll feel justified.

Because her happiness was always the goal.
Not your legacy.

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 15
Nine months. The city of Lagos breathed, pulsed, and roared beneath a relentless sun, oblivious to the silent war waged within the gilded cage of Sebastian Scar’s world. Time had scarred over the raw wound of the poisoning, leaving a thick, knotted tissue of suspicion, bitterness, and a haunting absence.
Scar stood at the penthouse window, a tumbler of untouched whiskey in his hand. The view was the same – the sprawling, vibrant chaos of the city he commanded. Yet, it felt alien, muted. Amanda flitted around the living room behind him, the sharp click of her designer heels a constant, grating counterpoint to the silence in his soul. She’d embedded herself like a persistent thorn, a constant presence draped in silks and poisonous concern. She managed his schedule, filtered information, played the devoted caretaker – the role of the wronged fiancée finally vindicated. But her attempts to reignite their past, to seduce him, were met with a cold, impenetrable wall. He tolerated her, used her efficiency, but the chamber of his heart she once occupied was now a locked vault filled only with echoes of betrayal and the phantom scent of jasmine.
Jessica. The name was a ghost that walked the halls. His men – the best trackers, the most connected shadows in the city – had turned Lagos upside down. Rivers dredged, slums combed, borders watched, informants squeezed dry. Nothing. Not a whisper, not a footprint. She and Ghost had vanished as if swallowed by the earth. The frustration was a constant, low hum beneath his rage. He didn’t just want her dead anymore; a deeper, more torturous need had taken root. He needed to *see* her. To look into the eyes he’d once drowned in and demand, with the last breath she’d ever draw, *“Why?”* Why shatter the sanctuary he’d built for them? Why poison the hand that gave her everything? Why betray a love that had thawed his frozen heart? The unanswered question festered, poisoning his days more insidiously than the aconite ever had.
Her family remained a confusing testament to that shattered past. Still under house arrest in the mansion he’d gifted them, guarded by men whose loyalty was now solely to him. Amanda railed against it constantly. "They know something, Sebastian! They’re her blood! They’re laughing at you, hiding her!" she’d hiss, her eyes flashing with malice. But Scar had held firm. "They stay. Unharmed." It was a command born not of mercy, but of a grim, unresolved thread. Harming them felt like closing a door he wasn’t ready to shut, admitting a finality he couldn’t face. Were they hostages for a ghost? Or a lingering, irrational hope that their presence might somehow draw her out? He didn’t know anymore.
Ghost… his betrayal stung with a unique venom. A man forged in the same fires of loyalty, whose silence had always been his strength. He’d reappeared weeks after the poisoning, materializing one night in Scar’s study as if stepping from a shadow. His story was chillingly plausible, delivered with his usual impassive calm. He’d tracked a lead on a rival faction potentially linked to the poison, deep into the Niger Delta. Communications compromised. Ambushed. Left for dead. He’d only just recovered. He vehemently denied helping Jessica escape. "Boss, I would die before betraying you. She must have had other help, or she was far more resourceful than we knew. I failed you. I should have been there." The explanation was tight, logical. Scar had stared into Ghost’s unreadable eyes, searching for a flicker of deceit. He found none. But the absence of proof wasn’t proof of innocence, and a seed of doubt, carefully nurtured by Amanda’s whispers, remained. Ghost was reinstated, his duties curtailed, watched.
Meanwhile, miles away yet impossibly close, hidden in a modest, unremarkable apartment building just five streets from the towering opulence of Scar’s villa, Jessica lived in the fragile eye of the storm. Ghost’s gamble had been audacious. Bringing her back to the lion’s den, to a safehouse nestled within the very territory crawling with men hunting her. It was a move born of necessity and audacious strategy – the last place Scar would think to look.
Jessica’s world was confined to three small rooms. The weight she carried now wasn't just fear, but the profound, undeniable swell of her pregnancy. Eight months. Her body was a landscape of taut skin, aching bones, and the ceaseless, miraculous flutter of life within. Chioma, Ghost’s fiercely protective fiancée, was her anchor, her midwife, her confidante. She tended to Jessica with quiet competence, brewing herbal teas for the swelling in her ankles, massaging the knots from her back, her eyes holding a constant, watchful worry.
The apartment was a world away from the penthouse luxury, filled with the smell of simmering stews and the sound of distant city life filtering through thin walls. Jessica spent her days by a small window overlooking a dusty courtyard, her hands often resting on the hard curve of her belly. She traced patterns, whispered secrets to the life inside – stories of its father, not the man baying for her blood, but the man who had held her like she was the world, who had whispered love against her skin. "Your Papa, Sebastian," she’d murmur, tears often blurring her vision. "He’s strong. He’s brave. And he’s lost right now. But we’ll find him, little one. We’ll make him see."
Fear was a constant companion. Every footstep on the stairwell, every raised voice in the courtyard, sent her heart racing. But it was tempered now by a ferocious, maternal resolve. She carried Scar’s heir. This child was her truth, her weapon, her reason to fight. She couldn’t run forever. She had to clear her name, for herself, for her child, and for the man whose love had created this life, even if he now sought to end hers.
Unbeknownst to Jessica and Scar, a quiet revolution was brewing among the ranks. William, Scar’s steadfast second-in-command, had become the epicenter of doubt. The initial rage had cooled, replaced by cold logic and gnawing inconsistencies. The missing CCTV footage – too clean, too convenient. Amanda’s constant presence, her manipulation of information, her eagerness to see Jessica’s family harmed. Ghost’s improbable, yet unchallenged, alibi. And Jessica… the girl from the slums who’d fought tooth and nail for an education, who’d sent money home religiously, who’d looked at Scar with an adoration William had never seen in Amanda’s calculating eyes. Did that woman poison the man she loved?
William began cautiously. Late-night meetings in secure garages, hushed conversations with other senior lieutenants – men who’d witnessed Jessica’s quiet strength, who remembered Scar’s transformation when she was near. Men like Kola, the head of security, who’d privately questioned the lack of physical evidence tying Jessica to the poison beyond proximity. Slowly, carefully, a network of doubt solidified into a conspiracy of truth. They shared fragments: Amanda making unexplained calls before the poisoning, her subtle influence over certain guards, her unnatural calm amidst the chaos. They couldn’t prove anything yet, but the conviction grew – Jessica was innocent. Amanda had orchestrated it all. And Ghost… his role was still murky, but his return and Jessica’s continued disappearance pointed towards something more complex than betrayal.
Their plan was dangerous, embryonic. Gather irrefutable proof. Find Jessica. Expose Amanda before she consolidated her power or eliminated them. They moved like shadows within shadows, aware that one misstep meant death.
Back in the penthouse, Amanda felt the shifting sands. Scar’s coldness was a fortress she couldn’t breach. Her seduction attempts – lingering touches, suggestive whispers, expensive lingerie showcased under flimsy robes – were met with indifference or curt dismissal. He slept in his own room, the door locked. The engagement ring she’d subtly placed on her finger remained unacknowledged.
One evening, fueled by desperation and expensive wine, she cornered him in his study. He was reviewing weapons manifests, his profile harsh in the lamplight. She approached, the scent of her perfume cloying. "Sebastian," she purred, draping herself over the arm of his chair, her hand sliding onto his thigh. "It’s late. You work too hard. Let me… ease your mind." Her fingers crept higher.
Scar didn’t look up. His hand shot out, not violently, but with crushing finality, clamping around her wrist and removing it from his leg. His touch was ice-cold. "Don't," he said, his voice devoid of any inflection, his gaze still fixed on the papers. "Leave, Amanda."
Humiliation burned her cheeks. "Why?" she hissed, the mask slipping. "Why cling to the ghost of that treacherous whore? I’m *here*. I’ve *always* been here! We’re meant to be together!"
Finally, he looked at her. His eyes, dark and fathomless, held not anger, but a chilling emptiness. "Meant to be?" he echoed, a hollow laugh escaping him. "That childhood contract died the day you shot an unarmed woman in my house. It was buried when you poisoned me and framed Jessica. You are here because you manipulated your way in. Not because I want you. Not because I *ever* will." He stood, towering over her, the sheer force of his presence pushing her back a step. "You serve a purpose, Amanda. For now. Don't mistake tolerance for desire. Now get out."
She fled, not in tears, but in a silent, shaking rage that promised retribution. The walls were closing in. William’s subtle resistance, Scar’s impenetrable coldness, the persistent, maddening silence of Jessica’s whereabouts – it was all unraveling.
As Amanda seethed in her suite, and Scar stared sightlessly at the city lights, wrestling with ghosts and unanswered questions, Jessica lay in the stifling heat of the safehouse apartment, Chioma gently rubbing cooling balm onto her swollen feet. The baby kicked vigorously, a powerful reminder of the life pulsing against all odds. Five streets away, William and Kola met in a dimly lit back room, a stolen security log spread between them, their voices low and urgent. The storm was no longer gathering; it was on the horizon, a tempest fueled by love, betrayal, and the desperate hope held within a heavily pregnant woman hidden in plain sight. The reckoning was coming, and the heir to the Scar empire would be born amidst its fury.
TO BE CONTINUED...