While I was heading somewhere earlier today, I reached where I'm supposed to cross to the other side of the road, and there are two lanes but something skeptical happened, while I was standing waiting for the road to clear you know a little bit, and then there was this man who also wanted to cross to the other side of the road but he noticed how I've been standing and confused about my crossing, guess what he did?

He offered to help me cross by stretching out his hand for me to slip mine into his so we could cross together and immediately I offered my hands and before I knew it, we'd both crossed the two lanes down to the other side of the road.

I thanked him and we both parted ways.

This whole scenario got me thinking about something and here it is;

These made me realize how God has been stretching out his hands to help us in our most difficult times but sometimes we felt overwhelmed about the whole situation and couldn't see His hand stretched out.

We feel like we can do it on our own without the help of our father.

It also made me realize how God has been stretching out his strong arm to help us cross the storm or see us through but we couldn't trust him enough to let him hold our hands.

We don't trust him enough to help us through the situation.

But the good thing is this, God is still stretching forth his hand to help you: will you recognize him and trust him enough to help you through the storm or will you rather “cross the road on your own “?

LOVE AND BULLET
PART 4
The air in Obinna’s study was thick with tension—heavy like the Lagos humidity before a storm.
Ava’s wrists ached from the silk scarves binding her to the chair, the fabric deceptively soft but unyielding. Obinna stood before her, his shadow stretching long across the polished mahogany floors. The scent of his cologne—something expensive, something dangerous—mixed with the faint aroma of aged whiskey from the glass he swirled absently in one hand.
“You’re not very good at this, detective.”
The word hit her like a slap.
Ava’s breath caught, but she forced her face to remain blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Obinna laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine. “Your lies are getting boring.” He set the glass down with a quiet clink and circled her like a predator sizing up its prey. “Let’s try this again. Who sent you?”
Ava clenched her jaw. “Go to hell.”
He stopped behind her, his breath warm against her ear. “Already there, sweetheart.”
Then—
His fingers brushed the nape of her neck, tracing the delicate chain of the necklace she wore. Ava stiffened.
“This is nice,” he murmured, his thumb grazing her skin. “Too nice for a runaway socialite.”
Before she could react, he yanked the chain—hard. The clasp broke, and the pendant clattered onto the desk.
Ava’s blood ran cold.
The tracker.
Obinna picked it up, examining the tiny device hidden inside the locket. His expression darkened. “NDLEA? Or are you working for someone else?”
Ava’s mind raced. If they knew she was compromised, her team would be moving in. But if they didn’t…
She was on her own.
Obinna sighed and pocketed the tracker. “No matter. They won’t find you here.” He leaned down, bracing his hands on the arms of her chair, caging her in. “But since you’re so determined to play spy…”
His lips curled into a smirk. “Let’s play.”
The Rules of the Game:
1. No lies. Every time she hesitated or refused to answer, he removed a piece of her jewelry—each one hiding another tool or weapon.
2. No mercy. For every truth she gave, he would share one of his own.
3. No escape. The doors were locked. The windows bulletproof. The only way out was through him.
Ava’s earrings went first—tiny listening devices. Then her bracelet—a lockpick sewn into the lining.
By the time he reached for the hidden blade strapped to her thigh, her dress was slit open to her hip, his fingers trailing far too close to bare skin.
“You’re enjoying this,” she hissed.
Obinna paused, his gaze flicking up to hers. “Aren’t you?”
Ava hated the way her pulse jumped.
The Truths Unfold:
She admitted she was NDLEA.
He admitted he’d known for days.
She confessed she was sent to dismantle his empire.
He revealed he’d let her get close.
“Why?” Ava demanded.
Obinna leaned in, his lips a breath from hers. “Maybe I wanted to see how far you’d go.”
Then the power went out.
TO BE CONTINUED...

NEW DAWN!

Patience feels bitter while you wait, stretching your faith and testing your strength. But endure, because its fruit is sweet; filled with peace, joy, and lasting, beautiful reward.

Good morning to you. Have a blessed week.

As a mother, if you know your baby has running nose, dry catarrh stains and patches on her face, scattered hair gummed with sand and water, dirty clothes on a dirty body with an offensive odour oozing from the center of her head, don't hand the baby to anyone in church or in public transit to help you carry.

Even if you're in a haste, take time to tidy your child up before stepping out.
If it's not necessary or if you can't, stay at home.

No matter how dirty you are please don't transfer it to your child because it always reflect on your child.

I'm saying this because of the experience I had today.
It's the baby that came and held me, he was stretching his hands for me to carry him after he had already stained my dress with all the dirt. At that point, I couldn't just help it, I had to carry him like that.

Put them good clothes, dip face towel inside clean water to clean your baby's face atleast before carrying her along, change the pampers when it is wet, bath them before leaving the house.

Don't attribute this to poverty because poverty and dirtiness are two different things. Make cleanliness a habit. Don't transfer your dirty lifestyle to an innocent child please.

I have delivered my message.

THANK YOU🙏🏽

Waiting a Little Longer

I’ve stood at the edge of surrender,
Where silence grows louder
And time feels cruel—
But still, I wait.

Not because it’s easy,
But because somewhere within me,
A whisper says:
Hold on. Just a little longer.

I’ve wept in hidden corners,
Counted stars as questions,
Watched others bloom
While my soil stayed still.

But maybe delay is not denial.
Maybe the waiting is working—
Stretching my roots,
Preparing my ground
For something worth the patience.

So I breathe through the ache,
Sing softly to my hopes,
And water the unseen.

Because even in this quiet ache,
I believe—
That what’s meant for me
Will find me whole.

And so I stay,
Not in desperation,
But in strength.
In faith.
In love with the becoming.

Yes—
I’m waiting,
Just a little longer.
And that’s enough for now.

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
FINALE
The grand villa, once a gilded cage echoing with tension and Amanda’s venomous whispers, had transformed into a sanctuary bathed in golden light and the vibrant hum of genuine joy. The "Welcome Home" party wasn’t just for Jessica; it was a rebirth for the entire household. Paper lanterns, reminiscent of the secret baby shower but multiplied a hundredfold, adorned every archway and balcony, casting a warm, celebratory glow. Lush floral arrangements overflowing with crimson hibiscus, golden birds of paradise, and fragrant white jasmine replaced the sterile opulence. The air thrummed with the infectious rhythms of highlife music and the laughter of Scar’s men – no longer just guards, but an extended family sharing in their leader’s profound relief and happiness.
Jessica stood near the sweeping staircase, a vision in flowing ivory silk. The lingering shadows of fear and hardship were gone, replaced by a radiant serenity that seemed to emanate from her very core. She watched Scar move through the crowd, his usual intimidating presence softened into an almost boyish delight. He greeted his men with firm handshakes and claps on the back, his deep laughter ringing out freely, a sound many hadn’t heard in years. His eyes, however, constantly sought hers, anchoring himself in her presence. Every few minutes, he would weave his way back to her, his hand finding the small of her back, his lips brushing her temple, a silent, possessive reassurance. "Mine. Safe. Home."
Amidst the joyful chaos, Scar spotted Ghost standing near the open terrace doors, a quiet sentinel observing the celebration. Chioma was beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Scar excused himself from a conversation and walked towards them, his expression turning solemn. The music seemed to fade slightly as he approached.
"Ghost," Scar said, his voice low and thick with emotion. He stopped before the man who had been a shadow, a weapon, and ultimately, a savior.
Ghost straightened, his usual impassive mask in place, but his eyes held a flicker of wariness.
Scar didn’t offer a handshake. Instead, he placed both hands firmly on Ghost’s shoulders, a gesture of profound respect and intimacy reserved for the closest of brothers-in-arms. He looked directly into Ghost’s eyes, his own dark gaze unwavering and sincere.
"Words are cheap," Scar began, his voice rough. "But they are all I have right now to express what can never truly be repaid." He paused, the weight of the past months heavy in the silence. "You saved her life. You saved *my son’s* life. When I was blind with rage, walking in darkness, you were the one who held the light. You saw the truth when I refused to. You risked everything – your position, your life, my wrath – to protect Jessica when I couldn’t, when I *failed* her." Scar’s voice cracked slightly. "You brought her back. You kept her safe. You gave me back…" He glanced towards Jessica, his eyes softening, "...everything."
He squeezed Ghost’s shoulders. "My gratitude isn't just for tonight. It’s a debt etched into my bones. You have my loyalty, Ghost, not as an employer, but as a brother. Now and always. Whatever you need, whenever you need it – it’s yours. Without question." He finally released him, stepping back slightly, but the intensity of his gaze remained. "Thank you. For Jessica. For my son. For my life."
Ghost, a man of few words, swallowed hard. The stoic mask fractured, revealing a depth of emotion rarely seen. He gave a single, sharp nod, his voice gruff when he finally spoke. "Just bringing you home to what matters, Boss. To *who* matters." He glanced at Chioma, a softness touching his eyes. "We did it together."
Chioma beamed, tears glistening. Scar nodded, the profound understanding passing between them. He clasped Ghost’s hand firmly this time. "Together," he echoed. The moment solidified a bond forged in fire, stronger than any empire.
Weeks later, the villa was hushed, filled with a different kind of anticipation – sacred and primal. Jessica labored not in a sterile hospital, but in the sun-drenched master suite Scar had transformed into a birthing sanctuary. Chioma, now officially Jessica’s sister and confidante, was her unwavering pillar, alongside a trusted midwife. Scar paced the adjoining sitting room like the lion he was, his usual composure shattered. Every muffled cry from Jessica sent a jolt of terror and helplessness through him. He heard William’s low murmur trying to offer reassurance, but the powerful kingpin was reduced to a bundle of raw nerves, praying to deities he’d long ignored.
Then, cutting through the tense silence, came a new sound – a strong, indignant wail. A sound that stopped Scar’s heart before setting it pounding with a frantic, overwhelming joy. The door opened. Chioma emerged, her face radiant, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Boss…" she whispered, her voice thick. "Come meet your son."
Scar moved as if in a dream, pushing past her into the room. The scent of blood and effort hung in the air, but it was eclipsed by something purer, sweeter. Jessica lay propped on pillows, exhausted but glowing, her face a picture of awestruck love. And in her arms, swaddled in soft white linen, was a tiny, perfect human being. A shock of dark hair, a button nose, and eyes screwed shut as he voiced his displeasure at the bright new world.
Scar approached slowly, his massive frame seeming too large, too clumsy for this fragile miracle. He sank to his knees beside the bed, his eyes fixed on the tiny face. Jessica smiled weakly, shifting slightly. "Sebastian… meet your son. Adebayo Sebastian Scar."
Tentatively, reverently, Scar reached out. His large, scarred hand, capable of such violence, trembled as he gently traced the curve of his son’s impossibly soft cheek. The baby’s cries subsided slightly, tiny fingers unfurling. As Scar’s fingertip brushed that miniature hand, the tiny fingers instinctively curled around it with surprising strength.
The dam broke. A single tear, then another, escaped Scar’s tightly shut eyes, tracing a path down his scarred cheek. A sob, raw and unexpected, ripped from his chest. He bowed his head, his forehead resting gently against Jessica’s arm beside the baby, his shoulders shaking silently. The fear, the rage, the betrayal, the relentless pursuit of power – it all dissolved in the face of this profound, terrifying love. He wept for the man he’d been, for the pain inflicted, for the miracle granted.
"He’s perfect," he choked out, lifting his tear-streaked face to look at Jessica, his eyes blazing with a love so fierce it stole her breath. He placed his other hand over hers where it cradled the baby’s head. "Both of you. My world." He leaned down, pressing the most tender kiss first on Jessica’s sweaty forehead, then on the downy head of his son. "I swear on my life," he whispered, his voice thick with conviction, his gaze locked on the tiny face, "I will protect you. Both of you. With every breath, every drop of blood. Nothing will ever harm you again. You are my heart. My sanctuary. My *everything*." The Lion of Lagos had found his true purpose, not in territory or fear, but in the fierce, unwavering protection of his pride
Four months later, Adebayo was a thriving bundle of energy, his dark eyes already holding a disconcerting echo of his father’s intensity, often softened by a gummy smile that could melt stone. Life settled into a blissful rhythm. Scar embraced fatherhood with a fierce, almost comical devotion, often found pacing the nursery at 3 AM with Adebayo asleep on his broad chest, or conducting business meetings via video call with the baby propped in a sling.
One quiet afternoon, Jessica found Scar in his study, engrossed in building a ridiculously complex block tower for Adebayo, who watched with rapt fascination. Sunlight streamed through the windows. Jessica sat beside him on the plush rug, leaning her head against his shoulder. "He’s getting so strong," she murmured, watching their son grab a block.
"He’s a Scar," Scar rumbled proudly, carefully adding another block. "Strength is in the blood."
Jessica took a deep breath, a secret smile playing on her lips. "Speaking of strength… and blood…" She reached into the pocket of her flowing dress and pulled out a small, familiar plastic stick. She placed it gently on the carpet beside the tower.
Scar froze, his hand hovering over the next block. His gaze snapped from the test to Jessica’s face, then back to the test. Two clear pink lines. His breath hitched. Understanding dawned, slow and then blindingly bright. He dropped the block, ignoring Adebayo’s startled gurgle. He turned fully to Jessica, his eyes wide, searching hers.
"Jessica?" His voice was barely a whisper, filled with disbelief and burgeoning hope.
She nodded, her smile widening, tears sparkling in her eyes. "Another little lion cub. Or maybe a lioness this time. Due in about seven months."
A roar of pure, unadulterated joy erupted from Scar, startling Adebayo, who blinked and then let out a delighted squeal. Scar swept Jessica into his arms, lifting her off the rug, spinning her gently despite her laughing protests. He buried his face in her neck, his laughter mingling with tears of profound gratitude. "Another chance," he breathed against her skin, setting her down but holding her close. "Another miracle. You give me everything, my lioness. Everything."
He kissed her then, deep and slow, pouring all his love, his relief, his awe into the touch. Later that night, after Adebayo was asleep, their reunion was a slow, tender exploration. It wasn't the frantic claiming of the past, nor the desperate passion after Amanda’s exposure. It was a celebration of life, of their enduring bond, of the future stretching bright before them. He worshipped her body, the subtle new curve taking shape beneath his hands, whispering promises against her skin, their movements a beautiful, synchronized dance of love and creation.
Adebayo was six months old, a sturdy, curious baby with his father’s intense gaze and his mother’s gentle smile, when Jessica walked down the aisle. Not in a cathedral, but at dawn on the private, white-sand beach of a secluded Seychelles island. The guests were few but deeply cherished: Her parents, beaming with pride and tearful joy; Chioma and Ghost, holding hands; William, Kola, Musa, and a handful of Scar’s most trusted men, now truly family.
Jessica wore not a traditional white gown, but a stunning creation of layered, whisper-thin ivory silk that flowed like water around her, subtly cinched beneath her breasts to accommodate the gentle swell of her second pregnancy. Her hair was woven with fragrant frangipani blossoms. She carried a simple bouquet of tropical white orchids.
Scar waited for her beneath a canopy woven with vibrant bougainvillea and seashells, barefoot in the sand, wearing crisp white linen trousers and an open-necked ivory shirt. He held Adebayo, dressed in a tiny linen suit, who stared wide-eyed at the ocean. But as Jessica approached, guided by her father, Scar’s gaze locked onto hers. The raw love, the fierce protectiveness, the awe he’d felt holding his son for the first time – it all shone in his eyes, amplified a thousandfold. Tears tracked freely down his face as she reached him.
The ceremony was simple, profound. They spoke vows not written by anyone else, but forged in the fires they’d walked through together. Jessica promised her strength, her unwavering love, and the sanctuary of her heart. Scar vowed his protection, his absolute fidelity, and his endless gratitude for the family she’d given him. He included Adebayo in his vows, promising to be his guide, and placed a gentle hand on Jessica’s belly, whispering a promise to the child yet to come. When they kissed, the rising sun painted them in gold, the turquoise waves their witness.
Their honeymoon wasn't just a vacation; it was a month-long immersion in peace, connection, and the simple joy of being a family. They spent mornings building sandcastles with a delighted Adebayo, afternoons napping in hammocks strung between palm trees, Scar’s hand resting possessively on Jessica’s growing bump. Evenings were spent sharing fresh seafood under the stars, Adebayo asleep in a sling against Scar’s chest, Jessica leaning against his shoulder. They talked – truly talked – about their fears, their hopes, their dreams for their children. They swam in crystal-clear lagoons, explored vibrant coral reefs, and simply existed in a bubble of love, far removed from the shadows of Lagos.
One moonlit night, after settling Adebayo in the villa’s nursery, Scar led Jessica back to the beach. He spread a blanket on the sand, the only sound the gentle sigh of the waves. He pulled her down beside him, wrapping his arms around her from behind, his hands cradling her belly. He rested his chin on her shoulder, looking out at the vast, star-strewn ocean.
"From the slums of Lagos," he murmured, his voice a soft rumble against her ear, "to the devil’s mistress… to my wife. My queen. The mother of my children." He kissed her temple. "My Jessica. My sanctuary."
Jessica leaned back into his embrace, covering his hands with hers on her belly, feeling the tiny flutter within. She looked up at the endless sky, then back at the sleeping villa where their son dreamed. "Our sanctuary, Sebastian," she whispered, turning her head to capture his lips in a tender kiss under the watchful moon. "Built together. Forged in fire. Found in love."
The Lion had found his true kingdom – not in fear or territory, but in the boundless, fiercely protected love of his lioness and their cubs. The Devil’s Mistress had become the Queen of his heart, and their story, scarred but unbreakable, was only just beginning. The future stretched before them, bright as the dawn over the Indian Ocean, filled with the promise of peace, family, and the enduring strength of a love that had conquered hell itself.
THE END

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 16
The Lagos heat pressed down like a damp cloth, but within the modest walls of Ghost’s third-floor apartment, a different kind of warmth pulsed – nervous, hopeful, and defiantly joyful. For weeks, William, Kola, and a handful of Scar’s most trusted lieutenants had moved with the precision of a covert operation. Not against rivals, but for Jessica. The secret baby shower was their rebellion, their apology, and their promise.
Chioma had transformed the small living room. Strings of tiny, multicolored paper lanterns crisscrossed the ceiling, casting a warm, dappled glow. Bunches of vibrant orange lilies and purple bougainvillea blooms overflowed from repurposed jars, filling the air with a sweet, hopeful fragrance. A folding table groaned under the weight of steaming pots of jollof rice, fragrant pepper soup, fried plantains, and small mountains of puff-puff. In the corner, a carefully curated pile of gifts grew – tiny knitted booties, soft cotton blankets, hand-carved wooden toys, and practical supplies donated by the men who’d once hunted her. A banner, painstakingly lettered by Chioma, hung crookedly above the food table: "WELCOME LITTLE LION CUB."
Jessica stood in the center of it all, one hand instinctively cradling the immense swell of her eight-month pregnant belly. She wore a simple, flowing dress of deep blue cotton that Chioma had sewn, the fabric straining gently over the curve of life within. Her long black hair was loosely braided, framing a face that held a complex mix of emotions – profound gratitude, lingering fear, and a fierce, protective love that radiated from her. She hadn’t felt this surrounded, this *cherished*, since before the poisoning. Ghost stood near the window, his usual stoicism softened by a rare, almost imperceptible smile as he watched Chioma fuss over Jessica, adjusting the dress and pressing a cool cloth to her forehead.
"We told him we were doing perimeter checks on the new warehouse district," William murmured to Kola, keeping his voice low despite the cheerful chatter of a dozen men awkwardly holding plates of food. "Benji said he had a family emergency down in Port Harcourt. Tunde claimed his mother needed him for a traditional ceremony." He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair, a flicker of unease in his eyes. "He bought it… but barely. He’s been like a caged panther these past few days, restless. Feels like he senses something’s off."
Kola nodded, his gaze sweeping the room, landing on Jessica. "It’s worth the risk, Will. Look at her. She deserves this moment. We owe her this." He lowered his voice further. "After tonight… after we show him…" He didn’t need to finish. The plan was set. The evidence against Amanda – meticulously gathered, witness testimonies secured, a timeline of her manipulations laid bare – was locked in a secure case in William’s car downstairs. The baby shower was the calm before the storm, a final act of solidarity before they presented their case and shattered Amanda’s poisonous reign.
The apartment buzzed with an energy that was part celebration, part conspiracy. Men who usually carried the weight of violence and suspicion laughed awkwardly, cooed over the tiny booties, and shared stories of their own children. Chioma moved like a benevolent whirlwind, refilling plates, urging everyone to eat, her eyes bright with tears of happiness for Jessica. Jessica herself felt a warmth seep into her bones, a fragile sense of safety she hadn’t known in months. She accepted a plate of puff-puff from a burly guard named Musa, who blushed furiously when she thanked him.
"This little warrior," Musa said gruffly, nodding towards her belly, "will be strong like his father, and wise like his mother." The simple words, coming from a man who had once been ready to drag her before Scar, brought fresh tears to Jessica’s eyes.
Suddenly, a sharp, insistent knock echoed through the apartment, cutting through the music Chioma had put on – a soft, traditional lullaby.
Everyone froze. The cheerful chatter died instantly. Plates were lowered. Smiles vanished, replaced by wary alertness. Ghost’s hand drifted instinctively towards his waistband. William and Kola exchanged a look of pure alarm. *Too early. No one else was expected.*
"I’ll get it," Jessica said, her voice calm despite the sudden pounding of her heart. She assumed it was perhaps a neighbor Chioma had invited, or maybe one of the men who’d been delayed. She smoothed her dress over her bump and moved towards the door, a welcoming smile already forming on her lips.
She unlocked the door, the cheap metal bolt scraping loudly in the sudden silence, and pulled it open.
The figure standing in the dimly lit hallway wasn’t a neighbor. It wasn’t a late-arriving guard.
It was Sebastian Scar.
He filled the doorway, dressed not in his usual impeccable suit, but in dark trousers and a slightly rumpled black shirt, the sleeves rolled up his powerful forearms. His face was a mask of cold fury, his dark eyes burning with the intensity of a predator who had finally cornered its prey. He’d followed William, his suspicion a coiled spring finally released. He’d seen the men gather here, heard the muffled music, the laughter that felt like a betrayal. He expected secrets, perhaps disloyalty, maybe even Ghost’s treachery laid bare.
He did *not* expect the sight that met him.
Jessica stood before him, bathed in the warm light spilling from the apartment. Her beauty, amplified by pregnancy, hit him like a physical blow. The gentle curve of her cheek, the luminous glow of her skin, the defiant strength in her eyes… and the impossible, undeniable swell of her belly, stretching the soft blue fabric of her dress. It was a reality so profound, so utterly shattering to the narrative of betrayal he’d clung to, that it stopped the breath in his lungs. His furious glare faltered, replaced by sheer, unadulterated shock. His eyes widened, locked onto the visible proof of life – *his* life, intertwined with hers – that pulsed beneath her hands.
"Jessica…?" The name escaped him, a hoarse whisper devoid of its intended rage, filled instead with bewildered awe.
The room behind her was utterly frozen. William had gone pale. Kola looked like he might be sick. Ghost stood rigid, every muscle tensed, ready to spring. Chioma clutched a platter, her knuckles white. The other men looked stricken, caught between loyalty and fear. They braced for the explosion, for the violence Scar was legendary for. They expected him to tear Jessica away, to unleash his wrath upon them all for their deception.
Scar didn’t move. He just stared, his gaze traveling from Jessica’s face, down to the incredible evidence of their child, and back again. The fury that had propelled him here seemed to dissolve, replaced by a wave of emotion so powerful it threatened to buckle his knees – disbelief, a dawning, agonizing understanding, and a surge of raw, possessive love that eclipsed everything else.
Then, he moved. Not with violence, but with a sudden, desperate urgency. He stepped across the threshold, ignoring the terrified men, his focus solely on Jessica. His large, powerful hands, capable of such destruction, came up, trembling slightly, and gently cupped her face. His thumbs brushed away the tears that had begun to spill down her cheeks, his touch impossibly tender.
"My God," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes drinking her in. "You look… you look so beautiful, my love." The endearment, unused for so long, fell from his lips with aching sincerity. He pulled her carefully, oh-so-gently, into his arms, mindful of the precious burden between them. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling her familiar scent mixed with the new, warm sweetness of pregnancy. His arms tightened around her, not to imprison, but to anchor himself to this impossible reality. "I’ve missed you," he murmured against her skin, his voice cracking. "Every single day. Every single breath. Why… why did you run away from me, my little lioness?"
Jessica clung to him, sobs shaking her shoulders, months of fear, isolation, and longing pouring out. "I had to," she choked out, her voice muffled against his chest. "I had to protect the baby… from your rage. From *her*." She lifted her head, her eyes searching his, pleading for understanding. "I didn’t poison you, Sebastian. I swear on our child’s life. I would *never*."
He looked deep into her eyes, past the fear, past the tears, to the unwavering truth he saw shining there. The damning evidence Amanda presented, the deleted footage, the apparent betrayal… it all crumbled in the face of this – Jessica, pregnant with his child, hiding not out of guilt, but out of desperate love. The last vestiges of doubt evaporated.
"I believe you," he whispered, the words a sacred vow. He kissed her then, not with the desperate passion of their reunion after Amanda’s arrival, but with a profound, reverent tenderness that spoke of homecoming, of forgiveness, of a love reforged stronger in the fire of betrayal. It was a kiss that silenced the room, that washed away months of pain and suspicion.
When they finally parted, both breathless and tear-streaked, Scar kept one arm firmly around Jessica, supporting her weight, his other hand resting possessively, protectively, on the curve of her belly. He turned to face the room, his expression no longer furious, but stern, demanding answers.
William stepped forward, his own eyes suspiciously bright. He cleared his throat. "Boss… welcome. We… we planned this for Jessica. For your child." He gestured around the decorated room, the food, the gifts. "But it’s more than a party. We have something else for you. Something crucial."
Scar’s gaze swept over his men, seeing not traitors, but allies who had protected what was most precious to him when he couldn’t see the truth. He gave a single, curt nod.
Kola stepped up beside William. "It was Amanda, sir," he stated, his voice firm and clear, cutting through the lingering tension. "From the beginning. She poisoned you. She framed Jessica."
One by one, the men added their pieces, painting a damning picture. William detailed how Amanda had sourced the aconite weeks before the poisoning through a disgraced chemist she’d paid off. Musa recounted seeing her near the penthouse security server room late on the night *before* Scar fell ill. Another guard, Femi, confessed under pressure how Amanda had subtly threatened his family if he didn’t corroborate her story about Jessica’s behavior. Kola presented digital fragments Ghost had painstakingly recovered – not the full CCTV, but metadata proving the deletion happened remotely from *within* the penthouse network, timed precisely during the chaos, using credentials only Amanda and Scar possessed.
Ghost finally spoke, his voice low but carrying. "I didn’t betray you, Boss. I followed a false trail she laid, knowing I’d be out of the way. When I realized the trap, I came back… not to help Jessica escape guilt, but to save her from being murdered for a crime she didn’t commit. Bringing her here, so close… it was the only way to keep her safe while we gathered proof."
As the evidence mounted, Scar’s face darkened with a chilling, silent fury directed not at Jessica, not at his men, but at the architect of this devastation. He held Jessica closer, his hand tightening protectively on her belly, the gesture speaking volumes.
The baby shower, interrupted by seismic revelation, slowly transformed. The fear melted away, replaced by a profound sense of relief and vindication. Scar, the feared kingpin, stood amidst the paper lanterns and flowers, gently guiding Jessica to a chair, fetching her a plate of food himself, his attention solely on her. He listened intently as the men, now relaxed, resumed their celebration, showering Jessica with well-wishes and playful predictions about the baby’s strength or intelligence. He touched her belly hesitantly at first, then with growing wonder as he felt the powerful kick of his son beneath his palm. A slow, genuine smile, the first in months, touched his lips.
"Strong," he murmured, looking up at Jessica, his eyes shining with a mixture of awe and fierce pride. "Just like his mother." He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I can’t wait to meet him, Jessica. Our son."
The party continued, the music restarted, the laughter now genuine and free. But beneath the celebration, a new tension simmered. Amanda was still out there. And Sebastian Scar, reunited with his lioness and anticipating his heir, had a debt of vengeance to collect. The storm hadn’t passed; it had merely found its true target. The final reckoning with the serpent in their midst was just beginning.
TO BE CONTINUED...

*Healthy Morning Routine*
Starting your day with a consistent and healthy morning routine can set a positive tone for the rest of the day. Here are some ideas to consider:

*Morning Routine Ideas*
1. *Wake up early*: Rise with the sun or at a consistent time to establish a routine.
2. *Stretch or exercise*: Begin with gentle stretching, yoga, or a short workout to get your blood flowing.
3. *Hydrate*: Drink water or a refreshing beverage to rehydrate after a night's sleep.
4. *Meditate or practice mindfulness*: Take a few minutes to calm your mind and set intentions for the day.
5. *Eat a nutritious breakfast*: Fuel your body with a balanced meal to give you energy and focus.
6. *Plan your day*: Set goals and prioritize tasks to help you stay focused and productive.

*Benefits of a Morning Routine*
1. *Boosts energy*: A morning routine can help increase your energy levels and wakefulness.
2. *Improves mental clarity*: A consistent routine can enhance focus, productivity, and mental clarity.
3. *Supports physical health*: Regular exercise, healthy eating, and hydration can improve overall well-being.

*Tips for Creating a Morning Routine*
1. *Start small*: Begin with a simple routine and gradually add activities as you become more comfortable.
2. *Make it enjoyable*: Incorporate activities that bring you joy and make you look forward to waking up.
3. *Be consistent*: Stick to your routine, even on weekends or days off, to establish a consistent sleep schedule and rhythm.

*Healthy Morning Routine*
Starting your day with a consistent and healthy morning routine can set a positive tone for the rest of the day. Here are some ideas to consider:

*Morning Routine Ideas*
1. *Wake up early*: Rise with the sun or at a consistent time to establish a routine.
2. *Stretch or exercise*: Begin with gentle stretching, yoga, or a short workout to get your blood flowing.
3. *Hydrate*: Drink water or a refreshing beverage to rehydrate after a night's sleep.
4. *Meditate or practice mindfulness*: Take a few minutes to calm your mind and set intentions for the day.
5. *Eat a nutritious breakfast*: Fuel your body with a balanced meal to give you energy and focus.
6. *Plan your day*: Set goals and prioritize tasks to help you stay focused and productive.

*Benefits of a Morning Routine*
1. *Boosts energy*: A morning routine can help increase your energy levels and wakefulness.
2. *Improves mental clarity*: A consistent routine can enhance focus, productivity, and mental clarity.
3. *Supports physical health*: Regular exercise, healthy eating, and hydration can improve overall well-being.

*Tips for Creating a Morning Routine*
1. *Start small*: Begin with a simple routine and gradually add activities as you become more comfortable.
2. *Make it enjoyable*: Incorporate activities that bring you joy and make you look forward to waking up.
3. *Be consistent*: Stick to your routine, even on weekends or days off, to establish a consistent sleep schedule and rhythm.

*Healthy Morning Routine*
Starting your day with a consistent and healthy morning routine can set a positive tone for the rest of the day. Here are some ideas to consider:

*Morning Routine Ideas*
1. *Wake up early*: Rise with the sun or at a consistent time to establish a routine.
2. *Stretch or exercise*: Begin with gentle stretching, yoga, or a short workout to get your blood flowing.
3. *Hydrate*: Drink water or a refreshing beverage to rehydrate after a night's sleep.
4. *Meditate or practice mindfulness*: Take a few minutes to calm your mind and set intentions for the day.
5. *Eat a nutritious breakfast*: Fuel your body with a balanced meal to give you energy and focus.
6. *Plan your day*: Set goals and prioritize tasks to help you stay focused and productive.

*Benefits of a Morning Routine*
1. *Boosts energy*: A morning routine can help increase your energy levels and wakefulness.
2. *Improves mental clarity*: A consistent routine can enhance focus, productivity, and mental clarity.
3. *Supports physical health*: Regular exercise, healthy eating, and hydration can improve overall well-being.

*Tips for Creating a Morning Routine*
1. *Start small*: Begin with a simple routine and gradually add activities as you become more comfortable.
2. *Make it enjoyable*: Incorporate activities that bring you joy and make you look forward to waking up.
3. *Be consistent*: Stick to your routine, even on weekends or days off, to establish a consistent sleep schedule and rhythm.

*DECLARE THESE PRAYER POINTS AND ENDEAVOUR TO JOIN US TONIGHT FOR (DAY-90) OF 3-MONTHS COVENANT OF PROSPERITY BY CLICKING THE LINK BELOW:*

https://web.facebook.com/events/692637473686451/

*TESTIMONY*

Man of God, I was caged in a relationship by a man that is not a Christian. We even had a blood covenant, and it was that blood covenant that made me not to listen to anyone at all, but I did not know that there were other things he did against me. I was shocked when he got married to a lady from his place and told me that he will marry me as his second wife. I agreed with him and he told me that he will marry me. He married a second wife and told me that I will be the third wife, if I will leave my religion and follow him. It was during the 2024 youth Conference that someone brought me and I had my deliverance, but it was hard for me to talk about the oath of the blood covenant. The next day that this man came to pick me, I refused to follow him and he told me to remember our oath, but I told him that I have gone for deliverance, and that I am out of the oath. He left in anger and told me that I will see. To my greatest surprise, the only thing I could hear about him was that he went to bed and did not wake up, he died. Till today, his death has been a shock to me. I have been keeping this testimony, but I decided to share it now. Since then, I have been so grateful to God for giving me another chance. Now that I am serving God, I keep seeing my destiny back to me. Man of God, thank God for the day I connected to you. I am Sarah, from Abuja.

*PRAYER POINTS*

1. Any blockage and barrier in the spirit realm affecting me reaching my divine goal, clear by fire!

2. Any demonic power following me about to enforce failure in my life, die, in the name of Jesus.

3. Every anointing of stretching but not reaching upon my life, dry up in the name of Jesus.

4. Every manifestation of last minute disappointment in my life, die in the name of Jesus.

5. Every mountain of opposition erected by my ancestors hindering my breakthrough, crumble now, in the name of Jesus.

6. Every power diverting my target, I command you to be scattered in the name of Jesus.

7. Every satanic manifestation of seeing but not entering upon my destiny, die in the name of Jesus.

8. Every syndrome of not reaching my goal, die in the name of Jesus.

9. Father, deliver me from the spirit of last minute disappointment, in the name of Jesus.

10. I bulldoze my way through every obstacle of the devil on my way to promotion in the name of Jesus.

11. The anointing of last-minute disappointment operating in my life, dry up in the name of Jesus.

*IG Newman*
*Contact: +2348032454273.*
THIS IS *OUR YEAR OF MANIFESTATION.*
*SHARE TO INVITE YOUR FAMILY AND FRIENDS*

*How Do We Build a Bridge Column in the Middle of the Sea?

Imagine a massive, stable bridge stretching across the sea, and you wonder, "How was this column planted in the seabed? The sea is deep, the currents are strong, and the soil is unstable!"

What I'm about to explain is not fiction—it’s marine civil engineering, requiring a high level of intelligence and precision.

1. **The Beginning: Marine Survey**
Before any work begins, we conduct a thorough study of the depths, soil type, currents, tides, and earthquake risks. The goal is to understand where and how to proceed with construction.

2. **Deep Foundations: We Work from the Bottom Up**
There are two main types of deep foundations:

- **Piles:**
We use massive equipment to drive iron or concrete piles into the seabed until we reach a solid, supportive layer.

- **Caissons:**
These are large concrete boxes placed in the sea. Some are designed to sink to the bottom, while others are anchored to piles.

3. **We Dry the Sea! (Cofferdams)**
To create a dry working environment, we build steel barriers around the column site and pump out the water, allowing us to operate on temporary “dry land.”

4. **Pouring Concrete Underwater (Tremie Method)**
If preventing water intrusion isn’t feasible, we use special pipes to pour concrete directly under the water without affecting its flow.

5. **Corrosion and Salinity Resistance**
All materials must be treated to resist saltwater. Steel is covered with protective layers, and the concrete is specifically formulated for marine environments.

6. **Each Column = A Project on Its Own**
Each column is a significant investment, costing millions, and undergoes thorough testing and analysis to ensure it can support the weight of the bridge, vehicles, and withstand weather conditions for many years.

**The Result?**
Bridges like the King Salman Bridge or the Akashi Bridge in Japan stand tall on columns submerged in the sea, constructed with micron-scale precision and supported by advanced engineering.