How to Turn Online Inquiries into Paid Clients (How to Make More Money Through Inquiries)

In one of my coaching sessions with a business owner, after reviewing what has been going on in his business in the last 6 months, I told him "You don't have a sales problem, you have an inquiry conversion problem."

I developed this strategy to convert inquiries into paid clients after that call with the client.

So follow me, and you will learn at least 10 ways to convert dm or face to face inquiries into paid clients.

Every day, someone asks about your service or product…
But they don’t pay. They disappear.
They “will think about it.”

Maybe you have been wondering, why is it that I get so many inquiries but few buyers. Well, let me solve that problem for you. Remember to come and collect my bank details and drop a thank you lol (smiles)

If you can’t convert inquiries, your business won’t scale.

DMs, comments, referrals, or face-to-face inquiries are not just interest.
They’re open doors to sales and cash flow. ~ Dr. Joybert Javnyuy

Here’s how to turn inquiries into income.

1. Respond Like a Professional, Not a Peer
Stop responding to inquiries like you are talking to your boyfriend or girlfriend.

Speed + clarity + professional tone builds trust.

Start doing this:
Acknowledge the inquiry
Thank them for reaching out
Clarify what they’re interested in

Never respond casually to a serious opportunity.
Your tone teaches people how to treat your business.
For someone reading this, if you change only this your business will change. Comment "I agree" if I am talking to you. Don't be shy.


2. Ask a Filter Question to Guide the Conversation
Don't drop your price. Don’t pitch yet.

Start with:
- “Can I ask, what outcome are you hoping to get help with?”
- “Have you tried anything in the past for this?”

People don’t buy offers. They buy solutions to pain. ~ Dr. Joybert Javnyuy

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3. Lead With Confidence, Not Convincing
Your energy should say:
“I solve this daily. You’re in good hands.”

If your reply sounds like begging for approval or apologizing for your price, you’ve already lost.

You are not trying to be chosen.
You are showing them why you’re the right choice.
You are demonstrating why the best decision they made was to reach out to you.


4. Shift From Conversation to Conversion
Once you understand their pain and desires;
- Offer one of your solutions.
- Be direct and simple.

Example:
“I actually help people with that through [product or service]. Would you like the details?” or
"In the last 3 months, I have helped 6 people with almost the same kind of problem using this solution. Let me share with you the details."

No jargons. No pressure. Just clarity of solutions and impact.


5. Always Anchor the Value Before Mentioning Price
Don’t drop your price out of context.

Say this:
“For what you’ve shared, here’s what I’d recommend… [Insert outcome or transformation focused description]. That’s available for [$]. It comes with…”

Make them see what they gain, before they feel what they pay. ~ Dr. Joybert Javnyuy
This always changes the game.


6. Create Easy Decision Paths
Confused people don’t buy.

Make the next step obvious:
- “To move forward, here’s the link.”
- “We can get started as soon as payment is confirmed.”
- “Would you like me to send payment details?”

Remove friction. Remove difficulties. Make action feel easy.


7. Use Urgency Without Desperation
People delay unless there's a reason not to.

Use:
- Limited spots
- Upcoming start date
- Fast-action bonuses

But don’t lie. Real urgency builds trust. Fake urgency destroys it.


8. Use Testimonials & Results Strategically
When they’re close to buying but unsure, send this:

“Here’s a quick win from someone I recently helped with the same issue…”

Nothing sells like social proof in the middle of momentum.


9. Know When to Follow Up and When to Let Go
If they ghost after a proposal:
- Follow up once with value (“Just checking in. Let me know if you have any questions.”)
- Then move on.

Chasing isn’t selling. You attract better clients when you respect your time.

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10. Turn Every Inquiry Into a System Asset
Create a template doc or notepad with:
- Common reply scripts
- Filter questions
- Offer response flows
- Quick voice note samples

So every inquiry becomes easier and more effective to convert every time. Systems turn skill into scalability.

No more leaving money in the inbox or in inquiries. Apply the above and you will see practical impact in sales in the next few days, weeks and months. Come and share with me the impact.

Dr. Joybert Javnyuy
I Help Experts & Institutions to Extract, Package & Monetize Specialized Value | Book Me to Train, Coach & Speak |

DEAR SINGLE KING, WHEN LAST DID YOU MAKE A PRAYER LIKE THIS:

Lord, send me a wife—not just any wife, but a woman after Your own heart. A woman who knows how to fight battles on her knees, who walks with grace and speaks with wisdom. One who will anoint my head with oil, not just as a ritual, but as an act of love, protection, and spiritual authority.
Let her hands be gentle but powerful—so when she touches me, healing flows. May she see beyond my flaws and cover me in prayer, especially when I’m asleep and unaware. Let her whisper blessings over my future, declare peace over my mind, and invite Your presence into our home daily.
Give me a wife who understands the weight of purpose, who will encourage my calling, speak life into my dry seasons, and remind me who I am in You. Let her be a safe place, a warrior in the Spirit, and a woman who finds her strength not in the world, but in You.
And Lord, when You send her—prepare me to be the husband she deserves. Let me be her protector, her provider, her priest, and her peace. Together, may we be a kingdom couple—fueled by love, anchored in faith, and destined for purpose. Amen.

May you find "THE ONE".

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...

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...

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 14
The sterile air of the hospital room tasted like despair. Sebastian Scar floated in a grey limbo, tethered to life by whirring machines and dripping IVs. Visions flickered – Jessica’s tear-streaked face, Amanda’s venomous smile, the bitter taste of coffee, the terrifying convulsions, the suffocating white foam. Pain was a distant throb beneath layers of sedation. Time lost meaning.
Then, slowly, agonizingly, consciousness seeped back. It wasn't a sudden awakening, but a cruel, dragging emergence from the depths. His eyelids felt like lead weights. Light stabbed his pupils, blurred shapes resolving slowly. The rhythmic beep… beep… beep of the heart monitor was the first anchor to reality. Then came the ache – deep, pervasive, bone-deep exhaustion layered over a raw, burning sensation in his gut. He tried to move, to speak, but his body felt alien, unresponsive.
"Sebastian? Darling? Can you hear me?"
The voice, dripping with saccharine concern, cut through the fog. Amanda. He forced his eyes to focus. She sat perched elegantly on a chair beside his bed, dressed in somber, expensive silk, her blonde curls artfully arranged. Her hand rested lightly on his forearm, her touch feeling like ice despite the room's warmth. Her dark eyes, usually sharp with malice, were wide with a carefully constructed simulation of worry.
"Doctor! He's waking!" she called out, her voice trembling with theatrical relief.
A flurry of activity followed. Doctors checked vitals, adjusted IVs, shone lights in his eyes. Sebastian endured it, his gaze fixed on Amanda, a silent question burning in his exhausted eyes. What happened? Where is Jessica?
Amanda waited until the doctors finished their brief assessment, assuring them she’d stay with him. As the door clicked shut, her expression shifted. The worry remained, but beneath it, a cold, calculating gleam surfaced.
"Oh, Sebastian," she breathed, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We were so scared. You’ve been fighting for a week."
A week? Panic flared weakly. "Jess…" he managed, the word a raw croak.
Amanda’s face contorted instantly into a mask of profound sorrow and righteous anger. Tears welled in her eyes – real or expertly faked, he couldn’t tell. "Sebastian… my love…" she choked out. "It’s… it’s Jessica."
His heart monitor spiked. Beep… beep… beep… beep…
"She… she poisoned you," Amanda whispered, her voice thick with tears she let spill down her cheeks. "The coffee. She made it. She gave it to you. They found traces… aconite… a terrible poison. She was the only one who touched it. The only one with access." Amanda squeezed his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "She must have planned it… planned to kill you, take everything… or maybe she was working with your enemies? We don’t know."
Sebastian tried to shake his head, denial roaring silently inside his shattered body. No. Impossible. Not Jessica. But the memory was fractured, terrifying. The coffee. Her handing him the cup. The immediate, violent reaction. The white foam.
"And then…" Amanda’s voice hardened, the tears replaced by cold fury. "When they realized you were poisoned, when they confronted her, she panicked. She tried to run. Ghost… he helped her escape! He betrayed you too! They fled together into the night." She spat the words. "She left you here dying, Sebastian. She poisoned you and ran away with one of your own men!"
The accusation crashed over him like a tidal wave. Betrayal. Poison. Escape. Each word was a shard of ice driven into his heart. The image of Jessica, the woman he loved, the woman he’d built a fragile future with, deliberately poisoning him… It clashed violently with the memory of her tender touch, her whispered love. But the evidence Amanda presented – the coffee, the poison, the flight – seemed damning. And the blinding rage that surged through his weakened body felt real, fueled by the violation, the near-death experience, the utter shock.
A guttural sound escaped his throat, part pain, part fury. His hands clenched weakly on the sheets.
Amanda saw it – the dawning horror, the spark of rage. She pressed her advantage, her voice dropping to a venomous hiss. "She played you, Sebastian. Used you. That gutter rat was always a gold-digging whore. She saw her chance and tried to take everything, including your life."
The crude insults, echoing those she’d hurled before, struck a different chord now, amplified by the context of betrayal. The fragile trust, the sanctuary of their love, felt like a grotesque lie. The rage crystallized, cold and lethal. He remembered her fleeing the room when he’d aimed the gun at Amanda… Had that been guilt? Fear of being caught?
"Find… her," he rasped, the words scraping his ravaged throat. His eyes, though clouded with pain and medication, burned with a terrifying intensity. He locked eyes with William, who had entered silently during Amanda’s tirade, his face grim. "Find Jessica… and Ghost. Bring them… to me." He took a shuddering breath, summoning every ounce of his fading strength. "Alive. I will… kill her… myself."
The command hung in the sterile air, heavy with finality. William nodded curtly, his own expression hardened by Amanda’s narrative and his boss’s suffering. "Consider it done, Boss."
Amanda leaned back, a flicker of triumph quickly masked by concern. "We checked the penthouse security immediately, Sebastian," she added smoothly. "Trying to find proof. But… the CCTV footage from the kitchen and balcony during that time… it’s gone. Deleted. No traces left." She shook her head sadly. "She covered her tracks well. Ghost must have helped her erase it."
The missing footage felt like the final nail. Paranoia, a familiar old friend, crept in. *How could she? Why?* The questions screamed in his mind, drowned out by the roar of betrayal. "I gave her… everything," he whispered, the words laced with bewildered agony. "Everything…" The image of her family, safe in the mansion he’d given them, flashed in his mind. "The family…" he managed. "Leave them… in the house. Guarded. But… untouched." It was a concession to a past love, a lingering doubt he couldn’t fully quash, even amidst his fury. He ignored Amanda’s immediate, sharp protest.
"But Sebastian! They could be involved! They—"
"Leave them!" he growled, the effort sending a spasm of pain through him. His order stood. Jessica’s family remained under house arrest, but protected, a confusing testament to the war raging within him.
Miles away, in a small, sun-drenched village house nestled among palm trees and vibrant bougainvillea, Jessica existed in a state of suspended terror. Ghost’s fiancée, Chioma, a woman with kind eyes and hands hardened by work, had become her unexpected guardian angel. The modest house, a world away from Scar’s penthouse luxury, was a fragile sanctuary.
Days bled into each other, filled with gnawing fear for Sebastian, crushing guilt over her family’s imprisonment, and the paralyzing knowledge that she was hunted. She scanned local news on a burner phone Ghost provided, dreading the headline announcing Scar’s death. The silence was almost worse.
Then, the nausea started. Not the sharp anxiety she was used to, but a deep, rolling sickness that hit her most mornings. At first, she blamed the stress, the unfamiliar village food. But when it persisted, accompanied by a profound exhaustion and a strange tenderness in her breasts, a terrifying, wondrous possibility began to dawn.
One morning, after retching into a basin behind the small house, Chioma found her pale and trembling. The older woman took one look at her, her gaze softening with sudden understanding. Without a word, she disappeared into the village market and returned an hour later, pressing a small, unmarked paper packet into Jessica’s hand. Inside was a simple pregnancy test.
Hands shaking, Jessica locked herself in the tiny bathroom. The wait for the result felt like an eternity. She stared at the small plastic window, her heart hammering against her ribs, her mind a whirlwind of fear and impossible hope. Then, two clear, unmistakable lines appeared.
Pregnant.
The world tilted. She sank onto the cool concrete floor, the test clutched in her hand. Sebastian’s child. Conceived in the deep, healing love they’d shared after Amanda’s first assault, before the poison, before the betrayal. A life growing inside her while its father lay poisoned, believing she’d tried to kill him, vowing to end her life himself.
Terror threatened to engulf her. They were fugitives. Hunted. Scar wanted her dead. Amanda wanted her destroyed. How could she bring a child into this nightmare? How could she protect it?
But then, gazing at those two lines, a fierce, primal resolve ignited within her, burning away the despair. This wasn't just about her anymore. This was about their child. Scar’s heir. The living proof of their love, conceived before the poison, before the lies.
She placed a trembling hand on her still-flat stomach. The fear didn't vanish, but it was joined by a steely determination. She couldn't run forever. She couldn't let her child be born into a life of hiding, branded by its mother's supposed crime. She had to clear her name. Not just for herself, not just for Sebastian, but for this tiny, fragile life growing inside her.
She had to prove her innocence. Find the real traitor. Expose Amanda. And she had to reach Sebastian, make him see the truth, before his rage or Amanda’s schemes destroyed them all. For the sake of their child, she had to fight. Or they would all die – her, the baby, Sebastian, consumed by the poisonous lies.
Emerging from the bathroom, Jessica met Chioma’s knowing gaze. There were no words. Jessica simply nodded, her eyes no longer filled with just fear, but with the fierce, terrifying light of a mother’s resolve. The hunted woman was gone. In her place stood a lioness, ready to fight for her cub and its father, even if the father himself held the gun. The battle for truth, for love, and for the future of their child had truly begun.
TO BE CONTINUED...

*THE RESTORER'S DAILY GUIDE*

DATE: THURSDAY 19TH JUNE 2025

THEME: *ACTIVATE YOUR DIVINE INTELLIGENCE*

MEMORIZE
Job 32:8
[8]But there is [a vital force] a spirit [of intelligence] in man, and the breath of the Almighty gives men understanding. [Prov. 2:6.] [AMP]

READ
Acts 6:1-7
And in those days, when the number of the disciples was multiplied, there arose a murmuring of the Grecians against the Hebrews, because their widows were neglected in the daily ministration.
Then the twelve called the multitude of the disciples unto them, and said, It is not reason that we should leave the word of God, and serve tables.
Wherefore, brethren, look ye out among you seven men of honest report, full of the Holy Ghost and wisdom, whom we may appoint over this business.
But we will give ourselves continually to prayer, and to the ministry of the word.
And the saying pleased the whole multitude: and they chose Stephen, a man full of faith and of the Holy Ghost, and Philip, and Prochorus, and Nicanor, and Timon, and Parmenas, and Nicolas a proselyte of Antioch:
Whom they set before the apostles: and when they had prayed, they laid their hands on them.
And the word of God increased; and the number of the disciples multiplied in Jerusalem greatly; and a great company of the priests were obedient to the faith.

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY
*The brightest minds in the universe are those who study under the LORD.*

MESSAGE
Yesterday we saw the awesome necessity of functioning with quick understanding in the fear of the LORD.

This is vitally necessary because, we do not always know what to do because of the high percentage of our ignorance due to spiritual blindness and the impact of darkness on our spiritual senses. This is why we need to be extraordinarily passionate about our fellowship with the LORD.

We need the LORD much more than ever.

Today's memory verse tells us that we already have a vital force or a spirit of intelligence in us which requires an activation by the breath of the Almighty God.

Three spiritual exercises are vital to activating our divine intelligence.

1. BE CEASELESS IN PRAYERS.
Why we should pray always and spend more time in prayers is because through prayers we reduce our ignorance and by spending time daily in God's word, we increase our capacity for divine intelligence.

The Lord Jesus Christ in His earthly days spent so much time in prayers as to make it a notable feature of His earthly life and ministry because He had to function in alignment with the will of His Father, and to do this perfectly, He had to battle with His humanity to align with His divinity. We were only permitted to see that He battled with His humanity when He was praying in the garden of Gethsemane before His passion. However, He allowed His humanity to be conquered by the perfect will of His Father through willing submission and obedience.

The altar of incessant prayers is a necessity because that is where we reduce our ignorance and resistance to God's perfect will for our lives.

The Bible puts it this way;
Jeremiah 33:3
[3]Call to Me and I will answer you and show you great and mighty things, fenced in and hidden, which you do not know (do not distinguish and recognize, have knowledge of and understand).

2. REGULAR INTAKE OF GOD’S WORD.
The act of regular intake of the Word of God is necessary because through it we expose ourselves to divine light and increase our intelligence.
See;
Psalm 119:105,130
[105]Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. [Prov. 6:23.]
[130]The entrance and unfolding of Your words give light; their unfolding gives understanding (discernment and comprehension) to the simple.

3. SPEAK FORTH GOD’S WORD REGULARLY.
The act of speaking forth the word of God through teaching others, preaching, witnessing, or prophetic confession of God's Word increases our learning and divine brightness in God.
Proverbs 16:21
The wise in heart shall be called prudent: and the sweetness of the lips increaseth learning.
Proverbs 16:23
The heart of the wise teacheth his mouth, and addeth learning to his lips.

Beloved, availing yourself in God's presence regularly is making yourself a student of the LORD.

*Those who are privileged to study under the LORD are the brightest minds in time and in eternity*

ACTION STEPS
1. Prayerfully meditate on today's devotional guide.
2. Be determined to keep on reducing your ignorance and increasing your intelligence.
3. Insist on a regiment of tight spirituality with the Lord Jesus Christ.

REMEMBER
*The brightest minds in the universe are those who study under the LORD.*

PRAYERS
Dear heavenly Father, Thank you for today's devotional guide. I receive grace to accept the responsibility of activating my divine intelligence through the exercise of higher spirituality in Jesus name. Amen.

AUTHOR: JEDIDIAH DAVID

DAILY READING: 2Chronicles 2-4; Psalms 144-145; Hebrews 11-12;

HYMN
1
My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness;
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand;
All other ground is sinking sand,
All other ground is sinking sand.

2
When darkness hides His lovely face,
I rest on His unchanging grace;
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the vail.

3
His oath, His covenant, His blood,
Support me in the ’whelming flood;
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my hope and stay.

4
When He shall come with trumpet sound,
On ,may I then in Him be found,
Clothed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne!

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THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 12
The cool, damp air of the midnight garden offered little solace. Jessica paced the manicured paths, the scent of night-blooming jasmine heavy and cloying, failing to mask the bitter taste of humiliation and confusion that lingered from Amanda’s assault and the terrifying confrontation. She’d run from the gun, from Amanda’s venom, from Scar’s terrifying, lethal rage – even though it had been wielded in her defense. The image of him, cold and absolute with the pistol aimed at Amanda’s head, was seared into her mind. It wasn’t fear *of* him, but fear *for* him, for the darkness that Amanda could provoke.
She finally returned to the penthouse, the silence now thick with unspoken aftershocks. Pushing open her bedroom door, she found him immediately. Not waiting, not pacing, but kneeling beside her bed, his broad shoulders slumped, his head bowed. In the dim light from the hallway, he looked not like the feared kingpin, but like a man utterly broken. He didn’t look up as she entered, but his posture spoke volumes – a silent plea for forgiveness, an embodiment of the guilt and anguish he’d voiced earlier.
"Jessica," his voice was a raw scrape in the quiet. "Please…"
She stood frozen for a moment, the sight twisting her heart. The part of her that still ached from Amanda’s words, that felt bruised by the secrets, warred fiercely with the overwhelming love and empathy she felt seeing him like this. He had chosen her. He had defended her with terrifying ferocity. Yet, the emotional storm inside her was still raging. She needed space to breathe, to process, to quiet the echoes of "gutter rat" and the crack of the gun.
"Scar," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I… I need some time. Please. Just… give me some space tonight."
He flinched as if struck. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he raised his head. His eyes, usually so commanding, were pools of raw pain and utter defeat. He searched her face, finding no anger, only a profound exhaustion and a plea for distance. He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the stillness. Without a word, he pushed himself up from his knees. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t argue. He simply bowed his head again, a gesture of absolute surrender, and walked silently out of the room, closing the door with a soft, final click. The sound echoed Jessica’s loneliness.
***
The next morning, Amanda was gone. Vanished. Like a poisonous mist dispersed by the dawn. William confirmed it tersely; she’d been escorted to the airport before sunrise, under firm instructions and the lingering threat of Scar’s promise. The penthouse felt emptier, cleaner, yet the tension didn’t dissipate. It shifted, solidified into something colder: Scar’s absence.
For two weeks, he became a ghost in his own home. He skipped breakfast, leaving before Jessica rose. Dinner was taken in his study, the door firmly closed. He returned late, often well past midnight, slipping silently into his own room. When their paths did cross – Jessica heading to her study nook, Scar striding down a hallway – he would freeze for a fraction of a second, his expression shuttering instantly into an impenetrable mask, then he would turn and walk the other way. The warmth, the possessiveness, the easy intimacy – all gone, replaced by a chilling, deliberate distance.
Jessica felt the void like a physical ache. The luxurious penthouse became a gilded cage of silence. Her studies felt hollow. She replayed the scene in her bedroom that night – his kneeling form, the utter defeat in his eyes, her own request for space. *Was I too harsh? * The question gnawed at her. He had faced down his past, his dangerous ex-fiancée, for *her*. He had chosen her publicly, violently, irrevocably. And how had she repaid him? By pushing him away when he was most vulnerable, when he came offering his shattered heart.
Guilt, sharp and corrosive, joined the loneliness. She remembered his whispered confessions of love, the way he’d clung to her after Amanda’s arrival, the desperation in his pleas outside her locked door. He had fought for her, bled for her emotionally, and she had turned him away. *I went too far in my hurt, * she realized with a sickening jolt. *He gave me everything, defended me against everything, and I pushed him into this cold exile.*
The resolve solidified within her. She couldn’t let this stand. She had to fix it. She *needed* to fix it.
***
The day she decided to bridge the chasm stretched endlessly. Jessica was a bundle of nervous energy. She paced, she tried to read, she stared out the window, her mind racing with scenarios. Would he reject her? Would the wall he’d built be too high? Was the damage irreparable? Anxiety twisted her stomach into knots. By the time the familiar sound of the penthouse door announced his return at 11 PM, her heart was pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She heard his footsteps, heavy with fatigue, move down the hall towards his room. The click of his door closing was like a starter pistol. Taking a deep, steadying breath that did little to calm her nerves, Jessica slipped out of her room. The hallway felt vast and intimidating. She stopped outside his door, her hand trembling slightly as she raised it. She knocked – a soft, tentative sound.
No answer.
Gathering every ounce of courage, she gently turned the handle. The door wasn’t locked. She pushed it open just enough to slip inside, closing it softly behind her.
The room was dimly lit by a single bedside lamp. The air held the faint, clean scent of his cologne. And then she saw him.
He stood framed in the open doorway of the en-suite bathroom, bathed in the brighter light spilling from within. A white towel was slung low around his hips. Water droplets glistened on his shoulders, tracing paths down the powerful contours of his chest, over the defined ridges of his abdomen, catching the light on his dark skin. He was a vision of raw, masculine beauty – tall, perfectly sculpted, water-darkened curls clinging to his forehead. He looked like a figure from a myth; a god carved from night and strength.
He had frozen mid-motion, a second towel in his hands paused over his damp hair. His eyes, dark and unreadable, locked onto hers. Shock, then a flicker of something guarded and wary, passed across his face before it settled into careful neutrality. He didn’t speak. He simply watched her, waiting.
Jessica’s breath caught. Shyness and confusion warred with the overwhelming surge of love and longing that seeing him like this ignited. Words tangled in her throat. How could she start? How could she bridge the weeks of silence?
The sight of him, the sheer magnetism, the vulnerability she sensed beneath his guarded stance, broke her hesitation. Without a word, she crossed the room in quick, determined strides. Before he could react, before he could retreat behind his walls, she threw her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against the cool, damp skin of his chest. She held on tightly, as if anchoring herself to him.
For a heartbeat, he remained rigid. Then, a shuddering breath escaped him. His arms came around her, slowly at first, then crushing her to him with a force that spoke of weeks of pent-up longing and relief. The towel fell from his hands, forgotten. He buried his face in her hair, his breath warm against her scalp. "Jessica," he breathed, her name a ragged prayer.
The dam broke. All the distance, the coldness, the aching loneliness evaporated in the heat of their reunion. They came together not just with passion, but with a profound, desperate hunger, like two halves finally made whole after a cruel separation. It wasn't just physical; it was a fierce reclaiming; a deep communion of souls starved for connection. They devoured each other with kisses that tasted of salt tears and unspoken apologies, with touches that mapped familiar territory with new reverence. Scar worshipped her body with a slowness that bordered on agony, relearning every curve, every sigh, every sensitive point, as if imprinting her on his soul anew. Jessica met him with equal fervor, her own hands exploring the powerful planes of his back, his shoulders, tangling in his damp curls, pulling him closer, deeper. Time lost meaning. The world outside ceased to exist. There was only the slide of skin on skin, the gasps and whispered pleas, the overwhelming sensation of being utterly consumed and cherished. It was love-making as healing, as desperate affirmation, as a vow renewed in the most primal language.
Later, tangled in the sweat-slicked sheets, limbs entwined, Scar stirred. He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, his eyes dark with emotion. "Jessica, about before… I need to tell you… I’m so sorry I didn’t—"
She silenced him not with words, but by placing her fingers gently on his lips. Then, she replaced them with her own, kissing him with a tenderness that held the weight of her own regret and forgiveness. "Shhh," she murmured against his lips, her voice husky with spent passion and deep affection. "No more apologies. Not tonight." She traced his jaw, her eyes holding his, luminous in the dim light. "Just… make love to me again, Sebastian. I’ve missed you… missed *this*… so much."
He needed no further invitation. The hunger, momentarily sated, flared anew, deeper, sweeter this time. They moved together in a slow, sensual rhythm, a dance of reconnection, of promises whispered through touch, of wounds beginning to knit closed in the shared heat of their bodies. It was tender, passionate, a reaffirmation of the bond Amanda had tried, and failed, to break.
Exhausted, sated, wrapped in the profound peace that follows the storm, they finally drifted towards sleep. Scar held her tightly against him, her back to his chest, his face buried in the curve of her neck, his arms locked securely around her waist. Jessica nestled into his embrace, her hand resting over his where it lay protectively on her stomach. The silence now was warm, comforting, filled only with the sound of their synchronized breathing. The distance was closed. The sanctuary, though scarred, was reclaimed. They slept, entwined, the shadows of the past two weeks finally banished by the undeniable force of their love.
TO BE CONTINUED...

*SOME NIGERIAN NEWSPAPER HEADLINES+, 18/06/2025*

NEMA deploys relief items to Benue as attacks displace 6,527

Tinubu’s visit: Benue declares Wednesday work-free day

Benue bloodshed: Gov, Assembly at odds as SGF, ex-generals move in

Nigeria imports N1.2tn crude as local output stumbles

FG to link credit scores to NIN in sweeping credit reform drive

Lebara Nigeria rolls out 0724 phone number

NLC threatens showdown as FCT teachers strike nears 90 days

Truck drivers suspend strike, begin talks with LASG

UTME: 11 CBT centres, fingerprint cheats face sanctions

Naira depreciates to N1,598/$ in parallel market

Trump extends TikTok deadline for third time

Pope Leo to revive papal holidays abandoned by Francis

China will roll out measures on market access, inspection – Yan Yuqing

FG to evacuate Nigerians from Israel, Iran as crisis escalates

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*DID YOU KNOW?*

* Located in the heart of ancient Rome, the Colosseum is one of Italy’s most visited tourist attractions. Dating back to around 80 A.D., this structure remains the largest amphitheater in the world.

* In Oman, personal income including income from capital gains, wealth, death, or property, is not taxed.
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Tinubu orders speedy execution of approved projects

Tinubu commissions Abuja’s first Bus terminal

Tinubu unveils INEC HQ project as Wike promises 2027 completion

N’Assembly transmits tax reform bills to Tinubu

Yelewata killings: Senate leadership to accompany Tinubu to Benue Wednesday

Senate screens Tinubu’s 17 nominees for key Rivers agencies

Senate to screen nominees for South West Development Commission Wednesday

Reps probe ₦1.12tr anchor borrowers fund, seek accountability from NIRSAL, BOI

My presidential ambition in cooler, says Kalu

EFCC re-arraigns Bauchi accountant-general over N1.4bn fraud

EFCC to release more recovered funds to NDDC

NAF deploys more fighter jets to North Central

COAS to media: Avoid reportage that compromises national security

Police interrogate Adefarasin over ‘illegal’ possession of weapon, driving unlicensed vehicle

Police Inspectors Lament Delayed Promotion, Appeal To IGP, PSC

CBN halts dividends, bonuses for select banks in new stability measures

CrediCorp: Loan defaulters risk losing passport, rent access — FG

FG launches sensitisation campaign for LG proof of address system

ECN DG/CEO leads strategic visit to Schneider Electric net zero complex in France

PenCom engages NPAN over N720m pension arrears

CAC reviews service fees

Nigeria records spike in Lassa Fever cases as death toll hits 143

World-class aerodrome lighting system installed at Gateway Airport

NEMA, NEDC intervene after windstorm displaces 1,800 in Taraba

FRSC warns against unofficial payments of fines

FG unveils new CNG pricing structure to promote cleaner energy

FG backs free press, urges media to guard democracy

No pilgrimage to Israel until crisis is resolved- NCPC

UK varsity engages PTDF to expand scholarships

OOU faces backlash over ‘no bra, no entry’ during examination

Ogun poly students risk sanctions for assaulting lady

Obasanjo to governors: create incentives to curb medical brain drain

NEYGA slams Ezekwesili over defence of Natasha, demands proof of allegations

Nigeria ranks third as African startups hit $1bn

Delayed loans at six banks top $3.5bn – Report

Fuel distribution scheme will create jobs, says Dangote refinery

Tax bills open new opportunities for professionals – CITN President

Anambra market leaders deny alleged connivance with NAFDAC to extort traders

Brewery workers demand unpaid entitlements in Abia

Labour Party mocks Tinubu over APC’s infighting in N-East

Ekiti gov poll: Oyebanji’ll face primary despite endorsements — APC

Adamawa APC denies endorsing Ribadu for 2027 election

LG poll: Sanwo-Olu rallies support for 433 APC candidates

We’re open to credible investors, Aiyedatiwa tells Czech Republic

Okpebholo studies A’Ibom, Rivers models to end Edo flooding

Uzodimma apologises for postponing state address

Obasanjo, Yahaya unveil ultra-modern processing factory in Gombe

Benue Assembly recalls six lawmakers, seven suspended pending apology

Renewed herdsmen attacks: Benue Assembly urges Alia to fully enforce anti-open grazing law

Lagos Assembly adopts recommendations on e-GIS bill

Lagos innovation bill targets startups, varsities

Ogun tackles plastic pollution with waste-for-cash initiative

Gombe Residents Kick As Police Ban Motorcycles

Two cultists linked to Rivers DPO’s death in police custody

Police arrest 14 suspected cultists, foil kidnapping in Ogun

Six suspected cultists arrested after initiation ceremony in Anambra

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*TODAY IN HISTORY*

* On this day in 1948, the LP record was introduced. The 33⅓ rpm microgroove vinyl Long Playing record developed by Columbia Records soon became the music industry’s standard medium. It allowed for a total playing time of 20 minutes per side.

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Never think that you’re not good enough. – Anthony Trollope

Good morning

*Compiled by Hon. Osuji George osujis@yahoo.com, +234-8122200446*

𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐚𝐭, 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐑𝐨𝐰

God calls you to move before He moves the mountains.
He parts the Red Sea, but you must step into the water.
He feeds the 5,000, but you must hand Him your loaves.
He steers the boat, but you must row.

Faith without action is an anchor it keeps you stuck. God provides the path, but you must move your feet. Trust the journey meet miracles halfway because your effort is the proof of your faith.

If you’re ready, row while God steers.

Pray like it depends on God.
Work like it depends on you

#FaithInAction #KeepRowing #GodsGotYou