FIFTY MILLION NIGHTS
PART 3
Time crawled in the gilded cage. The untouched tray of jollof rice sat cold and congealing on the floor near the hidden compartment. The clean white dress remained folded, pristine. Olivia hadn’t moved the sleek black chair. She stood. Or paced. Or sat cross-legged on the freezing stone floor, her back against the unyielding metal door, staring at the impossible view.
She ignored the gnawing hunger. Ignored the scratchy discomfort of her nightdress. Ignored the bone-deep cold. She focused on the city lights, tracing patterns, imagining lives down there – people laughing, arguing, rushing home, completely unaware of the woman trapped fifty floors up.
No one cares. Malik’s words echoed, but they sparked anger now, not despair. He cared. He cared enough to lock her here. Enough to want her broken.
He’d told her to change. To eat. To be a good, quiet asset. By doing nothing, by leaving his offerings untouched, she’d thrown his control back in his face. A silent, stubborn rebellion. Let him see how a distressed asset really looks.
How long would it take him to notice? An hour? Two? The sterile silence pressed in, broken only by the muffled city hum and the frantic drumming of her own heart. Every tiny sound – the faint whir of hidden air conditioning, a distant elevator chime – made her jump. Waiting was its own torture.
Then, it came. The soft, dreaded click of the main suite door. Footsteps. Malik’s footsteps. Measured. Purposeful. Coming straight towards her prison.
Olivia scrambled to her feet, pressing her back against the cold metal again. Her mouth went dry. This was it. The cost of defiance. She braced herself, fists clenched at her sides, chin lifted. Don’t let him see you break.
The electronic beep sounded. The door slid open.
Malik Adebayo stood framed in the doorway. He hadn’t bothered with a jacket again. His white shirt was still crisp, but his tie was loosened. He held a thin tablet in one hand. His dark eyes scanned the room instantly, missing nothing. They flicked past her defiant stance, past the untouched chair, and landed unerringly on the cold tray of food and the pristine, folded dress still sitting in the open compartment.
A beat of utter silence. The air crackled.
Olivia watched his face. That perfect mask of cold control. His jaw tightened, just a fraction. A tiny muscle flickered near the pale scar tracing his cheekbone. His eyes, when they finally lifted to meet hers, were like polished obsidian – hard, dark, and terrifyingly focused. The pleasant, dangerous curiosity from before was gone. Replaced by something colder. Sharper.
He stepped into the room. The door slid shut behind him with its soft, final hiss and click. He didn’t speak. He walked slowly, deliberately, towards the compartment. His polished shoes clicked softly on the stone floor, each step echoing Olivia’s pounding heartbeat.
He stopped beside the tray. Looked down at the uneaten food. Then his gaze shifted to the dress. Unmoved. Untouched. He didn’t pick them up. He didn’t yell.
He just stood there. The silence grew heavier, thicker, more suffocating than the sack had been. Olivia could feel the heat of his anger radiating off him, a physical pressure in the cool room. It wasn’t loud. It was deep, simmering, and infinitely more frightening than shouting.
Slowly, deliberately, he raised his gaze back to hers. "You disobeyed." His voice was low, flat, devoid of any inflection. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact, cold and hard.
Olivia forced herself to hold that dark gaze. "I’m not a dog to obey commands," she said, her voice surprisingly steady, though her knees felt like water. "I told you. I’m not your asset."
A flicker of something dangerous sparked in his eyes. He took a step closer. Then another. He invaded her space, stopping barely a foot away. Olivia had to crane her neck to look up at him. The scent of sandalwood and clean, sharp ice filled her senses, mixed with the subtle, expensive smell of his clothes. It was overwhelming. Intimidating.
"Is that so?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper that vibrated through her. He lifted his free hand, not towards her face, but towards the fabric of her nightdress. His fingers hovered near the worn cotton sleeve, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his skin. Olivia froze, breath catching. Was he going to touch her? Force her?
He didn’t. His hand stopped. He let it hang there, a silent, menacing threat. "This," he said, his eyes tracing the thin, slightly torn fabric, the dust on her bare arms, "is defiance? Looking like… this?" His gaze swept down her disheveled state with deliberate, insulting slowness. "Like something dragged from the gutter?"
Shame warred with fury. Olivia felt her cheeks burn. "It’s the truth of what you’ve done," she shot back, her voice trembling now. "You dragged me from my home! This is your asset!"
His dark eyes snapped back to hers, locking on with an intensity that stole her breath. "An asset," he said, his voice dangerously soft, "has value. Cleanliness. Order. Respect for the hand that holds it." He tilted his head, his gaze boring into her. "You look like a broken thing, Olivia Okoro. Worthless. Defiant, perhaps, but broken nonetheless." He leaned in, just slightly. "Broken things," he whispered, the words chilling, "get discarded."
The threat hung in the air, colder than anything before. Olivia felt a fresh wave of terror, icy and paralyzing. Discarded. What did that mean? The cold river? A dark cell? Something worse?
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her defiance wavered, threatened to crumble under the sheer, terrifying weight of his presence and his words.
Then, something shifted. As he looked down at her, his gaze sharp, assessing, it snagged on her face. Not on her defiant eyes, but lower. On her lips. They were dry, slightly chapped from crying, pressed together in a tight line of fear and anger.
Malik Adebayo went utterly still. Not the controlled stillness from before. This was different. Frozen. His intense gaze fixed on her mouth. For a heartbeat, two, the terrifying anger in his eyes flickered. Something else flashed there – raw, unexpected, and gone in an instant. Surprise? Confusion? Something… darker? Hotter? His own lips parted slightly, just a fraction.
Olivia saw it. That crack in the ice. That brief, unguarded moment. It shocked her more than his anger. What was that?
The moment shattered. Malik blinked, and the cold mask slammed back down, harder than before. He straightened abruptly, putting a fraction more space between them, as if burned. The intensity in his eyes was now pure, controlled fury.
"Forty-five hours," he stated, his voice clipped, harsh. He turned away from her, his back rigid. He walked towards the door without another glance. "Enjoy the view. And the silence. You’ll find little comfort in either."
He reached the door. The electronic lock disengaged with its familiar *beep*. The door slid open. He stepped through.
Olivia stood rooted to the spot, heart hammering against her ribs, the echo of his threat – "Broken things get discarded" – warring with the shocking memory of his frozen stare… fixed on her lips.
The door began to slide shut.
Then, abruptly, it stopped.
Malik stood just outside, his back still to her. He didn’t turn. His broad shoulders were tense under the crisp white shirt. He seemed… paused. Hesitant? Angry? Something else?
Olivia held her breath. The silence stretched, thick and charged. What was he doing? What was he thinking?
After a heartbeat that felt like an eternity, Malik’s hand shot out. Not towards her. He slammed his palm hard against the wall outside her room. A sharp, echoing crack of sound. A sound of pure, frustrated fury.
Then, without a word, without turning, he strode away. His footsteps, usually so controlled, echoed down the corridor outside – sharp, hard, and fast. Angry.
The metal door slid shut completely with its soft *hiss* and final click.
Olivia sank slowly to the cold floor, trembling uncontrollably. The untouched food. The clean dress. His terrifying threat. His strange, frozen moment. That slam of his hand against the wall.
He hadn’t hurt her. Not physically. But he’d shown her a glimpse of something… volatile. Uncontrolled. And that moment looking at her lips… what was that?
He was angry. Furious, even. But Olivia Okoro, huddled on the freezing stone, felt a tiny, dangerous spark ignite amidst the fear.
He’s not as cold as he pretends.
He lost control.
He saw something he didn’t expect.
And that slam against the wall? That wasn’t the sound of a man discarding broken things. That was the sound of a man… rattled.
The gilded cage felt different. The air crackled with unspoken tension. The game had just gotten infinitely more dangerous.
Olivia wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the blank metal door. A slow, determined thought cut through the fear: If I can rattle him… what else can I do?
TO BE CONTINUED...

To my incredible followers & active engagers,

Your energy, enthusiasm, and support fuel my passion.
Thank you for being part of this community, for engaging, sharing, and spreading love.

I'm honored to have you along for the ride.

This salute is for you all.
Ibrahim Garba Ummulkhair

Nobody fine reach me ooo
#viralpost #views #engage #like #viralreels

AKUA THE HUSBAND BEATER

Akua was a force to be reckoned with. Her husband, Kofi, often joked that she was the one wearing the crown in their marriage. Every day, it seemed, Akua found a reason to lash out at Kofi. A burnt meal, a misplaced item, or even a simple disagreement would set her off.

Kofi, on the other hand, was a calm and patient man. He loved Akua dearly, but he couldn't understand why she seemed to take pleasure in belittling him. He tried to talk to her, to reason with her, but Akua wouldn't listen.

One day, Kofi had had enough. He stood tall, looked Akua straight in the eye, and said, "I love you, but I deserve respect. I won't engage in this cycle of violence anymore." Akua was taken aback. For the first time, she saw the pain and hurt she had caused. Slowly, she began to realize that her actions had consequences and that she needed to change. With effort and support, Akua worked on managing her anger, and their relationship began to heal.

MUST READ: Phone Rules For Couples

PHONE USE RULES FOR COUPLES:

1. Don't make a habit of putting your phone on silent mode or turning it off each time you're with your partner. It makes you look like you are hiding something

2. Save your partner's phone number using a special title like "Hubby", "Love", "Wife", "Sweetie". Or save using a title plus the official name. Using the official name only makes your partner look like just the other contacts on your phone

3. Answer your partner's phone call with loving affectionate words like "Hi love", and "Hey honey". How a conversation starts determines how it flows. If you start warm, you two will enjoy talking with each other on the phone

4. End the talk on a high. Say "I love you", say a joke, a compliment, a warm phrase before you hang up. Hang up with a smile

5. It is OK to chat with friends online. But never chat with another person more than you chat with your partner

6. If you will be busy, notify your partner you will not be able to pick up calls or reply to texts promptly. Inform your partner what you will be doing and approximately for how long. This prepares your partner and brings peace because your partner will not feel ignored

7. Flirting on phone is good but only flirt with your partner

8. Tell off people who try to flirt with you, entice you, and charm you on phone. Let them know that you are taken

9. Take lots of photos and videos together to capture moments. You will need those pics and videos in the future as you look back
MUST READ: Phone Rules For Couples
MUST READ: Phone Rules For Couples

10. When you go out on dates, keep the phone away, and minimize phone use so that you focus on each other

11. Don't make a habit of walking away from your partner to answer phone calls. Your partner will perceive you are hiding something or having an affair. Love is about perception

12. After the date and you don't live together; man, call her up and check on her, tell her you got home safe; lady, send him a text, thanking him for a wonderful time

13. Unless it's an emergency when you can't reach your partner and you probably know he/she is at work or doing something; don't keep calling and texting desperately. You will only look like a nag to your partner and that will make your partner detest phone contact with you. Relax, your partner will see your missed call and text

14. When you see a missed call or text from your partner, please call back or reply as soon as you can. Put your partner at ease

15. Save your partner's phone number as an emergency number to be contacted in case something happens to you and your phone is locked

16. Avoid fights and arguments over the phone, they are difficult to manage and leave a bad feeling when you hang up, thus negatively affecting how you two relate. Talk about serious issues that are volatile face to face

17. When your partner offends you or you two aggravate each other, never refuse to pick up your partner's phone call. That only makes matters worse. Keep the line of communication open so that you work things out. If you can't talk at the moment you are hurting, just pick up the call and say "I can't talk right now" and your partner will understand

18. Inform your partner when and why you need to turn off your phone when you two are apart. Keep your partner from worrying

19. When you two are having fun together, it is good to celebrate your love online but don't post too much about your love life. Some things are best kept private. The world doesn't have to know every detail of how you love each other

20. When you two are having problems, don't vent about your partner directly or indirectly on your social media posts

21. Don't let your partner get news about you from social media like your online friends. Tell the news to your partner first, and then post it online

22. If your partner tries calling you but your line is engaged, explain who you were talking to. If someone calls you when you're with your partner, say who it was. Transparency and clarity enhance trust

23. Remember it is your role to communicate. None of you should feel he/she is forcing a conversation or is doing much of the talking. Communication takes two

24. Put away the phone when your partner needs your undivided attention, especially in the bedroom. Don't be intimate, holding your phone, more than you hold your partner

Phone use can affect your relationship/marriage negatively or positively. Be smart as you use your smartphone.

*Lessons for the whole world!*

Sultan Akbar asked Birbal, his grand vizier, to look for four biggest idiots in his kingdom and produce them in his court within a month.

After a month's extensive search operations, Birbal brought to the court only two people!

"But I asked for four", Akbar angrily asked.

"Give me a chance to present them one by one", Birbal pleaded and went on to present his idiots:

"Maharaj, this man, while travelling in a bullock cart, was keeping his luggage on his head so as not to hurt the bullocks. He is the first idiot. *(In corporate parlance , the ones who take all load on themselves and fail to delegate)*

Pointing to the second man Birbal continued, "And this man here is the second idiot. Some grass grew on the roof of his thatched house and he was trying to force his cow to climb up a ladder to graze on it." *( In corporate parlance, these are those who set unrealistic targets and force others to achieve them without realising their capabilities and competency)*

Birbal continued, "Maharaj, there were a lot of important jobs for me to do in the state, but I ignored them and wasted a precious month in search of idiots. According to me I am the third idiot." *( Idiots who rush obediently for wrong job assignments without any qualms)*

Birbal paused here for a moment.

"Who is the fourth idiots?", Akbar thundered.

"Beg your pardon, Sultan", Birbal continued, "You are the King and you are responsible for the well-being of the entire state and its people.

You need wise persons to help you oversee the affairs of the state. Instead of looking for wise people you engaged me to look for idiots. According to me you are the fourth idiot. *( Bad leaders who make poor strategies and want idiots to follow blindly)*

Funnybut very profound.

*Real lessons on strategic leadership.*

O'tega "The Tiger" Ogra is currently the Senior Special Assistant to the Nigerian President on Digital Strategy, Engagement and Communications.

Nigeria’s Defence Chief Proposes Fenc!ng Borders To Curb Insecur!ty

The Chief of Defence Staff (CDS), General Christopher Musa, has advocated fencing borders to curtail movement of T£rror!sts and curtail other trans­border cr!mes.

He said this when he deliv­ered a keynote address at the in­augural Voice of Nigeria (VON) security summit with the theme, ‘Renewed Hope Agenda: Citi­zens’ Engagement and National Security’, in Abuja

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...

There is this ring i am putting on my finger as i speak right now, Let me tell you the story behind it.

Rewind to 22 of May, 2019. I wasn’t married to my husband then, just living with him, and, you know the rest…

He went to work, and I was alone in the house. I just got back from Turkey and we relocated back to Lagos, from Awka, Anambra state. Been living with him for more than a year, and there was no sign of marriage, as he was always reminding me of how scared he was of getting married.

On that fateful day, after thinking about my life, I parked my belongings, and was ready to leave his house. I told myself that I can’t continue living with a man and collecting preeeèeeèk without marriage, what if I get pregnànt? I am too fragile to be a single mother o, me that hasn’t finished taking care of myself.

I called him to come and drop me off, that I was ready to leave him. He was shocked, asked me where I was leaving to, I said mainland, he told me to give him till evening, so that he will finish for the day. I agreed and waited, patiently.

When he got back, he mentioned a place he saw at the mall in sangotedo, that I should follow him there first, before he will go drop me off, I insisted on putting my bag in the trunk of the car, he didn’t argue, even helped me carry the bag to the car.

When we got to the mall, he took me straight to pandora, and said he was passing by a few days before, and spotted the ring, that it would look good on my finger. I asked him if he was trying to engage me, he said I shouldn’t put a label on it, I should just wear it to remember him always, even after I leave him.

Smh . Men!

I accepted what looked exactly like an engagement ring, he wore it on my ‘married’, ring finger. On our way out of the mall, he told me he was having runny stomach, that we should quickly stop by at the house, I innocently agreed. When we got home, this man started sugàr talking my fragile heart, and I gave in again. I don’t know how I found myself on the bèď again, wearing a non marriage proposal ring, feeling very satisfied for no reason.

Few hours later, he went to bring my bag inside, and unpacked for me. I later officially became his wife, four months later, but it wasn’t easy for me to get here. The road was too long.

An only son that was afraid of marriage.

Good morning.

OPEN HEAVEN DAILY DEVOTIONAL

DATE: WEDNESDAY JUNE 18 2025

THEME: WORDS CAN HEAL

MEMORISE: Let your speech be always with grace, seasoned with salt, that ye may know how ye ought to answer every man. Colossians 4:6

READ: John 8:1-11

1 Jesus went unto the mount of Olives.

2 And early in the morning he came again into the temple, and all the people came unto him; and he sat down, and taught them.

3 And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery; and when they had set her in the midst,

4 They say unto him, Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act.

5 Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?

6 This they said, tempting him, that they might have to accuse him. But Jesus stooped down, and with his finger wrote on the ground, as though he heard them not.

7 So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.

8 And again he stooped down, and wrote on the ground.

9 And they which heard it, being convicted by their own conscience, went out one by one, beginning at the eldest, even unto the last: and Jesus was left alone, and the woman standing in the midst.

10 When Jesus had lifted up himself, and saw none but the woman, he said unto her, Woman, where are those thine accusers? hath no man condemned thee?

11 She said, No man, Lord. And Jesus said unto her, Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more.

MESSAGE
Over the past two days, I discussed the power of words; today, I will focus on how words can heal. As a Christian, you should always be gracious with your words (Ephesians 4:29). You should be generous with giving compliments and telling people encouraging words. Simply saying things like, "I like your haircut," can bring people out of sadness and put a smile on their faces. Your compliments must, however, be genuine because God will punish those who flatter others with their words (Psalm 12:3). In Ruth 2:1, Boaz was described as a mighty man of wealth.

Unlike some wealthy people who look down on their workers and speak rashly to them, Boaz encouraged his workers with his words, and they responded pleasantly (Ruth 2:4). I believe this is partly responsible for Boaz's successful business. If you are a business owner and you curse or talk down on your workers, you are indirectly also cursing the work of your hands because they are the ones managing it for you.

Nabal, unlike Boaz, was a man who spoke negative words. When David sent his men to ask him to give them something, his response was terrible. He spoke harshly to the men and if his wife, Abigail, hadn't intervened by going without his consent to soothe David with her words, everyone in his family would have been destroyed. While Nabal's words stirred up David's anger and made him gather his men to go against the former's household, Abigail's words were seasoned with salt and kept her family from destruction (1 Samuel 25:1-35).

When you speak, what effect do your words have? Do they heal or destroy? Solomon said, "Death and life are in the power of the tongue..." (Proverbs 18:21). Apostle Paul, in today's memory verse, tells us to make sure that our speech is always with grace and seasoned with salt. Seasoning makes food more enjoyable. A fellow whose speech is well- seasoned will always attract others to himself or herself because people go to places where they are appreciated and motivated. When the woman caught in the act of adultery in today's Bible reading was brought to Jesus, in the midst of many condemning words from other people, His words, "Go and sin no more," brought her the liberty that she needed (John 8:11).

Beloved, let your words bring unbelievers to Jesus and show them His grace. Do not let your words be the reason people reject the gospel.

ACTION POINT
Consciously give genuine compliments and encourages people with your words every day.

BIBLE IN ONE YEAR: Psalms 73-77

AUTHOR: PASTOR E. A ADEBOYE

HYMN 24: I WANT TO BE LIKE JESUS*

1. I want to be like Jesus,
So lowly and so meek;
For no one marked an angry word,
That ever heard Him speak.

2. I want to be like Jesus,
So frequently in prayer;
Alone upon the mountain top,
He met his Father there.

3. I want to be like Jesus,
I never, never find
That He, though persecuted was
To any one unkind.

4. I want to be like Jesus,
Engaged in doing good;
So that of me it may be said
"He hath done what he could."

5. I want to be like Jesus,
Who sweetly said to all,
"Let little children come to Me;"
I would obey the call.

6. But oh I'm not like Jesus,
As any one may see;
O gentle Saviour, send Thy grace,
And make me like to Thee.

Speedy and Crispdal Finally end their relationship after 3 years

You see this love thing ? It’s really complicated . Be careful with the blessings you tap on the internet. We could never imagine that this two will end their relationship. Imagine taking pics , doing videos and touring the world together just to come go their separate ways ? Omo this one pain me .

Few minutes ago Speedy just shared on her TikTok story that they have decided to end their relationship. She made it clear that it wasn’t easy and all of them faught to save the relationship . They did all they could and finally decided to to end it . They are NO LONGER IN A RELATIONSHIP, they are officially engaged and definitely getting married by December.

See your head , we knew you were waiting to drop a comment like “ You knew it won’t last “ . Na u no go last for bed .

Moral lesson : Congratulations. True love still exists .