LOVE AND BULLET
PART 10
The revelation burned through Ava’s veins like acid.
She stood in the dimly lit basement of Obinna’s mansion, Emeka’s words still ringing in her ears. Your NDLEA planned for you to die. The walls seemed to close in around her, the air thick with the scent of damp concrete and betrayal.
Obinna’s hand was warm on her lower back, steadying her. “Breathe,” he murmured.
But how could she?
Every case she’d worked, every criminal she’d put away—had it all been a lie?
Ava turned to Emeka, her voice deadly calm. “Names. I want names."
The files spread across Obinna’s war room told a story more twisted than Ava could have imagined.
Bank statements. Secret meetings. Coded messages.
The NDLEA wasn’t just corrupt—it was controlled.
“Commissioner Dike,” Ava whispered, staring at a photo of her former boss shaking hands with a known cartel leader. “He was the one who assigned me to this case.”
Obinna’s fingers tightened around his whiskey glass. “He sent you to your death.”
Ava’s nails dug into her palms.
She had trusted them.
Fought for them.
Almost died for them.
And they had thrown her away like garbage.
Midnight found Ava and Obinna hunched over blueprints of NDLEA headquarters, their faces illuminated by the glow of a laptop.
“We hit them where it hurts,” Ava said, tracing a route through the building’s security grid. “Their evidence room. All their dirty secrets are stored there.”
Obinna studied her, his gaze intense. “You know this will make you an enemy of the state.”
Ava didn’t blink. “I stopped being theirs the moment they betrayed me.”
A slow, proud smile curved Obinna’s lips. “Then let’s burn it all down.”
Before dawn, Ava stood on the mansion’s rooftop terrace, the first hints of sunlight painting the Lagos skyline in gold and pink.
Obinna joined her, pressing a steaming cup of coffee into her hands. “Can’t sleep?”
She shook her head, watching the city wake below them. “Just remembering who I used to be.”
He turned her to face him, his thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re still you. Just stronger now. Wiser.”
Ava leaned into his touch. “And if this goes wrong?”
Obinna’s smile was all teeth. “Then we’ll take as many of them with us as we can.”
Dressed in stolen NDLEA uniforms, they moved through headquarters like ghosts.
Ava’s pulse pounded in her ears as she swiped her old keycard—still active, they hadn’t even deactivated it—and the evidence room door hissed open.
What they found inside made her blood run cold.
Row after row of seized drugs... except most weren’t seized at all. They were staged. NDLEA-branded packages ready to be planted on targets.
“This is how they control the market,” Obinna realized. “They decide who rises and who falls.”
Ava’s hands shook as she filmed everything with a hidden camera. **“Not anymore.”
Then—
The click of a safety being released.
“Freeze! NDLEA!”
Ava spun to see four armed agents blocking the exit, their guns trained on her chest.
And leading them?
Commissioner Dike himself.
Dike’s smile was oily, triumphant. “Ava Carter. I knew you’d come crawling back eventually.”
Ava didn’t flinch. “I’m not crawling. I’m here to end you.”
Dike laughed. “With what? Your little camera? Do you really think anyone will believe a disgraced agent and a drug lord over the word of Nigeria’s top anti-narcotics official?”
Obinna stepped forward, his voice a lethal purr. “They will when it’s broadcast on every news station in the country.”
Dike’s smile faltered.
Because behind him, on every computer screen in the room, the footage was already uploading.
Live.
TO BE CONTINUED...

LOVE AND AND BULLET
PART 9
The iron gates of Obinna’s mansion groaned open, the sound echoing through the compound like a royal decree.
Ava walked beside him—not behind him—her boots clicking against the polished marble pathway. The air smelled of gunpowder, sweat, and victory. Behind them, Emeka stumbled in chains, his once-proud head now bowed, his expensive clothes torn and bloodied.
The entire compound had gathered—Obinna’s men, his lieutenants, even the house staff—all lined up in perfect formation. Silence draped over them like a heavy cloak.
Then, as one, they dropped to their knees.
Not just for Obinna.
For *her.
The celebration was legendary.
The mansion’s grand hall had been transformed into a palace of revelry. Tables groaned under the weight of steaming jollof rice, spicy suya, and towers of fresh fruit. Palm wine and champagne flowed freely. Music thumped through the walls, the bass vibrating in Ava’s chest as she sat at Obinna’s right hand—the place of honor.
Emeka was forced to kneel in the corner, wrists bound, watching as his empire crumbled before his eyes.
Obinna raised his glass, the gold rings on his fingers glinting in the candlelight. “To the woman who fights like a goddess and loves like a storm.”
The room erupted in cheers, glasses clinking, voices chanting "Obinna! Ava! Obinna! Ava!"
Ava’s cheeks burned, but she didn’t look away from Obinna’s gaze.
He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. “Tonight, I worship you properly.”
Later, when the feast had dwindled and the music softened, Obinna led Ava to his bedroom—a sanctuary of dark wood, silk sheets, and the faint scent of sandalwood.
Moonlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting silver stripes across their skin as Obinna peeled away her clothes with reverence.
“Every scar,” he murmured, tracing the marks on her body, “every bruise—you wore them for me.”
Ava shivered as his lips followed his fingers, mapping her like sacred territory.
They didn’t rush.
This wasn’t just passion—it was a claiming.
When Obinna finally sank into her, their moans tangled together, Ava clutched at his back, her nails leaving crescent moons in his skin.
“Stay,” he begged between thrusts, his voice raw. “Not just in my bed. In my life. As my second. As my queen.”
Ava arched beneath him, her answer lost in a cry of pleasure.
But she knew.
Her heart had already decided.
Dawn came too soon.
Ava woke to Obinna’s fingers tracing lazy patterns on her bare back. She turned, meeting his gaze—soft in the morning light, but no less dangerous.
“We have one last thing to do,” he said.
She knew what he meant.
Emeka.
The basement was cold, the air thick with damp and regret.
Emeka sat slumped against the wall, his once-fine clothes now filthy, his face gaunt. He looked up as they entered, his lips curling into a bitter smile.
“Come to gloat, brother?”
Obinna crossed his arms. “Come to understand.”
Emeka’s laugh was hollow. “What’s there to understand? You won. I lost.”
Ava stepped forward. “Why betray your own blood?”
Emeka’s eyes flicked to her, filled with something like pity. **“You really don’t know, do you?”
Ava stiffened. “Know what?”
“Your precious NDLEA,” Emeka spat. “They’re the ones who came to me. Told me if I helped take Obinna down, they’d let me keep the empire.”
Ava’s blood turned to ice.
“They knew you were undercover,” Emeka continued, grinning at her shock. “They planned for you to die in the crossfire. Clean little accident—no loose ends.”
Obinna’s hand found hers, squeezing tight.
But Ava barely felt it.
Because the truth was worse than betrayal.
It was calculated sacrifice.
TO BE CONTINUED...

LOVE AND BULLET
PART 7
Dawn crept through the curtains like a thief, painting gold stripes across tangled limbs and rumpled sheets.
Ava woke to the weight of Obinna’s arm draped possessively over her waist, his breath warm against her bare shoulder. For one hazy moment, she forgot—forgot she was a detective, forgot he was a criminal, forgot the world outside these four walls existed at all.
Then reality crashed back in.
The safe house was quiet except for the steady drip-drip of last night’s rain from the gutters outside. Obinna’s phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a message that made his arm tense around her.
“We need to move.” His voice was rough with sleep, sending shivers down her spine.
Ava turned in his arms, their noses almost brushing. “Who was that?”
Obinna’s thumb traced idle circles on her hip. “My brother’s making his move.”
The bathroom mirror reflected a version of herself Ava barely recognized—smudged mascara, kiss-bruised lips, the ghost of Obinna’s fingers still branding her skin. She turned the shower knob too hard, letting the scalding water punish her for last night’s weakness.
But when she stepped out, steam curling around her, Obinna was leaning against the doorframe—shirtless, a fresh scar she hadn’t noticed before slashing across his ribs.
“You stare like you’ve never seen me before,” he murmured, taking the towel from her hands.
Ava swallowed as he dried her shoulders with agonizing slowness. “I haven’t. Not like this.”
His lips quirked. “And how do you see me now, detective?"
Dangerous. Addictive. Impossible to walk away from.
She didn’t answer.
Breakfast was a tense affair—fresh mango, warm puff-puff, bitter coffee. Obinna spread a map across the table, his fingers tapping Lagos Island.
“My brother controls the docks now,” he said. “But he’s vulnerable here.”
Ava studied the markings—warehouses, patrol routes, escape points. “This is a full-scale assault.”
“It’s war.” Obinna’s gaze burned into hers. “And you’re going to help me win it.”
Ava laughed incredulously. “Why would I do that?”
He leaned forward, catching her wrist and pressing her palm flat against his chest. His heartbeat thundered under her fingers.
“Because last night wasn’t just sex.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And we both know it.”
The Intimacy of Conspiracy
Obinna dressed her himself—black tactical pants, a fitted bulletproof vest, knives strapped to her thighs. His hands lingered at every buckle, every strap, as if memorizing her.
“This isn’t a disguise,” Ava realized as he braided her hair back with surprising tenderness. “It’s armor.”
Obinna’s lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Today, I need you to be a weapon.”
When he stepped back, Ava saw the change in his eyes—the softness from this morning hardened into something lethal. The Lion was back.
At the door, Obinna caught her face between his hands. His kiss tasted like coffee and goodbye.
“When this is over,” he vowed, “I’ll peel this armor off you one piece at a time.”
Ava’s breath caught. “If we survive.”
His smile was all teeth. “When we survive.”
Then he was gone, leaving Ava with the ghost of his touch and a terrible realization—
She no longer knew whose side she was on.
TO BE CONTINUED...

"Her skull was cracked" - Autopsy Result as widower Ubong seeks new partner weeks before wife's burial

When Glory Uwak died earlier this year in Akwa Ibom State, Nigeria, her passing seemed sudden but unremarkable to the wider public.

But the details that emerged in the days and weeks following her death have shaken many, especially after an autopsy revealed what one advocate described simply and painfully: "Her skull was cracked."

Now, less than a month before her scheduled burial on August 1st, her husband, Ubong Uwak, has found himself at the center of a new wave of outrage this time, for a Facebook post seeking a new partner.

On July 9th, Ubong, who also goes by Ubby Uwak online, posted in a Christian singles group on Facebook. “Looking for a God-fearing sister,” he wrote, in what appeared to be a straightforward relationship request.

But his post was quickly met with sharp criticism not because of its content, but because of its timing. Friends, former colleagues, and members of the online community quickly pointed out that his wife had not yet been buried, and, more alarmingly, that her death was still surrounded by serious questions.

Among the most vocal critics was Roberta Edu, Glory's former employer and a woman who had tried, quietly at first, to support a push for justice.

“You see why I always say you can’t cry more than the family? Her skull was cracked. Blood flowed from the cracks into her throat. That was the autopsy result. And yet, he’s out of custody, posting about dating,” she wrote in a public post.

Edu said she had met with Glory just hours before her death. Not long after, friends and family began coming forward with stories of abuse, painting a picture of a marriage marked by fear, control, and violence.

Concerned, Edu said she contacted Glory’s family and encouraged them to file a formal complaint with the police. She helped fund an autopsy. She paid legal fees. She pushed, hoping the findings would clear any doubt.

What came back from the coroner was, in her words, devastating: “It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t sudden. It was violent.”

Edu said she pressed the police to pursue the case fully, even taking it to the headquarters in Abuja after alleging that a local police officer was trying to derail the investigation. Ubong was arrested and detained.

Glory’s family initially supportive began to retreat. Her father, Edu said, wrote to the police to withdraw the complaint. He said his son-in-law was incapable of such a crime. The case file was still with the Directorate of Public Prosecution (DPP), but momentum was gone.

“I was ready to fight the police, the suspect, and anyone standing in the way of justice, The only ones I couldn’t fight were her family.” Edu said

She eventually pulled back from the case. Then, not long after Ubong’s release, came the dating post.

“He hasn’t buried her. The autopsy said she died from head trauma. And now, he wants a new wife? Women say they want marriage. Go ahead. Maybe you’ll be next.”

“Churches that like to join nonsense, They knew. There were signs. But they still blessed the marriage.”

The world was never meant to be a competition of appearances. It was meant to be a gallery of individuality where every person adds their own colour, texture, story.

We were not made to look the same, talk the same, or live the same. We were made to be different, to carry our own light in our own way. Just like every painting in a gallery tells a unique story, every person carries a story that only they can share. It’s not about who looks better, dresses better, or fits in more. It’s about being true to who you are and your voice, your feelings, your dreams. That’s what makes life rich and beautiful.

So don’t try to shrink yourself to fit in. Don’t hide your story because it’s not like someone else’s. You were never meant to be an imitation. You were meant to be a canvas with full of meaning. The more we honour each other’s differences, the more we understand the true beauty of being human. It’s not in perfect shapes or polished surfaces. It’s in the raw and honest truth of who we are.

Let the world be your gallery, not your judge. Add your colour, leave your mark, tell your story, because no one else ever can.

10 Things Lagos Landlords Won’t Tell You Until It’s Too Late

(Read this BEFORE you pay rent!)

If you’re planning to rent an apartment in Lagos, don’t let that fresh paint deceive you. Many tenants only discover the real truth after they’ve paid in full and moved in—by then, it’s too late. Eyes Of Lagos reports,

Here are 10 shady secrets Lagos landlords won’t tell you, but you NEED to know before renting:

1. “It Doesn’t Flood… Except That One Time”

Many landlords will boldly say “no flooding here,” but once the rain starts, your living room turns into a fishpond. Always inspect after rainfall—or ask neighbors quietly.

2. “There’s Steady Light” – Until You Move In

They’ll tell you the transformer is solid. Reality? You might only get light two times a week, and most tenants rely on gen and candles.

3. “Other Tenants Are Peaceful” – But the Compound Is a Warzone

From neighbors fighting over parking space to 3 a.m. loud music, you may end up in a mini-ghetto with no peace of mind.

4. “We Just Renovated” – Only Paint, Nothing Else

Renovated means they sprayed fresh paint on a building that’s leaking, cracking, or termite-infested. Always check toilets, ceilings, and piping yourself.

5. “Water Runs 24/7” – But the Pump Is Always Off

Some compounds only pump water once a week or expect you to “contribute fuel” for the pumping machine. No water = wahala.

6. “Security Is Tight” – But Gate No Get Padlock

They’ll promise a secure compound, but at night, the gate is wide open, the fence is low, and the night guard sleeps off by 10 p.m.

7. “The Landlord Doesn’t Disturb” – Until He Starts Collecting Fines for Everything

Once you’re in, you’ll start hearing:

“₦2,000 for painting stairs.”

“₦1,500 for compound cleaning.”

“₦5,000 for generator stand fee.”
No peace of mind.

8. “Generator Is Allowed” – But Then He Bans It

You buy your gen, set it up, and suddenly the landlord says “no noise pollution.” Or you can only use it for 2 hours max.

9. “We’re a Family Compound” – But Tenants Mind Only Their Family

Family house dramas, landlords living in the same building, or landlords fighting tenants over who should lock the gate? It’s real.

10. “You’re the First to See It” – But Ten Others Have Paid Caution Fee

They pressure you to pay immediately, saying “others are interested.” Don’t fall for it. Do your checks and take your time.

One Minute Please The Longest Minute in Accra

It was a hot Saturday afternoon in Accra. The sun was shining like it had a personal grudge, and the whole town was waiting at the church for one thing Kojo and Akosua’s wedding. The pastor had already wiped his face three times, the choir had run out of songs, and even the flower girls were eating their own petals from boredom.

Meanwhile, back at the house, Akosua was in front of her mirror, applying her 13th layer of makeup. She looked stunning, yes, but time was running like Usain Bolt.

Kojo, her poor groom, was standing by the door sweating in his tuxedo like someone who owed ECG. He looked at the wall clock and shouted,
Akosua We’re late oo! The pastor is threatening to go and do another funeral

Akosua, without blinking, replied in her sweet voice,
One minute please
Then continued carefully brushing her eyelashes like she was painting the Mona Lisa.

Kojo held his head. Ei! One minute in Ghana woman time is one hour in real life

Outside, the best man was pacing, calling every 10 minutes:
Bro, has she finished
Kojo whispered back, She said ‘one minute 45 minutes ago

Back at the church, people started whispering:

Maybe she changed her mind

No oh, maybe she lost her shoe

Or the makeup artist is still contouring her ancestors.

Finally, Akosua appeared at the door like a queen stepping out of a music video. Kojo, half-dead from panic, smiled and said,
Let’s go before you remember you need to fix your necklace too

They arrived at church almost 2 hours late. But when Akosua walked in, the whole church gasped in awe.

Someone in the crowd said,
Ah well, beauty takes time. But next time, marry her in her sleep. That's when she won't delay

In Ghana, when a woman says One minute please, just sit down, drink some sobolo, and wait like you're queuing at DVLA

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 13
The past month had been a balm, a deep, golden reprieve after the tempest of Amanda. Sunlight seemed brighter in the penthouse, laughter came easier, and the love between Jessica and Scar felt like a fortress rebuilt stronger on the ruins of distrust. They were inseparable. Mornings lingered over shared coffee and murmured plans. Evenings were spent entwined on the sofa, Jessica reading law texts while Scar reviewed encrypted reports, his hand perpetually resting on her knee or playing with a strand of her long, dark hair. He’d taken to calling her "Counselor" with a teasing glint in his eyes, a constant, warm reminder of his investment in her future. The shadow of Amanda felt distant, a bad dream fading in the dawn of their renewed intimacy.
This particular morning bloomed with deceptive serenity. Sunlight streamed through the expansive windows, painting warm diamonds on the polished floor. Jessica, humming softly, prepared two cups of strong, dark coffee – Scar’s favorite, brewed just the way he liked it. She carried them to the balcony where he sat, immersed in a financial ledger, the Lagos skyline a glittering backdrop. He looked up as she approached, his stern features instantly softening into the smile reserved only for her. He pulled her down for a quick, tender kiss.
"Morning, Counselor," he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. "Smells perfect."
"It is," Jessica smiled, placing his cup before him. She settled into the adjacent chair, cradling her own cup, savoring the rich aroma and the peaceful domesticity. For a few blissful minutes, they sipped in companionable silence, the city’s hum a distant lullaby.
Then, the world shattered.
A choked gasp tore from Scar’s throat. Jessica looked over, startled. His face had gone unnaturally pale, a sickly grey undertone replacing his healthy complexion. His coffee cup clattered to the marble floor, shattering, dark liquid spreading like a stain. His hand flew to his throat, his eyes wide with a sudden, terrifying confusion.
"Sebastian?" Jessica breathed, frozen for a heartbeat.
He lurched forward, gagging violently. A thin stream of white, frothy foam bubbled from the corner of his lips. His body convulsed, muscles locking in agonizing spasms. He crashed sideways off the chair, hitting the balcony floor with a sickening thud, his limbs jerking uncontrollably.
Panic, pure and primal, seized Jessica. "SEBASTIAN!" she screamed, the sound tearing her throat. She scrambled towards him, her hands fluttering uselessly over his convulsing form. The white foam was thicker now, coating his chin. His eyes rolled back, showing the whites. "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!"
The penthouse exploded into chaos. Heavy footsteps pounded. William burst onto the balcony first, his face draining of color at the sight of his boss writhing on the floor, choking on foam. Ghost, a silent, perpetually watchful presence whose loyalty was unquestioned, materialized beside him, his dark eyes instantly assessing the scene with chilling calm. Two more guards followed, their expressions grim.
"Poison!" William snarled, dropping to his knees beside Scar. "Get the medical team! NOW!" One guard sprinted back inside, shouting into his comms.
Ghost efficiently helped William roll Scar onto his side, trying to clear his airway as he gagged and choked. Jessica knelt beside them, tears streaming down her face, her hands trembling as she tried to wipe the foam from his mouth. "Hold on, Sebastian! Please hold on!"
Within minutes, the penthouse became a triage zone. Scar’s private medical team arrived, moving with grim efficiency. They administered oxygen, injected emergency medications to counteract the convulsions, and stabilized him for transport. As they lifted him onto a stretcher, his body still twitching, his skin clammy and grey, Jessica felt a piece of her soul tear away. She tried to follow, clutching his limp hand.
"Where are you taking him? I need to be with him!" she pleaded.
"The hospital. Our facility," William said tersely, his face etched with worry and suspicion. "Stay here, Jessica." His tone held a command she’d never heard directed at her before.
The journey to Scar’s private, high-security hospital wing was a blur of flashing lights and suffocating dread. Jessica rode in a separate car, flanked by guards, her mind racing. *Poisoned.* The word echoed like a death knell. *How? When?* Her thoughts snagged, horrifyingly, on the image of the coffee cup. *She* had made it. *She* had handed it to him. *She* was the last person to touch it before he drank.
The sterile, cold air of the hospital corridor did nothing to calm the rising hysteria. Doctors rushed Scar into an emergency room, shutting the doors firmly. Jessica paced, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, feeling exposed and terrified. William and Ghost stood nearby, their expressions unreadable, communicating in low tones with other arriving lieutenants.
Suddenly, the tense silence was shattered by the sharp click of stiletto heels on the polished floor. Amanda. She strode down the corridor like a vengeful goddess, dressed in a sleek black pantsuit, her blonde curls impeccable, her face a mask of icy fury.
She stopped inches from Jessica, her dark eyes blazing with pure malice. "You," she spat, the word dripping venom. "You poisonous little SLUT!"
Jessica flinched, taking a step back. "Amanda, this isn't—"
"Shut your filthy mouth!" Amanda hissed, her voice low but carrying through the corridor. "You couldn't stand that he was mine! Couldn't stand that he sent you away! So you tried to kill him!" She leaned in, her voice dropping to a chilling whisper only Jessica could hear. "But don't worry, gutter rat. When he dies – and he will die – I'll make sure you suffer slowly. Very, very slowly. I'll peel the skin from your bones myself."
The raw hatred in Amanda’s eyes was terrifying. Before Jessica could react, Amanda raised her voice, projecting it to the gathered men. "Look at her! She made his coffee! She was alone with him! She's the only one who wanted him dead! SHE POISONED HIM!"
The accusation hung in the air, toxic and heavy. Eyes turned towards Jessica – William’s gaze hardened, others narrowed with suspicion. The seed of doubt Amanda planted found fertile ground in the fear and anger already swirling around them.
"Take her," William ordered, his voice cold, devoid of its usual respect. "Secure her. Now."
Strong hands clamped onto Jessica’s arms. "No! I didn't! I would never!" she cried, struggling futilely against the grip of two burly guards. "It was her! She did this! She threatened him! She threatened me!"
Amanda laughed, a sharp, brittle sound. "Lies! Desperate lies from a murderer! Lock her up!"
As Jessica was dragged away, kicking and pleading, her eyes locked with Ghost’s. His expression was inscrutable, but for a fleeting second, she saw something – not suspicion, but intense calculation. He gave her the faintest, almost imperceptible nod, then turned his attention back to the emergency room doors.
Jessica was shoved into a small, sterile holding room within the hospital, guarded heavily. Despair washed over her. Sebastian was dying. Everyone believed she’d done it. Amanda had won. Panic surged. Her family! Amanda knew where they lived! She fumbled for the phone she’d been allowed to keep, frantically dialing her mother.
"Mama!" she sobbed when the call connected. "Listen! You have to leave! Right now! Take everyone and run! Go somewhere safe! Don't tell anyone! Amanda… she… Sebastian’s poisoned… they think I did it… she’ll come for you! PLEASE RUN!"
Her mother’s voice was thick with terror and confusion. "Jessica! What? Poisoned? Baby—"
"NO TIME! RUN! NOW!" Jessica screamed before the call was abruptly cut off. One of the guards outside had heard and seized her phone.
Minutes later, William stormed into the room, his face thunderous. "Your family," he stated coldly. "They won't be going anywhere. They’re under protective custody. House arrest. For their own safety… and ours." The implication was clear: they were hostages, leverage against her.
Jessica crumpled onto the hard cot, her world reduced to crushing fear and helplessness. Sebastian was fighting for his life. Her family was imprisoned. She was branded a traitor and a murderer. And Amanda was free, weaving her web of lies.
Hours crawled by. Night fell. The hospital corridor outside her door was quiet now, only the low murmur of guards remained. Jessica sat in the dark, hugging her knees, tears long since dried, replaced by a cold, simmering fury and a gnawing terror for Sebastian. Was he still alive? Had the poison…?
The lock on her door clicked softly. It opened just enough for a shadow to slip inside. Ghost. He moved like smoke, closing the door silently behind him. His face was grim in the dim light filtering under the door.
"Miss Jessica," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "We don't have much time."
Her heart leaped into her throat. "Ghost? Sebastian? Is he—"
"Alive. But in a coma. Critical." Ghost’s words were clipped. "They’re setting you up. Amanda’s playing them all. William… he’s blinded by anger and fear for the Boss. Others are listening to her whispers."
"Ghost, I swear, I didn't—"
"I know," he interrupted, his dark eyes holding hers with unnerving intensity. "The Boss trusts you. That’s enough for me. But you can't stay here. They'll kill you before morning, or hand you to Amanda. And your family… they’re not safe either."
"What do I do?" Jessica whispered, desperation clawing at her.
"We get you out. Now." Ghost pulled a dark hoodie and a pair of nondescript trousers from a small bag. "Put these on. Quickly. We go out the service elevator, through the basement. I have a car."
"But my family! Sebastian!"
"I can't get to your family yet. Too guarded. But alive, free, you have a chance to clear your name, to find the real traitor, to help the Boss," Ghost insisted, urgency hardening his voice. "Staying is death. For you, and eventually, for them. Come on!"
Driven by terror and a fierce spark of hope ignited by Ghost’s loyalty, Jessica scrambled into the clothes. Ghost guided her silently past the guard he’d discreetly incapacitated, through deserted corridors and down service stairs. The humid night air of Lagos hit her face as they slipped out a loading dock door. A battered, unremarkable sedan idled in the shadows. Ghost shoved her into the passenger seat, slammed the door, and peeled away into the chaotic Lagos night.
Jessica stared out the window, the city lights blurring through fresh tears. Sebastian was in a coma. Her family were prisoners. The man she loved might never know she was innocent. Amanda had framed her perfectly. And somewhere, hidden among the men Scar trusted most, was a traitor who had poisoned him and nearly destroyed everything.
Ghost navigated the streets with tense precision. "Where are we going?" Jessica asked, her voice small.
"Somewhere safe. Off-grid," Ghost replied, his eyes scanning the mirrors. "We need to disappear. And we need to find out who did this. Before it's too late for everyone."
The car sped into the darkness, carrying Jessica away from the hospital, away from Sebastian’s side, away from everything she loved. She was a fugitive, branded a murderer, hunted by her lover’s men, and stalked by his vengeful ex. Her only ally was a shadow named Ghost. The fight for their lives, for their love, and for the truth had just begun, and it was a fight Jessica had to win from the shadows. The question wasn't just *who* poisoned Scar, but *who* would believe her innocence when even the man she loved was lost in a silent, poisoned sleep?
TO BE CONTINUED..