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INSPIRING ONITSHA TRUE STORY

“My mother sold pap beside the market gutter.”
“Now I export to five countries — and I named the brand after her.”
They called it “dirty woman’s food.”
Now it’s on shelves in London and New York.

Her Mother Sold Akamu by the Roadside — What Her Daughter Did 20 Years Later Left the Whole Market in Tears
Written by Rosyworld CRN

Onitsha, Nigeria — 2003.

Every morning by 5:00 a.m., Mama Uju would tie her wrapper tight, light the firewood, and begin stirring the large pot of pap.

Yellow, thick, creamy — and hot.

She sold it at the corner of Nkpor Market.
Right beside the open gutter.
No kiosk. No umbrella. Just smoke, sweat, and survival.

Her daughter Uju sat beside her.
Sometimes sleeping.
Sometimes helping.
Always dreaming.

But other market women mocked them.

“See your mummy selling food by gutter!”
“Who will marry you when your clothes always smell like smoke?”

Uju stayed quiet.
She watched.
Learned.
And whispered to her mother one day:

"One day, this pap will travel beyond Nigeria."

Mama Uju laughed. “Pap wey I dey sell for ₦50?”

“Yes, mama,” she replied. “Your sweat has a flavour the world hasn’t tasted yet.”

Uju studied hard.
Went to UNN.
Studied Food Science & Tech.
Wrote her final project on “Preservation and Commercialization of Traditional Fermented Foods.”

Graduated with distinction.
Got a loan from a youth empowerment fund.
Started small — two bags of corn, a borrowed grinder, and an Instagram page.

Business Name: Mama Uju’s Original Pap.

It wasn’t just a product.
It was a legacy.

People laughed at first.
Then they tasted it.
Then they ordered.

By 2021, she was supplying supermarkets in Lagos and Abuja.
By 2023, she exported to the UK through a Nigerian food distributor.

In 2025, she returned to Nkpor Market — where it all began.
She wore a custom-made ankara dress printed with the words: “From Gutter to Global.”

She came with camera crews, a truckload of her packaged pap, and a special announcement.

She stood beside the same corner where her mother once bent over firewood and said:

“This is where royalty once sat on a plastic chair.
This is where I saw dignity in burnt fingers.
This is where I first tasted strength.”

She donated ₦10 million to upgrade the market stalls for other women vendors.
Gave them branded kiosks and cooking equipment.
Named the space: “Mama Uju’s Women’s Corner.”

Then she gave her mother a key to a brand-new bungalow, built on land she bought secretly five years ago.

Mama Uju fainted.
Then cried.
Then danced.

Because the pap she stirred for survival…
Became the pap her daughter used for global success.

And the child once laughed at for smelling of smoke…
Now breathes boardroom air — but still bows before the woman who stirred her future.

INSPIRING ONITSHA TRUE STORY

“My mother sold pap beside the market gutter.”
“Now I export to five countries — and I named the brand after her.”
They called it “dirty woman’s food.”
Now it’s on shelves in London and New York.

Her Mother Sold Akamu by the Roadside — What Her Daughter Did 20 Years Later Left the Whole Market in Tears
Written by Rosyworld CRN

Onitsha, Nigeria — 2003.

Every morning by 5:00 a.m., Mama Uju would tie her wrapper tight, light the firewood, and begin stirring the large pot of pap.

Yellow, thick, creamy — and hot.

She sold it at the corner of Nkpor Market.
Right beside the open gutter.
No kiosk. No umbrella. Just smoke, sweat, and survival.

Her daughter Uju sat beside her.
Sometimes sleeping.
Sometimes helping.
Always dreaming.

But other market women mocked them.

“See your mummy selling food by gutter!”
“Who will marry you when your clothes always smell like smoke?”

Uju stayed quiet.
She watched.
Learned.
And whispered to her mother one day:

"One day, this pap will travel beyond Nigeria."

Mama Uju laughed. “Pap wey I dey sell for ₦50?”

“Yes, mama,” she replied. “Your sweat has a flavour the world hasn’t tasted yet.”

Uju studied hard.
Went to UNN.
Studied Food Science & Tech.
Wrote her final project on “Preservation and Commercialization of Traditional Fermented Foods.”

Graduated with distinction.
Got a loan from a youth empowerment fund.
Started small — two bags of corn, a borrowed grinder, and an Instagram page.

Business Name: Mama Uju’s Original Pap.

It wasn’t just a product.
It was a legacy.

People laughed at first.
Then they tasted it.
Then they ordered.

By 2021, she was supplying supermarkets in Lagos and Abuja.
By 2023, she exported to the UK through a Nigerian food distributor.

In 2025, she returned to Nkpor Market — where it all began.
She wore a custom-made ankara dress printed with the words: “From Gutter to Global.”

She came with camera crews, a truckload of her packaged pap, and a special announcement.

She stood beside the same corner where her mother once bent over firewood and said:

“This is where royalty once sat on a plastic chair.
This is where I saw dignity in burnt fingers.
This is where I first tasted strength.”

She donated ₦10 million to upgrade the market stalls for other women vendors.
Gave them branded kiosks and cooking equipment.
Named the space: “Mama Uju’s Women’s Corner.”

Then she gave her mother a key to a brand-new bungalow, built on land she bought secretly five years ago.

Mama Uju fainted.
Then cried.
Then danced.

Because the pap she stirred for survival…
Became the pap her daughter used for global success.

And the child once laughed at for smelling of smoke…
Now breathes boardroom air — but still bows before the woman who stirred her future.

I WAS ERASED BY MY OWN TWIN SISTER
PART 1
Nneka and Ngozi were identical in every way—same face, same voice, even the same birthmark on their left wrist. But that was where the similarity ended.
From the moment they turned thirteen, the differences between them became impossible to ignore. Nneka was the golden child—bright, obedient, and always the first to raise her hand in class. Teachers praised her, boys admired her, and their parents beamed with pride whenever her name was mentioned.
Ngozi hated it.
Every compliment Nneka received was like a knife twisting in Ngozi’s chest. Every award, every smile directed at her sister, made Ngozi’s blood boil. She was tired of living in Nneka’s shadow. Tired of being the "other twin."
And so, she decided to do something about it.
It started with small things—missing earrings, broken plates, stolen money. Each time, Ngozi would wait for the perfect moment, then plant the evidence in Nneka’s room.
"Mama! My new bracelet is gone!" Ngozi wailed one evening, clutching her wrist dramatically.
Their mother, Mama Bisi, sighed. "Did you check everywhere?"
"Yes! I left it on my dresser, and now it’s gone!" Ngozi’s eyes flicked toward Nneka, who was quietly reading in the corner.
Mama Bisi frowned. "Nneka, did you take your sister’s bracelet?"
Nneka looked up, confused. "No, Mama. I haven’t even been in her room."
But Ngozi was already moving. She marched to Nneka’s bed, lifted the pillow, and—just like she had planned—there it was.
"Mama, look!" Ngozi gasped, holding up the bracelet as if it were a murder weapon. "She stole it!"
Nneka’s eyes widened. "I didn’t—I swear I didn’t take it!"
Mama Bisi’s face darkened. "Nneka, how could you? After all we’ve done for you?"
No amount of pleading could save her. Nneka was sent to her room without dinner, while Ngozi smirked behind their mother’s back.
The punishments became harsher. One day, Ngozi spilled ink on their father’s important documents and blamed Nneka. Another time, she stole money from Mama Bisi’s purse and slipped it into Nneka’s schoolbag.
Each time, Nneka would cry, "It wasn’t me! Ngozi is lying!"
But no one believed her.
"Why would Ngozi lie?" their father would snap. "You’re just jealous because she’s more honest than you!"
Ngozi loved it. She loved the way Nneka’s face crumpled in hurt. Loved the way their parents scolded her while praising Ngozi for being "the good one."
But deep down, Ngozi knew the truth—she wasn’t the good one. She was the clever one.
One afternoon, Nneka came home with the highest score in their class. The teacher had written, "Brilliant work!" on her test paper.
Ngozi couldn’t take it anymore.
That night, while Nneka slept, Ngozi crept into her room and tore the test paper to shreds. Then, she took Nneka’s favorite dress—the one their aunt had brought from abroad—and ripped it down the middle.
The next morning, chaos erupted.
"Nneka! What is wrong with you?" Mama Bisi screamed, holding up the destroyed dress.
Nneka stared in horror. "I—I didn’t do this!"
"Then who did? A ghost?" their father roared.
Ngozi stood in the doorway, her face the perfect picture of innocence. "Maybe… maybe she was angry about something," she whispered, planting the seed.
Their parents exchanged glances. That was it.
"Nneka," Mama Bisi said coldly, "you need to learn respect. No dinner for a week. And you’ll pay for a new dress from your savings."
Nneka’s tears fell freely, but Ngozi only smiled.
Because this was just the beginning.
As the years passed, Ngozi’s schemes grew bolder. She whispered lies to their friends, making sure Nneka had no one to turn to. She sabotaged Nneka’s chances at scholarships, stole her crushes, and made sure their parents saw only the worst in her.
And Nneka? She grew quieter. More broken.
But Ngozi wasn’t satisfied yet.
Because one day, Nneka would have something Ngozi wanted. Something Ngozi would take—no matter the cost.
And when that day came, Nneka would pay for being the favorite.
Forever.
To Be Continued…

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

*SOME NIGERIAN NEWSPAPER HEADLINES+, 20/06/2025*

FG’ll unlock potential of all states, says Tinubu

Kaduna now model of peace under Sani, says Tinubu

Food inflation: NSA, 36 states launch joint action

542 senior military officers retire

National Economic Council postpones planned 150th meeting

Organisers laud entry turnout for AFRIMA 2025

Benue IDPs protest bad conditions in camp

Lagos seals Oko-Oba Abattoir over environmental violations

Israel threatens Khamenei after Iranian missiles wound 240

Trump to make Iran war decision in ‘next two weeks’

Nigeria, Germany sign €20m renewable energy deal

Russia offers 220 Nigerians scholarships

FCCPC seals France, Belgium, Italy visa centres in Abuja


-------------------------------
*DID YOU KNOW?*

* Bluetooth gets its name from Harald “Bluetooth” Gormsson, a 10th-century Danish king who united Denmark and Norway. It was chosen as a codename during the technology’s development by Jim Kardach of Intel, as a nod to the king’s ability to unify different factions, similar to how the technology unites different devices.

* Ants are incredibly strong for their size, capable of carrying 50 times their own weight.
-------------------------------

Tinubu inaugurates Institute of Vocational Training, 100 CNG buses in Kaduna

‘Leave him alone,’ Tinubu tells security as man approaches president in Kaduna

Tinubu confers CFR honour on Dangiwa Umar for role in defending democracy

85% of Rivers N1.48tn budget was drafted by Fubara — Senate

Tinubu has no rival in Kaduna for 2027 — Speaker Abbas

Appeal Court overturns GTBank’s foreclosure of Abiola family’s Ikoyi mansion

GTBank loses bid to reclaim MKO son’s Lagos mansion

Defamation: Court grants Natasha N50m bail

Court admits DSS report linking Kanu to #EndSARS violence

#EndSARS protest: 233 security agents killed at Kanu’s incitement – DSS’ witness

Alleged terrorism: I’ve no case to answer, Kanu tells court

Man jailed 76 years for child pornography, fraud

Two Islamic clerics arraigned for scamming doctor N280m

EFCC nabs seven suspected internet fraudsters in Abuja

Benue killings: Residents sheltered attackers, gave them food, women — CDS

Benue massacre: Troops got faulty info on herders’ movements —CDS

6,260 terrorists killed, 5,365 hostages rescued in two years –DHQ

ECOWAS must boost intra-regional trade to avoid neo-colonialism – Tuggar

REA, FCMB seal N100bn renewable energy deal

DMO raises N91bn from green bond

Fight inflation with credit schemes, OPS urges govt

FG, Kano to build manufacturing hub, boost industrial growth

TCN: Vandalised towers hit 178 in six months

Telecom sector bouncing back after forex crisis, says NCC boss

Japa: FG begins housing scheme for doctors

Wike slams Abuja’s ‘big men’ for poor tax compliance

Tinubu, NASS failed to secure Nigerians — SMBLF

50 million Nigerians are sickle cell carriers – Experts

USSD debt: Telcos recover N170bn from banks

DLM Capital unveils N30bn sovereign-backed credit bond

Stanbic IBTC rights issue oversubscribed by 121.97%

Oye steps down as NACCIMA, OPSN Chairman

Pharmacy council shuts 67 illegal drug outlets in Lagos

Odua Cooperative eyes grant to revive S’West economy

Ojude Oba: Glo celebrates 20 years of sponsorship, presents cars

Bank customers petition CBN over excess charges

Body to scale up bambara nut production

Security beefed up in A’Ibom as Tinubu, Akpabio set to receive Eno to APC on Saturday

Katsina: 287 former aspirants, candidates dump PDP for coalition

AAC seeks justice for 20-year -old assaulted deaf girl

PDP, APC trade words as EFCC arrests 15 ex-Plateau lawmakers

LG fund: APC Rep warns Adeleke as Osun Assembly fumes

Adeleke hails Osun lawmaker for empowering 700 business owners

Abia won’t tolerate crime, Otti warns criminals

Kano senator rewards Qur’anic reciters with new homes

Anambra govt goes tough on landlords, gives July 1 ultimatum

Lagos, Oyo back safer gambling to curb addiction

Housing: Lagos moves to regulate agency charges

Anambra civil service commission receives ICT tools

Gombe approves additional N5,000 allowance for LG, LGEA workers

Kebbi boosts water supply, rehabilitates boreholes to solar power

LASTMA accused of covering up N70m excavator theft at Lagos yard

Imo LG bans non-govt approved vigilante groups

Kebbi CAN debunks rejection of N30m gift, says fund was for Christian crusade, projects

Niger flood: Two more decomposed corpses recovered

Kano CP orders offensive against criminal hideouts

Gombe Police abolish use of truck horns by motorcyclists

Niger police conduct Suleja raid, nab 20 suspects

Uromi killings: Kano, Edo silent as hunter compensation talks stall

-------------------------------

*TODAY IN HISTORY*

* On this day in 1991, the German parliament moved to Berlin. Bonn had been the capital of West Germany until the country’s reunification in 1990. The “Hauptstadtbeschluss” (capital decision) stipulated that the seat of government and the parliament also be moved to the “new” capital Berlin.

-------------------------------

No individual can win a game by himself. – Pele


Good morning

*Compiled by Hon. Osuji George [email protected], +234-8122200446*see

WIA PIKIN DE CRY DE POINT HAND, IF HIN PAPA NO DEY DIA, HIN MAMA GO DEY DIA OR PATA-PATA PESIN WEY BEAT AM (Wetin Mek Am De Cry) GO DEY DIA.

THE BREASTFEEDING TRUTH THEY WON'T TELL YOU IN THE HOSPITAL:


Low Milk Isn’t destiny.
It’s Fuel Sabotage.

Allow me burn the lies:

You keep asking with crushing fear. Why isn’t enough breast milk coming out?

Understand that this is not your body failing.
It’s just unhealthy food and wrong advice starving your biology.

Here’s the silent milk thief:
You’re told to just keep breastfeeding–
But no one hands you the real template to BUILD BREAST MILK.

Milk isn’t magic.
It’s MOLECULES:
→ Made from fats you eat (avocado, butter, tallow, eggs).
→ Flowing on rivers you drink (water, bone broth).
→ Ignited by nutrients you absorb (not swallow from a pill).

Yet, they tell you to feed on?
—Pap, Soy milk, Processed Milk, packed with sugar and false hope.
—Oatmeal while stressed, chugging sage tea (the drying herb!) what a wrong move.
—Fear of too much egg cholesterol – as your cells starve.
—Wheat & it's derivatives like semo - as this shred your milk making hormones.
—Seed Oil - which paralyzes your cells powerhouse.
—And avoid red meat - forgetting anemia starve breast milk of oxygen.

Listen, You can Stimulate Breast Milk Supply with these:

- CHANGE INTO ORGANIC TOOTHPASTE, NOT TOOTHPASTE WITH TRICLOSAN because it mimics estrogen → hormone chaos → mess up breast milk supply.
- TAKE BONE BROTH = Electrolytes + collagen. Sip it like liquid gold.
- SIP SALTED WATER: Not optional. Your cells are oceans – fill them.
- EAT EGGS + YOLKS: Choline builds milk ducts. Eat 4 or more daily.
- EAT BEEF LIVER: Nature’s multivitamin prepared with onions (liver fuel therapy).
- TAKE AVOCADO/OLIVE OIL: Milk is 50% fat. Drown your salad with it.
- BREASTFEED LIKE A WARRIOR: At least 12+ times per day. Your Baby’s mouth is the pump that programs supply.
- SKIN-TO-SKIN: Chest out, Take guilt off.
- GET RID OF STRESS because stress hormones clogs milk ducts. So, practice BELLY BREATHING: This is not woo-woo. Oxygen flushes milk ducts. (Breathe like a dragon: 4 sec in, 8 sec out.)

I'd leave you with this:
Ditch the EMPTY CARBS (Cereal, bread, biscuits) – They all inflame, so don’t feed on them).

Embrace ANCESTRAL NOURISHMENT.
Not fruit juices from the super market.

Always allow your baby to sûck your breast like your life depends on it.(This is called latching) – because it does.

Your milk is Medicine.
Your milk is Sacred.
But your mouth is the GATEWAY.

This isn’t just advice – it’s armor.


Share this with every mother fighting to reclaim her breast milk.

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THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 17
The air in Ghost’s apartment still hummed with the fading resonance of celebration, but the joyous chaos had settled into a warm, contented quiet. Paper lanterns cast soft, multicoloured pools of light on the worn floor. The scent of jollof rice and sweet puff-puff mingled with the faint, hopeful fragrance of the lilies. Jessica sat nestled in a worn but comfortable armchair, a hand resting on the magnificent curve of her belly, exhaustion and profound happiness etched on her face. Beside her, perched on the armrest, was Sebastian Scar.
He hadn’t left her side since the moment he’d stepped through the door. One arm was draped protectively around her shoulders, his large hand resting possessively on her bump, feeling the powerful, reassuring kicks of his son. His other hand held hers, his thumb tracing slow circles on her knuckles. The cold, hardened kingpin was gone. In his place was a man visibly awash with wonder, tenderness, and a fierce, almost overwhelming protectiveness. He couldn't hide his excitement. A genuine smile, rare and radiant, softened the harsh lines of his face as he watched Jessica accept a final glass of water from Chioma.
"You need to rest, *omoge*," Chioma fussed gently, using the Yoruba term for 'beautiful child'. "All this excitement isn't good for the little warrior."
Scar nodded immediately, his voice unusually soft. "She's right, my love. You've been through too much today." He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple, breathing in her scent – safety, home, *future*. He acted as if she were spun glass, his movements careful, his embrace constant, a physical manifestation of his terror at the thought of her disappearing again. Every time she shifted, his arm tightened infinitesimally; every time she smiled at one of the men, his gaze followed her with possessive adoration. The raw vulnerability he displayed, this public clinging, was as shocking to his men as his earlier rage had been.
As Chioma began gently clearing plates, William stepped forward, clearing his throat. The relaxed atmosphere shifted slightly, a current of solemnity returning. Kola, Musa, Femi, and the others gathered closer, their expressions turning serious, respectful, but also apprehensive.
"Boss," William began, his voice steady but heavy with unspoken weight. "First… on behalf of all of us…" He gestured around the room, encompassing the gathered men. "We owe you and Jessica a profound apology. We hid the truth. We kept Jessica from you. We deceived you." He met Scar’s gaze, which had sharpened but held no immediate anger, only a watchful intensity. "It wasn't disloyalty to you, sir. Never that. It was… it was loyalty to *her*." He nodded towards Jessica. "And to your unborn child. We saw what Amanda was doing. We saw the poison she dripped into everything. We knew she’d kill Jessica if we didn’t act, and likely the baby too. We needed time. Time to gather proof solid enough to shatter her lies and keep Jessica safe while we did it. We chose to protect what we knew mattered most to you, even when you couldn't see it. We beg your understanding… and your forgiveness."
Scar studied William, then slowly scanned the faces of the other men. He saw no defiance, only earnest contrition and the steely resolve that had driven their dangerous gambit. He squeezed Jessica’s hand. "You kept her alive," he stated, his voice low and thick with emotion. "You kept *my son* safe. When I…" He paused, the memory of his own murderous rage towards Jessica a fresh wound. "When I failed to see the truth. That debt outweighs the deception." A collective sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the room. "Now," Scar’s voice hardened, the tender lover replaced by the avenging king. "Tell me everything. Leave nothing out."
William nodded, pulling out a slim tablet. Kola stepped up beside him. What followed was a meticulous, damning reconstruction of Amanda’s treachery.
Kola detailed the digital forensics: "The CCTV deletion wasn't just timed during the chaos, Boss. It was executed using *your* encrypted master credentials, accessed from Amanda’s personal tablet within the penthouse. We recovered the login timestamp and device ID. She had a keylogger planted months ago, likely when she 'accidentally' spilled wine on your old tablet and insisted on getting it 'cleaned'."
Musa spoke next, his voice rough: "The poison, Boss. Aconite. Rare. Traced to a disgraced chemist operating a back-alley lab in Badagry. Amanda visited him twice under a false name in the weeks before… *it* happened. Paid in untraceable crypto. Femi and I tracked him down. He confirmed it was her, described her perfectly, even remembered the red diamond serpent ring she wore. He was… persuaded… to give a recorded testimony." The implication of that 'persuasion' was clear.
Femi added, "The cook, Mama Nkechi. Amanda got to her. Threatened her grandson who was in trouble with some local thugs. Promised to make the trouble disappear if Mama Nkechi wiped *only Jessica’s* favourite coffee cup with a cloth Amanda provided *after* Jessica made the coffee but *before* she handed it to you. Mama Nkechi thought it was just Amanda being spiteful, trying to make Jessica look careless. She had no idea about the poison. She’s terrified, Boss, but she confessed everything when we showed her the threat to her grandson was orchestrated by one of Amanda’s paid street enforcers."
William displayed the evidence on the tablet: the digital logs pinpointing Amanda’s device, the chemist’s shaky video testimony, transcripts of Mama Nkechi’s tearful confession, financial trails leading back to Amanda’s shadow accounts. "She framed Jessica perfectly, sir," William concluded, his voice tight with anger. "Used your trust, your systems, and innocent people as tools. She poisoned you to eliminate Jessica and reclaim her place. She nearly killed you to get what she wanted."
As each piece of evidence slammed home, Scar’s body grew rigid beside Jessica. The tender hand on her belly became a claw, trembling with suppressed fury. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a glacial, terrifying darkness. The image of himself choking, the white foam, the agony – not caused by some faceless enemy, but by the woman he’d once been bound to, the woman who’d shared his childhood, all to destroy the woman he loved and the child she carried. The betrayal was absolute, monstrous.
When William finished, the silence was volcanic. Scar slowly rose to his feet. The gentle protector was gone. The Lion of Lagos, wounded and enraged beyond measure, stood in his place. He didn’t speak. He didn’t look at Jessica, though his hand briefly squeezed hers in a silent promise. He turned, his movements lethally precise, and walked towards the apartment door. He paused only to pick up the heavy black pistol Ghost silently handed him, checking the chamber with a cold, mechanical click that echoed in the stillness.
"Stay with her," Scar commanded Ghost, his voice a low growl that vibrated with pure menace. "Guard them with your life." Then he was gone, striding into the hallway, William, Kola, Musa, and Femi falling into step behind him like shadows of death.
***
The drive back to the villa was a blur of speed and suffocating silence. Scar sat in the back of the armored SUV, staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle pulsed in his cheek. The evidence replayed in his mind – Amanda’s manipulations, the cook’s fear, the chemist’s greed, the deliberate, calculated attempt to murder him and frame Jessica, to destroy his future. Rage, cold and absolute, consumed him.
They stormed into the penthouse. Amanda was lounging on the cream sofa, sipping champagne, dressed in a silk negligee as if expecting a different kind of visitor. The sight of Scar, flanked by his grim-faced lieutenants, his expression murderous, made her freeze mid-sip. A flicker of fear crossed her face, quickly masked by defiant arrogance.
"Sebastian! Darling, what's—" she began, attempting her usual purr.
"Silence." Scar’s voice cracked like a whip. He stopped a few feet away, the pistol held loosely but pointedly at his side. "You poisoned me." It wasn't a question.
Amanda’s eyes widened with theatrical innocence. "Poisoned? Sebastian, have you lost your—"
"Spare me the act," he snarled, taking a step closer. "The chemist in Badagry. Mama Nkechi. The keylogger. The CCTV deletion. Your tablet." He listed the evidence like a death sentence. "You tried to kill me. You framed Jessica. You threatened an old woman’s grandson." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "For *what*? A throne you were never fit to sit on?"
The mask shattered. Amanda slammed her champagne flute down, shattering it on the glass table. She surged to her feet, her beautiful face contorted with venomous rage. "Fit for? That throne was *mine* by birthright! Our fathers promised it! You were *mine*! Then that gutter rat slithered in with her simpering innocence and stole you! Stole *everything*!" Spittle flew from her lips. "Yes, I poisoned you! I wanted you weak, needing me! I wanted her blamed, destroyed, *gone*! And I would have succeeded if it weren't for these *traitors*!" She spat the word at William and the others.
Her eyes, wild and hate-filled, locked onto Scar’s. "You think she loves you? That whore? She’s using you! Just like her mother used men to climb out of the slums! That baby? It’s probably Ghost’s, or some other street—"
The gunshot was deafening in the opulent room.
Amanda screamed, staggering back, clutching her upper left arm where Scar’s bullet had torn through silk and flesh. Blood bloomed crimson, stark against the pale fabric. She crashed onto the sofa, gasping, her face white with shock and pain, staring at Scar with utter disbelief.
Scar stood frozen for a split second, the gun smoking in his hand. The raw, blinding fury that had propelled the shot warred with cold control. Killing her now, in cold blood, would be too easy. Too merciful.
"Get her out of my sight," Scar commanded, his voice icy, his gaze fixed on Amanda’s writhing form with utter contempt. "Take her to the secure clinic. Patch her up. Then lock her in the basement cells. No visitors. No privileges. She lives to face justice. *My* justice." The promise in his voice was more terrifying than the gunshot.
William and Kola moved swiftly, hauling a shrieking, cursing Amanda to her feet. Musa followed, already speaking into his comms to alert the clinic.
Scar watched them drag her away, the crimson stain spreading on the cream upholstery. The rage still simmered, but a profound exhaustion, and a desperate need, washed over him. He needed Jessica. He needed his son. He needed to make amends.
***
He didn’t return to Ghost’s apartment. He sent for Jessica and Chioma, bringing them back to the villa in a heavily guarded convoy. He went straight to the wing housing Jessica’s family.
Jessica’s parents and younger siblings were gathered in their living room, the atmosphere tense with the distant echoes of the gunshot and the sudden flurry of activity. Fear was etched on their faces. When Scar entered, flanked by Ghost (who had stayed glued to Jessica’s side) and William, they flinched.
Scar stopped in the center of the room. He didn’t sit. He looked at Jessica’s mother, then her father, meeting their fearful gazes directly. He saw the strain of months under house arrest, the worry for Jessica, the humiliation.
Then, to their utter astonishment, Sebastian Scar, the most feared man in Lagos, the man who held their lives in his hands, bowed his head. Not deeply, but significantly. A gesture of profound respect and contrition.
"Mr. and Mrs. Adebayo," he began, his voice rough but sincere, devoid of its usual command. "Jessica." He looked at her, standing protectively near her parents, Chioma beside her. "I owe you the deepest, most sincere apologies. Words cannot express the regret, the shame I carry for the suffering you have endured because of my blindness, my failure, and the evil of another."
He took a breath, the weight of his words heavy in the room. "You were brought here for safety, but it became confinement. You lived under guard, separated from Jessica, fearing for her life, fearing for your own, because I believed a lie. I failed to protect Jessica. I failed to protect *you*. I allowed a viper into our home, and she poisoned everything – my body, my mind, and your peace." He looked directly at Jessica’s parents. "The inconvenience, the fear, the suffering you have had to go through… it is unforgivable. But I beg your understanding, and if possible, in time, your forgiveness."
He straightened. "The woman responsible, Amanda, has been dealt with. She will never harm any of you again. Jessica is innocent. She has always been innocent." His voice softened as he looked at Jessica, his hand instinctively reaching towards her belly before stopping himself. "And she carries my son. Your grandson."
He gestured towards William. "Your house arrest is lifted. Effective immediately. These men are no longer your guards, but your protectors. This wing is yours. Come and go as you please. The city is yours. Anything you need, anything you desire, you have only to ask." He met Jessica’s father’s eyes again. "I know trust must be earned again. I will spend the rest of my life earning yours, and Jessica’s, if she allows me."
The silence that followed was thick with shock, relief, and hesitant hope. Jessica’s mother burst into quiet tears. Her father, a proud man weathered by hardship, looked at Scar with a new, cautious measure of respect. He gave a slow, solemn nod. "We suffered," he acknowledged quietly. "But our daughter is safe. Our grandchild is coming. That is what matters now."
Scar nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He turned to Jessica, his eyes filled with a vulnerable plea. She stepped forward, away from her parents, and walked into his open arms. He held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, the horrors of the day momentarily banished by the solid, living reality of her and the life they’d created. Home wasn't just a place; it was this woman, this child, this fragile, hard-won peace reclaimed from the jaws of treachery. The storm wasn't entirely over, but for now, the Lion was home, guarding his den, his mate, and his future cub.
TO BE CONTINUED...

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...