LOVE AND BULLET
PART 12
The list burned in Ava’s hands like live coal.
Twenty-three names. Twenty-three powerful players in Nigeria’s underworld—judges draped in false honor, politicians with venomous smiles, bankers who moved money like puppet masters pulling strings.
And now, they were all targets.
Obinna stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, the morning sun painting his bare torso in gold. He sipped his coffee, watching the city below with the calm of a predator surveying his territory.
“We hit them where it hurts,” he said, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. “Not their bodies. Their empires.”
Ava traced a finger over the first name on the list—Chief Adebayo, the so-called “Kingmaker” of Lagos politics.
“He’s untouchable,” she murmured.
Obinna’s lips curled into a smirk. “Everyone bleeds, sweetheart. Some just hide it better.”
Chief Adebayo’s mansion was a fortress—high walls, armed guards, surveillance cameras at every corner.
Ava and Obinna didn’t bother with the front gate.
Dressed in all black, they scaled the back wall like shadows, their movements synchronized from months of fighting side by side. The humid night air clung to their skin as they slipped through an open bathroom window on the second floor.
Inside, the house was eerily silent, the only sound the faint hum of air conditioning and the distant clink of dishes from the kitchen.
Ava moved first, her footsteps silent on the plush carpet. The master bedroom door was slightly ajar, revealing Chief Adebayo asleep in his massive four-poster bed, his wife snoring softly beside him.
Obinna stepped forward, pressing a gloved hand over the Chief’s mouth.
The man’s eyes flew open, wide with terror.
“Good evening, Chief,” Obinna whispered, his voice dripping with false sweetness. “We need to talk.”
They didn’t lay a finger on him.
They didn’t need to.
Instead, Ava slid a tablet across the silk sheets, the screen displaying a series of bank transfers, clandestine meetings, and damning voice recordings.
“You’ve been a busy man,” she said, crossing her arms. “Skimming public funds, selling contracts to the highest bidder, even trafficking young girls under the guise of ‘charity work.’”
Chief Adebayo’s face paled. “W-what do you want?”
Obinna leaned in, his smile chilling. “Your resignation. By morning.”
“Or?”
Ava tapped the tablet, pulling up a pre-written email addressed to every major news outlet in Nigeria. “Or the whole country finds out what a monster you really are.”
The Chief’s hands trembled as he reached for the device.
By dawn, Chief Adebayo’s resignation shocked the nation.
By noon, two more names on the list abruptly “retired” from public life, citing “health reasons.”
And by nightfall, the remaining twenty were scrambling, their carefully constructed facades crumbling like sandcastles under a tidal wave.
Ava watched it all unfold from Obinna’s penthouse, her bare feet propped on the coffee table as news channels erupted with speculation.
“They’re panicking,” she observed, sipping her wine.
Obinna joined her on the couch, his arm draping over her shoulders. “Panicked animals are dangerous animals.”
She turned to him, arching a brow. “You think they’ll fight back?”
His fingers traced idle circles on her skin. “I’m counting on it.”
They didn’t have to wait long.
Ava’s phone buzzed with an encrypted message—an address, a time, and a single word:
“Come alone.”
Obinna snatched the phone from her hands, his jaw tightening as he read it. “It’s a trap.”
“Obviously,” Ava said, taking the phone back. “But it’s also our chance to draw out the head of the snake.”
Obinna’s eyes darkened. “If you think I’m letting you walk in there alone—”
“Who said anything about alone?” She smirked, pulling out a second phone from her pocket—this one tapped into NDLEA’s secure frequency. “Sergeant Kola owes us a favor.”
TO BE CONTINUED...

Men also love to be pampered — just like anyone else. Being strong or masculine doesn't mean you're emotionless or don't enjoy care, affection, or thoughtful attention. A man may not always say it, but:

He loves when you rub his head after a stressful day.

He appreciates a warm meal cooked with love.

He enjoys a gentle massage or a back rub.

He feels special when you compliment his looks or efforts.

He cherishes being listened to without judgment.

He needs encouragement and reassurance, too.

Sometimes, he just wants to lay his head on your lap in silence.

Men are not machines. Behind every tough face is a soul craving peace, softness, and warmth. Pampering your man is not weakness — it’s love in action.

JB WORLD.

He Slept With Me Every Night—Then Paid My Bride Price for Another Girl
Episode 2

Grief makes you quiet. Betrayal gives you a voice. And I was done being silent.

After Raymond blocked me, something inside me cracked—but it didn’t break. Not completely. It transformed. I had spent years pouring every piece of myself into a man who saw me as a placeholder. I gave him loyalty, and he gave another woman a ring. I gave him my womb, and he gave me shame.

But what he didn’t know—was that I was carrying more than heartbreak.

Three days after I saw the post, I woke up with a fever and blood between my legs. I was five months pregnant. I rushed to the clinic alone, praying I hadn’t lost the baby. The doctor ran tests. The heartbeat was still there—soft, strong, defiant. Just like me. That was the moment I stopped thinking like a victim. I started thinking like a mother.

I moved out of the apartment that weekend. Packed my things while crying quietly into folded bedsheets. I told the caretaker Raymond wouldn’t be returning. He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask questions. I moved into my aunt’s flat in Iyana Church. She took one look at my face, at my swollen belly, and didn’t say “I told you so.” She just held me.

Days passed. Then weeks. I stayed off social media, but the streets? They talk. A friend of a friend told me Raymond’s wedding was huge. Traditional and white. Chinenye wore four outfits, and Raymond danced like someone who had never known real pain. They called her “the lucky girl.” People said he had “leveled up.” That I was just “a campus phase.” They didn’t know I had been washing his boxers when he couldn’t afford airtime.

I watched quietly.

Then one evening, my friend Uche showed up. She dropped a flash drive on the table and smiled with her eyes. “I thought you might want this,” she said. “From someone at the wedding.”

It was a full recording.

Their engagement. The vows. The dancing. The cake. And then—the speech.

Raymond had stood up, half-drunk and arrogant. “I thank God for giving me a real woman,” he slurred. “Someone who didn’t come to eat my money. Someone who didn’t use me to chase small-girl dreams. You’re not like the others.”

The crowd had clapped. He had smiled. But the thing about recording devices is—they remember. They capture. They preserve.

So I posted it.

Not the whole thing.

Just the part where he called me a user. A leech. A fake. I posted it with a caption:
“He slept with me every night, called me his wife, and left me pregnant—only to say this at his wedding. This is the father of my unborn child.”

And I didn’t stop there.

I sent copies of the pregnancy test, ultrasound images, and photos of us from just three months before—to Chinenye. I didn’t insult her. I simply wrote: “He was mine while he was planning you. You deserve the full picture before you carry his name.”

The post went viral in six hours.

By the next morning, Raymond was trending.

#RaymondTheRunner
#TwoWivesNoHonor
#CampusToAltarScam

My phone rang endlessly. Unknown numbers. Media houses. Instagram blogs. Even Chinenye’s sister texted me, asking, “Is this real?” I didn’t reply. I was already in the hospital—contractions had started. The stress triggered early labor.

It was a long night. I screamed, I bled, I almost gave up.

But then I held her.

My daughter.

Tiny, brown, beautiful—and full of war.

I named her Hope.

As I stared at her face, Raymond called again—this time with a new number.

I didn’t answer.

He thought he broke me.

But he gave birth to my purpose.

To be continued…

"Sometimes, their goofy little habits are the only thing that keeps your heart soft."

“Mercy is soft, but it leaves a lasting impact.”

"My strength is not in how loudly I speak, but in how softly I stay."

“If your life feels soft and slow and safe — that’s something to celebrate.”

"My strength is not in how loudly I speak, but in how softly I stay."

"I’ve broken before. But each time, I come back a little softer. A little wiser. Still standing."

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She Always Uses Drugs Twice Before Coming to Bed Every Night
Episode 1

The first time I noticed it, I thought it was harmless. Maybe even normal. My wife, Simi, would excuse herself every night around 10:15 p.m., just before we went to bed. She’d disappear into the bathroom, and I’d hear the tap run, the medicine cabinet creak, and then silence—followed by two sharp clicks. Sometimes, a faint sound like something being unwrapped. Then she’d come out with a smile, kiss me softly on the cheek, and slip into bed like nothing happened. At first, I thought she was just brushing her teeth or taking her vitamins. I mean, she’d always been a little obsessive about nightly routines. Skincare, candles, prayer. But one night, curiosity got the best of me.

She had forgotten to lock the bathroom door.

I walked in.

And I saw it.

Two small white pills. Her hand shaking as she brought them to her lips. Her eyes closed tightly. She wasn’t calm—she was desperate. She swallowed them dry, without water, like someone used to the bitterness. Then she turned to find me standing there. Frozen. Her face changed instantly.

“Why are you in here?” she snapped.

“I just… I didn’t know you were taking medication,” I stammered.

“I have headaches,” she replied too quickly.

Headaches?

Every night?

For the last eight months?

I didn’t push it then. I just nodded. But that night, while she slept soundly beside me, I stayed awake. Thinking. Watching. I remembered moments—how she’d sometimes stare at the wall for minutes before blinking. How she flinched when I touched her unexpectedly. How she sometimes forgot things we talked about hours earlier. I told myself it was stress. Work. The pressure of trying to conceive.

But deep inside, something didn’t feel right.

I started watching more closely. She never missed a dose. Two pills, same time, same order. Always before sex. Always before sleep. And after each dose, she became warmer, looser, more intimate. But if she skipped it—like the night we got home late from a wedding—she avoided my touch entirely, claiming exhaustion.

I tried asking again. She shut down.

“I said it’s nothing,” she hissed. “Stop treating me like a patient.”

But I couldn’t stop.

One day, when she left for work, I searched the bathroom. I found the pills tucked deep inside an old lipstick box. No label. Just small, round, off-white tablets. I took one to a pharmacist friend. He examined it, then looked at me oddly.

“These aren’t for headaches,” he said. “This is Diazepam. A strong sedative. People use this when they can’t sleep. Or when they’re battling anxiety. But in some cases… it’s abused. Especially in combination with other substances.”

Abused?

By Simi?

My Simi?

When I confronted her that night, she didn’t even deny it. She just stared at me with eyes so tired they looked older than her face.

“I need it,” she said quietly. “I can’t sleep without it. I can’t… be touched without it.”

My heart dropped.

“What do you mean?”

She looked away. And whispered the words that would haunt me forever:

“Because when I close my eyes, I don’t see you—I see them.”

To be continued

*THE RESTORER'S DAILY GUIDE*

DATE: TUESDAY 29TH JULY 2025

THEME: *LEANING ON GOD'S EVERLASTING ARMS*

MEMORIZE
Deuteronomy 33:27
The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms: and he shall thrust out the enemy from before thee; and shall say, Destroy them.

READ
Psalms 34:1-7
I will bless the LORD at all times: his praise shall continually be in my mouth.
My soul shall make her boast in the LORD: the humble shall hear thereof, and be glad.
O magnify the LORD with me, and let us exalt his name together.
I sought the LORD, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears.
They looked unto him, and were lightened: and their faces were not ashamed.
This poor man cried, and the LORD heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles.
The angel of the LORD encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them.

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY
*God's arms are the strongest, and they're everlasting.*

MESSAGE
A couple of years ago, an airbus crashed from the air and down into the Atlantic ocean. Several lives were lost in that unfortunate plane crash. However, there was a young man on that same plane. His seat was detached after the crash that shattered the aircraft. And whilst he was sinking down into the ocean, he felt a massive hand pulling him up with speed and power. This mighty hand was underneath his seat... He couldn't fathom what it was. Here, he was expecting his death by drowning since he did not die through the crash.
He started to struggle, off the hand went, and then he prayed whilst gulping down the dirty water, and then came the hand again this time round, pushing him out to the shore and he alone survived the ill-fated flight.

The mystery of his survival is today's focus.

*The earth is a war zone where men are systematically being wearied by satan through strategic battles and the pressures of life.*

The strength for Destiny is being depleted through bombardments of attacks from hell because hell is on a mission to stress out God's saints. The target of satan is to get God's chosen people engaged blindly with issues that are tailored to get them exhausted.

The aim is to stop God's people halfway.
The truth is that many people are tired, and many have already given up.

*Finishing well and strong is God’s perfect plan for us, but Finishing strong is a function of deliberately remaining strong.*

*However, no one can be strong on his or her own without the Lord.*

Beloved, it is not unlikely that you may be going through stuff at the moment; my counsel is, lean on the everlasting arms of the LORD. He is a very present help in time of need.

Those who must enjoy the safety of God's everlasting arms must learn to make the eternal God their refuge.

Jesus Christ is the secret place of the most High. Anyone in Christ Jesus is hiding in the tabernacle of eternity.

Finally, We must learn to trust in God always and not be afraid.
*God's arms are the strongest, and they're everlasting; they last longer than all our troubles.*

His everlasting arms will shield and keep us from all evil from now until the end of all ends.

ACTION STEPS
1. Turn over your life to the Lord Jesus Christ today and be sure of your salvation.
2. Spend quality time daily in God's Word and prayers to build up strength.
3. Ensure you belong to a strong local church where you worship and serve God.
*Be intentional about your walk with God.*

REMEMBER
*God's arms are the strongest, and they're everlasting.*

PRAYERS
Dear heavenly Father, Thank you for today's devotional guide. Hide me and my household in your strong tower always in Jesus' name. Amen.

AUTHOR: JEDIDIAH DAVID

DAILY READING: Psalms 115-118; Ephesians 5-6;

HYMN
Loved with everlasting love,
Led by grace that love to know ;
Spirit, breathing from above,
Thou hast taught me it is so !
Oh this full and perfect peace !
Oh this transport all divine !
In a love which cannot cease,
I am His, and He is mine ;
In a love which cannot cease,
I am His, and He is mine.

2
Heaven above is softer blue,
Earth around is sweeter green !
Something lives in every hue
Christless eyes have never seen :
Birds with gladder songs o'erflow,
Flowers with deeper beauties shine,
Since I know, as now I know,
I am His, and He is mine.

3
Things that once were wild alarms
Cannot now disturb my rest ;
Closed in everlasting arms,
Pillowed on the loving breast.
Oh to lie for ever here,
Doubt and care and self resign,
While He whispers in my ear —
I am His, and He is mine !

4
His for ever, only His ;
Who the Lord and me shall part !
Ah, with what a rest of bliss
Christ can fill the loving heart !
Heaven and earth may fade and flee,
First-born light in gloom decline ;
But, while God and I shall be,
I am His and He is mine.

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