THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 9
The heavy silence left by William’s announcement didn’t lift. It pressed down on the sunlit bedroom, turning the golden warmth cold. Jessica sat frozen, the silk sheet clutched tightly around her, watching Scar’s rigid back. The shift in him was terrifying. The powerful, possessive man who had held her moments ago was gone, replaced by a statue carved from ice and tension. He hadn’t looked at her once since William spoke that name.
Amanda.
The name echoed in Jessica’s mind, sharp and poisonous. Who was she? What hold did she have over him that could shatter his invincible composure so completely? Jessica’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a gilded cage. Fear, cold and unfamiliar in this sanctuary, began to creep in.
Scar finally moved. He stood up from the bed with a fluid, predatory grace that was devoid of its usual sensuality. He didn’t look at Jessica as he strode naked to a massive walk-in closet. Jessica watched, mesmerized and terrified, as he pulled on black trousers with sharp, efficient movements, then a crisp, white shirt that he buttoned with deliberate slowness, his fingers steady despite the storm Jessica sensed raging inside him. He buckled a sleek leather shoulder holster, sliding a heavy black pistol into place with a chilling finality. Finally, he shrugged into a perfectly tailored charcoal grey jacket. The transformation was complete: the lover replaced by the ruthless kingpin.
Only then did he turn towards the bed. His eyes, when they finally met hers, were shuttered, unreadable. The warmth, the possessiveness, the *her* that usually lived in his gaze was buried deep beneath layers of cold control.
"Jessica," his voice was low, rough, but unnervingly calm. "Stay here. Do not come out of this room. No matter what you hear. Understand?"
The command was absolute. The underlying warning was clear. Jessica nodded mutely, her throat too tight to speak. The fear solidified into a cold knot in her stomach.
Scar held her gaze for a beat longer, a flicker of something unidentifiable – protectiveness? Apology? – passing through his eyes before it was ruthlessly extinguished. He turned and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him. The soft click of the latch sounded like the sealing of a tomb.
Jessica scrambled off the bed, pulling on the silk robe Scar had discarded earlier. It smelled like him, a small comfort that did nothing to ease the panic fluttering in her chest. She crept towards the door, pressing her ear against the cool, heavy wood. She could hear the low murmur of voices downstairs, too indistinct to make out words, but the tone was tense, charged.
Downstairs, the opulent living room felt suddenly claustrophobic. William stood rigidly near the entrance, his face a mask of professional neutrality, but his eyes darted nervously towards the figure seated elegantly on the central cream sofa.
Amanda.
She was breathtaking. Dressed in a sheath dress of liquid silver that clung to her curves like a second skin, her dark hair cascaded in artful waves around a face sculpted with almost unreal perfection – high cheekbones, full lips painted a deep crimson, large, dark eyes fringed with impossibly long lashes. She looked like a fashion plate, a goddess descended into the mortal realm. She held a delicate porcelain cup of coffee, her posture relaxed, exuding an aura of supreme confidence. Yet, beneath the polished surface, an unnerving stillness radiated from her, like a viper basking in the sun.
Scar entered the room, his presence instantly dominating the space. He stopped several feet away from the sofa, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, his expression impassive, but his eyes were chips of black ice fixed on Amanda.
"Amanda," he stated, his voice devoid of inflection. "What are you doing here?"
She looked up, a slow, dazzling smile spreading across her perfect features. It didn't reach her eyes. "Darling," she purred, her voice like velvet over steel. "Is that any way to greet your fiancée after five long years?"
Scar didn't flinch. "That arrangement was terminated. Permanently."
Amanda placed her cup down with exaggerated care on the glass coffee table. The delicate clink sounded unnaturally loud. "Terminated?" She gave a soft, tinkling laugh that held no humor. "By you? Because of one... little... mistake? You sent me away, Sebastian." She used his real name, a calculated intimacy. "Exiled me to that dreary clinic in Italy. Was that fair?" Her smile remained, but her eyes hardened. "Look at me. I worked so hard. Therapy, Sebastian. Sobriety." She gestured gracefully to herself. "All for you. To be worthy of you again."
Scar’s gaze didn’t waver. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound of pure warning. "Don’t you think you’re a little late, Amanda? Things have changed. I have changed. I’ve moved on."
The air crackled. The polished mask on Amanda’s face fractured. A flash of pure, incandescent rage contorted her beautiful features for a split second, her knuckles whitening where she gripped the edge of the sofa. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, smoothed over by a brittle smile. She rose gracefully, smoothing her dress.
"Have you now?" she murmured, stepping towards him. She stopped just out of arm's reach, her dark eyes sweeping over him with possessive appraisal, then flicking dismissively around the room. "We shall see, Sebastian. We shall see." Her voice dropped, becoming a venomous whisper. "I’ve come back to take what’s mine."
She didn’t wait for a response. With the regal bearing of a queen reclaiming her throne, she walked past him towards William. "William, darling," she said airily, as if the previous five years and her violent exile had never happened. "Be a dear and have my bags brought up. The usual suite, I assume is prepared?" She didn’t wait for an answer, brushing past him and heading towards the sweeping staircase as if she owned the place.
William looked helplessly at Scar. Scar’s jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle spasmed in his cheek. He gave a single, sharp, almost imperceptible nod. William hurried after Amanda.
Scar remained standing in the center of the living room, radiating a cold, dangerous fury that seemed to vibrate the very air. He didn’t move for a long time, staring at the space where Amanda had sat, the ghost of her perfume – heavy, floral, cloying – hanging in the air, a stark contrast to Jessica’s lighter, fresher scent.
Upstairs, Jessica had retreated from the door, pacing the luxurious confines of the bedroom like a trapped animal. She’d heard the murmur of voices, the chilling clarity of that feminine purr, the unmistakable sound of footsteps ascending the stairs. Panic clawed at her throat. Fiancée? Exile?* The words screamed in her mind. Who was this woman? The fear for herself was momentarily eclipsed by a deeper, sharper pang – the fear of losing *him*, of this perfect, hard-won sanctuary being invaded and destroyed.
Hours crawled by. Jessica heard muffled voices elsewhere in the vast penthouse, the sound of doors opening and closing. The luxurious room felt like a prison. She jumped violently when her own bedroom door finally opened.
Scar stood there, framed in the doorway. The controlled mask he’d worn downstairs was still in place, but the strain showed around his eyes, in the tight set of his shoulders. He looked exhausted, haunted. He didn’t speak. He simply walked in, locked the door behind him, and crossed the room in three long strides.
He pulled Jessica into his arms with a force that stole her breath. It wasn't a passionate embrace; it was desperate, almost fearful. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his arms banded around her so tightly she could barely breathe, crushing her against the hard planes of his chest. He trembled, a fine, almost imperceptible vibration that terrified her more than any shout.
"Sebastian?" Jessica whispered, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he lifted his head and captured her lips in a kiss that was unlike any they’d shared before. It was slow, deep, achingly tender, yet underpinned by a raw, almost frantic intensity. It was a kiss of claiming, of reassurance, of desperate need. He kissed her like a drowning man clinging to air.
He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed. This time, there was no playful chase, no fierce claiming. He laid her down with heartbreaking gentleness. His touch as he removed her robe, then his own clothes, was reverent. He worshipped her body not with demanding passion, but with slow, lingering caresses that traced every curve, every scar, every inch of her skin as if memorizing it, as if it were sacred. His lips followed the same path – soft kisses on her eyelids, her temples, the pulse point at her wrist, the valley between her breasts, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.
He took her slowly, with a depth of feeling that stole her breath and brought tears to her eyes. His eyes never left hers, dark pools reflecting a vulnerability she had never seen. He moved within her with exquisite slowness, each thrust a promise, a plea. He murmured against her skin, words breathed like prayers into the quiet room.
"I love you, baby," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, rough with a fear he couldn't name. "I love you so much." He kissed her deeply again. "You are mine. Only mine." He held her gaze, the intensity almost painful. "I will protect you. With my life. Always."
He repeated the words like a mantra as their bodies moved together in a rhythm that was pure, desperate connection. "I love you... mine... protect you..." It was a confession ripped from the deepest, most guarded part of his soul, a shield erected against the ghost that now walked his halls.
Their climax, when it came, was a slow, powerful wave that washed over them together, a shared release that felt more like a merging of souls than a physical act. He held her through it, his arms like steel bands, his face buried in her hair, his body shuddering.
Afterwards, he didn’t let go. He pulled her tightly against him, her back to his chest, his arms locked around her waist, his face pressed against the nape of her neck. His breathing gradually slowed, deepened, into the rhythm of sleep, but his hold never slackened. It was as if he feared she would vanish if he loosened his grip even slightly.
Jessica lay wide awake in the circle of his arms, his words echoing in the silence.
I love you.
He’d never said it before. He was a man of actions, not declarations. His protection, his care, his fierce possession – that was his language. Hearing the words aloud, raw and vulnerable, spoken with such desperate intensity… it shook her to her core.
The fear hadn’t left. It coiled cold and heavy beneath the lingering warmth of his love and their intimacy. Amanda’s chillingly beautiful face, her possessive words, her entitled invasion… they painted a picture of danger Jessica couldn’t yet fully see, but felt bone-deep.
Something serious was happening. Something dark from Scar’s past had erupted into their fragile present, threatening everything. The man who feared nothing slept clinging to her like a lifeline. The confession of love wasn't just a gift; it was a warning.
Jessica stared into the darkness beyond the window, the unfamiliar weight of Scar’s sleeping embrace both a comfort and a chain. His whispered promise, *"I will protect you,"* warred with the terrifying certainty that Amanda was a storm they might not weather.
Who is she? Jessica thought, her mind racing, her body acutely aware of the man who loved her and the ghost who threatened them. *What did she do? What does she want?*
The warmth of Scar’s body against her back couldn’t dispel the chilling dread. Amanda wasn’t just an ex-fiancée. She was chaos wrapped in silk. And Jessica knew, with a cold certainty that settled in her bones, that she needed to understand this enemy.
And I will find out, she vowed silently into the dark, her hand tightening slightly over Scar’s where it rested on her stomach. The battle lines, unseen but deeply felt, had been drawn.
TO BE CONTINUED...

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 8
Sunlight, warm and honeyed, streamed through the bulletproof glass of the penthouse bedroom, painting stripes across the rumpled silk sheets. Jessica lay curled against Scar’s chest, her ear pressed to the steady, powerful beat of his heart. Months. It had been months since the night that changed everything, months since she’d knelt in gratitude and been met with a firestorm of possession that had consumed them both. Now, the air itself hummed with the intensity of their connection, a tangible force field woven from trust, fierce protectiveness, and a love that had shocked them both with its depth.
His large hand traced lazy, possessive circles on the bare skin of her back, calloused fingers whispering over the curve of her spine. "You’re thinking too loud, my little lioness," his voice rumbled, a low vibration against her temple. He hadn’t called her anything else since that first morning.
A small smile touched Jessica’s lips. "Just… happy," she murmured, nuzzling closer. The gnawing fear for her family was a dull ache now, soothed by the knowledge they were safe in the mansion he’d given them, guarded by men whose loyalty was absolute. Her own world had shrunk and expanded simultaneously – confined within the gilded fortress of his empire for safety, yet boundless within the sanctuary of his regard.
"You should be thinking about your studies," he said, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. He’d been relentless on this point. Weeks ago, he’d presented her with a state-of-the-art laptop and a meticulously researched list of accredited online degree programs. "Law," he’d stated, not asked. "You have the mind for it. Sharp. Analytical. You understand the cost of injustice." He saw the education not as an escape from *his* world, but as armor *within* it. "Knowledge is power, Jessica. Especially here. I won’t have you vulnerable."
She’d enrolled. The discipline forged in the slums and honed juggling escort work and school served her well. Her days now held structure: intense study sessions in the morning light, often with Scar nearby, silently reading intelligence reports or conducting hushed calls; afternoons learning the intricate, often terrifying, workings of his empire – not the violence, but the strategy, the networks, the delicate balance of power he maintained. He trusted her. Explicitly. Implicitly. He introduced her to key, vetted players not as his mistress, but as *Jessica*. The respect they showed her was born of his unwavering authority and their dawning recognition of her own quiet intelligence.
"You worry I’m not focusing enough?" she teased, tracing the infamous scar that ran down his jaw with a feather-light touch. It was a gesture of intimacy only she was permitted.
His eyes, usually so hard and assessing, softened as he looked down at her. They held a warmth reserved solely for her, a stark contrast to the chilling authority he wielded elsewhere. "I worry about many things concerning you," he admitted, a rare vulnerability in his tone. "But your mind? Never. I know the steel in it." He captured her wandering hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips. "I just want you to have everything. Everything you were denied. Everything you deserve."
The tenderness, the absolute conviction in his words, still had the power to steal her breath. This ruthless kingpin, feared across continents, whose name was whispered with dread, held her as if she were spun glass and tempered steel combined – precious and unbreakable.
The lazy tracing on her back became less idle, more purposeful. His gaze darkened, the familiar heat igniting. Months had done nothing to dim the explosive chemistry between them. If anything, the deep well of trust and affection had only made the physical connection more potent, more layered. He knew her body now with devastating intimacy, knew exactly how to unravel her, just as she knew the secret paths to melt his formidable control.
"Enough studying for today," he declared, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous register that never failed to send shivers down her spine. He rolled her gently but decisively beneath him, his weight a welcome anchor. The sunlight gilded the hard planes of his chest and shoulders as he looked down at her, his eyes burning with possessive fire. "Right now, I require your undivided attention."
Jessica laughed, a breathless, happy sound, and made a playful half-hearted attempt to wriggle away. It was a game they played. He loved the chase, even within the confines of their bed. "Demanding, aren’t you?" she teased, pushing lightly against his chest.
A predatory grin slashed across his face. He easily pinned her wrists above her head with one large hand. "Always," he growled, lowering his head to nip at the sensitive skin of her neck, sending sparks skittering through her veins. "Especially where you’re concerned." His free hand slid down her side, over her hip, igniting a trail of fire. "Now, come here, my little lioness."
He kissed her, deep and claiming, silencing her playful protests. Jessica melted into him, her body arching instinctively, meeting his hunger with her own. The world outside their sanctuary – the danger, the underworld machinations – dissolved. There was only him, the heat of his skin, the intoxicating scent of him, the overwhelming sense of belonging. His mouth moved to her collarbone, then lower, his touch both reverent and demanding. She gasped his name, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.
"Scar…"
He growled in response, the vibration against her skin tightening the coil of desire low in her belly. He released her wrists, his hands moving to cup her face, holding her gaze captive as he positioned himself. The intensity in his eyes was breathtaking – love, lust, and an absolute, terrifying possessiveness.
"Say it," he commanded, his voice thick.
"Yours," Jessica breathed, the truth resonating deep in her soul. "Always yours."
He surged forward, joining them in one powerful, claiming stroke. Jessica cried out, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. This was worship, this was possession, this was home. He moved with a rhythm that was both familiar and eternally new, building the pleasure with relentless precision. Her world narrowed to the feel of him, the sound of his ragged breaths, the sight of his face – fierce, focused, utterly consumed by her. She met his thrusts, her own cries mingling with his low groans, climbing higher and higher towards the inevitable, shattering peak.
Just as the tension coiled unbearably tight, poised to break, a sharp, urgent knock shattered the intimate cocoon.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Scar froze above her, his body rigid, every muscle locked. The tender lover vanished instantly, replaced by the chilling visage of the crime lord. A low, dangerous snarl ripped from his throat, pure fury radiating from him like heat from a furnace. The interruption wasn't just unwelcome; it was a cardinal sin against the sanctity he fiercely guarded around Jessica.
"WILLIAM!" Scar roared, the sound echoing off the walls, vibrating with barely leashed violence. "This better be a fucking war starting at my doorstep, or I swear to God, I will personally remove your head from your shoulders!"
Jessica flinched at the raw fury, the sudden shift from passionate lover to deadly predator always jarring, even now. She placed a calming hand on his sweat-slicked chest, feeling the thunderous beat of his heart beneath her palm. "Scar," she murmured softly, trying to diffuse the atomic tension radiating off him. "Just… let him say what it is."
Scar’s jaw clenched so tight Jessica heard his teeth grind. He didn’t move off her, his body still intimately connected, his gaze fixed murderously on the door. After a tense, silent beat where Jessica half-expected the heavy wood to splinter under his glare, he finally barked, "Come in!" The command was a whip-crack.
The door opened cautiously. William, Scar’s imposing second-in-command, stood framed in the doorway. His face, usually impassive, was pale, etched with a tension Jessica had rarely seen. His eyes flickered towards the bed for a microsecond, registering the scene – his boss pinning Jessica beneath him, both flushed and clearly interrupted – before snapping back to Scar’s face with rigid discipline. He looked profoundly uncomfortable, acutely aware he was treading on lethally thin ice.
"Sir," William began, his voice strained. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "I apologize… profoundly… for the intrusion. But…"
"SPIT IT OUT, WILLIAM!" Scar snarled, his patience evaporated. The hand not braced beside Jessica’s head curled into a fist.
William flinched almost imperceptibly. He took a breath, steeling himself, his gaze locking onto Scar’s. The news he delivered was delivered in a flat, urgent tone, cutting through the charged air like a shard of ice:
"It’s Amanda, sir. She’s returned."
The effect was instantaneous and terrifying.
Scar didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. The fury that had consumed him a second ago vanished, replaced by a sudden, profound stillness that was infinitely more frightening. The color drained from his face beneath his tan, leaving his scar stark and livid. The possessive fire in his eyes extinguished, replaced by a chilling, hollow shock that Jessica had never witnessed before. It was the look of a man who’d seen a ghost – a ghost capable of unraveling everything.
"What?" The word was a whisper, devoid of its usual power, rough with disbelief. He pushed himself off Jessica abruptly, sitting upright on the edge of the bed, his back rigid, facing away from her. His broad shoulders were taut as steel cables. "When? When did she leave Italy?"
William shifted his weight. "Just confirmed, sir. She landed privately an hour ago. We don’t know her destination yet, but… she’s here. In Lagos."
The silence that followed was deafening, thick with unspoken history and looming catastrophe. Jessica sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around her, her own heart pounding against her ribs. She stared at Scar’s rigid back, the sudden distance yawning between them colder than any physical separation. The name hung in the air, charged with an ominous weight she couldn’t comprehend.
Amanda.
Who was she? What power did this name hold that it could fracture the invincible composure of Mr. Scar in an instant? The sanctuary of their love, so fiercely guarded just moments before, suddenly felt fragile, exposed to a storm Jessica couldn’t yet see. The trust, the safety, the future they were building – all suspended on the razor’s edge of this single, devastating name.
TO BE CONTINUED...

A PASTOR'S BETRAYAL
FINALE
The morning sun shone brightly as Grace stepped out of the car, smoothing her dress with nervous hands. Michael stood beside her, his warm fingers intertwining with hers—a silent promise of strength.
"Ready?" he murmured.
Grace took a deep breath, looking at their children—Sarah, Daniel, and Joy—standing behind them like soldiers ready for battle.
"More than ready."
Today, the truth would be heard.
The sanctuary was packed.
As Grace and Michael walked down the aisle together, whispers erupted like wildfire. Heads turned. Eyes widened.
Pastor Gideon, mid-prayer at the pulpit, froze when he saw them. His mouth went slack, his hands gripping the podium until his knuckles turned white.
Grace met his gaze—and smiled.
The pastor's face drained of color.
When testimony time came, Grace didn't wait to be called. She stood, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she walked to the microphone.
Michael joined her, his presence steady beside her.
"Good morning, church," Grace began, her voice clear. "Some of you know me. Some of you... have heard lies about me."
She turned to face Pastor Gideon, whose smile had turned sickly.
"But today, you'll hear the truth."
And then, she told them everything.
How Pastor Gideon had preyed on her during her weakest moment.
How he'd twisted scripture to convince her to abandon her marriage.
How he'd taken her money—every last naira—while pretending it was "God's will."
Michael stepped forward then, his voice booming as he revealed the bank statements, the manipulated texts, the other women who'd come forward—widows, single mothers, all victims of the same scheme.
The congregation erupted.
"Sister Ngozi lost her house because of him!" a woman shouted.
"He told me my sick child would die if I didn't give offerings!" another cried.
Pastor Gideon stumbled back, sweat pouring down his face. "T-these are lies—!"
Then Sarah stood, holding up her phone. "No. This is a lie."
And she played the recording—his voice, clear as day, demanding Grace's last millions.
The church exploded.
Pastor Gideon bolted.
He shoved through the crowd, knocking over chairs as he sprinted for the exit. But the ushers—men who'd once obeyed his every word—grabbed him.
"You devil!" one roared.
The mob surged. Fists flew. A deacon's punch sent the pastor crashing into the communion table, wine spilling like blood across his white robes.
Grace didn't flinch.
Police sirens wailed outside.
The trial was swift.
Fifteen years for fraud. For exploitation. For shattering lives under the guise of God.
As the judge pronounced the sentence, Grace exhaled—a weight she hadn't known she carried lifting at last.
Michael squeezed her hand.
It was over.
Months later, the Thompson home was alive with laughter again.
Michael, once a workaholic, now built pillow forts with Joy on Saturdays.
Sarah, no longer sullen, sang as she helped Grace cook Sunday dinner.
Daniel, quiet but content, taught Grace how to use social media—"To help others spot wolves in sheep's clothing," he said wisely.
One evening, as they sat around the firepit, Grace looked at her family—whole again—and felt tears prick her eyes.
Michael kissed her temple. "What is it?"
Grace smiled. "I almost lost this. Lost you."
Joy climbed into her lap. "But you didn't, Mama."
And as the fire crackled, warming them all, Grace knew—
No false shepherd could touch them now.
The new pastor was kind. Real.
Under his leadership, the church became what it was meant to be—a refuge. A family.
And every Sunday, front and center, sat the Thompsons.
Together.
The End.
The wolf was gone. The flock was safe. And the Thompson family?
They thrived.

A PASTOR'S BETRAYAL
PART 1
Grace wiped her hands on her apron, the scent of fried plantains still lingering in the air. The kitchen was warm, the way her husband, Michael, liked it. Eighteen years of marriage had taught her that—just like she knew he preferred his tea with two sugars and a splash of milk. Little things. The kind of things that should have bound them closer, but instead, they had become silent reminders of the distance between them.
She glanced at the clock. 8:47 PM. Michael was late again.
Not that it was unusual. His construction business had been demanding more of his time lately, and Grace understood. At least, she told herself she did. But understanding didn’t stop the loneliness from creeping in, didn’t stop the quiet resentment from settling in her chest like a stone.
The front door clicked open, and Michael’s heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway.
"You’re late," Grace said, not looking up as she arranged his plate on the table.
"Traffic," he mumbled, loosening his tie.
She wanted to say more. Wanted to ask why he hadn’t called, why he hadn’t texted. But the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she watched as he sat down, his eyes fixed on his phone, fingers scrolling mindlessly.
"The food’s getting cold," she said softly.
Michael grunted in response, finally setting his phone aside. He took a bite, chewing slowly, his mind clearly somewhere else.
Grace sat across from him, picking at her own food. The silence between them was thick, suffocating. It hadn’t always been like this. Once, they used to talk for hours—about dreams, about their daughter, Sarah, about everything and nothing. Now, it felt like they were two strangers sharing a meal out of obligation.
"You forgot to pay the electricity bill," Grace said, breaking the silence.
Michael frowned. "I thought you handled that."
"I did last month. You said you’d take care of it this time."
A sigh. "Grace, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. You couldn’t just remind me?"
Her grip tightened around her fork. "I shouldn’t have to remind you, Michael. This is your house too."
He rubbed his temples, exhaustion lining his face. "Can we not do this tonight? I’m tired."
Tears pricked at the corners of Grace’s eyes, but she blinked them away. This was how it always went. A small issue, a minor misunderstanding, and instead of fixing it, they let it fester. Like cracks in a wall, ignored until the whole structure threatened to collapse.
She wanted to scream. Wanted to shake him and say, "We’re slipping away! Don’t you see it?" But she didn’t. Because maybe he didn’t see it. Or maybe he just didn’t care enough to try.
Instead, she stood, taking her plate to the sink. "I’m going to bed," she whispered.
Michael didn’t respond.
Upstairs, Grace sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her wedding photo on the nightstand. They looked so happy then. So, in love. Where had they gone wrong?
Was it the long hours at work? The missed anniversaries? The way they stopped holding hands in public. Or was it the slow, painful erosion of communication—the assumption that love alone would carry them through, even when they stopped trying?
She picked up her phone, scrolling absently until she saw a notification from Pastor Gideon’s weekly sermon: "God’s Plan for Your Marriage."
Her finger hovered over the link. Maybe… maybe he had answers. Maybe he could help her understand why her marriage felt like it was crumbling over things that should have been so easy to fix.
With a deep breath, she clicked on it.
Little did she know that one click would change everything.
TO BE CONTINUED...

Words I speak over myself. Say with me!

“My health shall not fail

My health continues to spring forth

My organs work perfectly and remain in great shape

My body is God’s temple and therefore, has no vacancy for sicknesses and diseases

I have grace and wisdom to make healthy Choices.

God renews my youth like that of the eagle

My mind is sharp and alert. It experiences NO decline with time.

I have presence of mind and clarity of thought and reason.

My eyes shall not grow dim, nor will my natural force abate

I declare that my body, in partnership with my spirit and soul, will fulfill my prophetic destiny.

I withdraw any negative word or comment I have ever made about my health in the past.

I cancel every negative word, diagnosis and prognosis given, spoken or written about my health.

I shall not experience brief illness, terminal disease or adverse protracted health situation that results is sudden and untimely death.

I shall live long and fulfil the length of my days - aging with grace.

Today and always, I chose life and vitality.

And because healing is the children’s bread and divine health is God’s will, I chose a life of SOUND HEALTH.

This is my reality, and so it is. IN JESUS’ NAME.”

“Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, whom he hath redeemed from the hand of the enemy.” psalm 107:2.


"We, having the same spirit of faith, according as it is written, I believed, and therefore have I spoken; we also believe, and therefore speak”.2 Cor 4:13

Even the name of the LORD is under His word.


(Psalm 138:2 kjv):-

I will worship toward thy holy temple, and praise thy name for thy lovingkindness and for thy truth: for thou hast magnified thy word above all thy name.

Don't get it twisted!

We know what we are saying.

So when you are calling His name, Lord Lord without His word in you...,
How can you enter...!?

Shalom Israel of God

*THE RESTORER'S DAILY GUIDE*

DATE: SUNDAY 8TH JUNE 2025

THEME: *THE ULTIMATE POWER.*

MEMORIZE
Luke 5:5
And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.

READ
Luke 5:4-9
Now when he had left speaking, he said unto Simon, Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.
And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.
And when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes: and their net brake.
And they beckoned unto their partners, which were in the other ship, that they should come and help them. And they came, and filled both the ships, so that they began to sink.
When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus' knees, saying, Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord.
For he was astonished, and all that were with him, at the draught of the fishes which they had taken:

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: *When we submit to God's word over our lives, we have submitted to the ultimate in the universe.*

MESSAGE
The universe came into existence at the instance of God's spoken word.

He literally spoke everything into existence and held them in place firmly by the same word. So powerful is the Word, that He Himself submits to His word.

Everything is a product of words relatively.

Every man or woman is a product of words. We all are products of the words we have listened to cumulatively over the years.

The medical doctor was made by listening to certain words over a period of time. The lawyer was made by words. The Architect is a product of words. Our parents moulded our lives with words.

And God moulded the universe by simply speaking.

*In the realms of words, God's word is the ultimate.*

The Bible puts it this way;
Psalms 138:2 "I will worship toward thy holy temple, and praise thy name for thy lovingkindness and for thy truth: for thou hast magnified thy word above all thy name."

The word is the greatest revelation of God in the universe. He has always existed as the Word. He manifested as the Word. His word is His bond.

And when we submit to God's word over our lives, we have submitted to the ultimate in the universe. There is nothing as great as the Word of God anywhere in the universe.

The one who submits to God's word will be put in command of the world, because God rules and runs the world by His word.

It appeared that Peter the fisherman understood this truth even as an unschooled fisherman that he was.

As against his professional ethics in fishery, he hearkened to the word of the Son of God and his night was turned into day.
Peter became an apostle of the Word because he was converted by the power of the word that worked in his life. He was a living witness of the wonders of God's word.

*Beloved, everything changes and turns around at God's word.*

It doesn't matter how bad your case may be today, there is hope for you if you will surrender your life to God through His word and begin to obey what He says.

Make the word of God your greatest companion today, and your story will surely be rewritten. Shalom.

ACTION STEPS
1. Locate the scriptures that deals directly with your peculiar case and apply them to your life.
2. Meditate on them regularly until they become part of your life.
3. Act on them, speak them over your case until your change becomes obvious.

PRAYERS
Dear heavenly Father, thank you for today's devotional guide. Open my eyes that I might see wondrous things from your word. And let my own seasons of enjoying your wonders begin in Jesus name. Amen.

REMEMBER
*When we submit to God's word over our lives, we have submitted to the ultimate in the universe.*

AUTHOR: JEDIDIAH DAVID

DAILY READING: Isaiah 47-48; Galatians 1-2.

HYMN
" There shall be showers of blessing " :
This is the promise of love ;
There shall be seasons refreshing,
Sent from the Saviour above.

Show - - ers of blessing,
Showers of blessing we need ;
Mercy-drops round us are falling,
But for the showers we plead.

2
" There shall be showers of blessing "
Precious reviving again ;
Over the hills and the valleys,
Sound of abundance of rain.

3
" There shall be showers of blessing " :
Send them upon us, O Lordl
Grant to us now a refreshing ;
Come, and now honour Thy Word.

4
" There shall be showers of blessing ":
Oh that to-day they might fall,
Now as to God we're confessing,
Now as on Jesus we call !

PLEASE SHARE

*THE RESTORER'S DAILY GUIDE*

DATE: SUNDAY 8TH JUNE 2025

THEME: *THE ULTIMATE POWER.*

MEMORIZE
Luke 5:5
And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.

READ
Luke 5:4-9
Now when he had left speaking, he said unto Simon, Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.
And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.
And when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes: and their net brake.
And they beckoned unto their partners, which were in the other ship, that they should come and help them. And they came, and filled both the ships, so that they began to sink.
When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus' knees, saying, Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord.
For he was astonished, and all that were with him, at the draught of the fishes which they had taken:

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: *When we submit to God's word over our lives, we have submitted to the ultimate in the universe.*

MESSAGE
The universe came into existence at the instance of God's spoken word.

He literally spoke everything into existence and held them in place firmly by the same word. So powerful is the Word, that He Himself submits to His word.

Everything is a product of words relatively.

Every man or woman is a product of words. We all are products of the words we have listened to cumulatively over the years.

The medical doctor was made by listening to certain words over a period of time. The lawyer was made by words. The Architect is a product of words. Our parents moulded our lives with words.

And God moulded the universe by simply speaking.

*In the realms of words, God's word is the ultimate.*

The Bible puts it this way;
Psalms 138:2 "I will worship toward thy holy temple, and praise thy name for thy lovingkindness and for thy truth: for thou hast magnified thy word above all thy name."

The word is the greatest revelation of God in the universe. He has always existed as the Word. He manifested as the Word. His word is His bond.

And when we submit to God's word over our lives, we have submitted to the ultimate in the universe. There is nothing as great as the Word of God anywhere in the universe.

The one who submits to God's word will be put in command of the world, because God rules and runs the world by His word.

It appeared that Peter the fisherman understood this truth even as an unschooled fisherman that he was.

As against his professional ethics in fishery, he hearkened to the word of the Son of God and his night was turned into day.
Peter became an apostle of the Word because he was converted by the power of the word that worked in his life. He was a living witness of the wonders of God's word.

*Beloved, everything changes and turns around at God's word.*

It doesn't matter how bad your case may be today, there is hope for you if you will surrender your life to God through His word and begin to obey what He says.

Make the word of God your greatest companion today, and your story will surely be rewritten. Shalom.

ACTION STEPS
1. Locate the scriptures that deals directly with your peculiar case and apply them to your life.
2. Meditate on them regularly until they become part of your life.
3. Act on them, speak them over your case until your change becomes obvious.

PRAYERS
Dear heavenly Father, thank you for today's devotional guide. Open my eyes that I might see wondrous things from your word. And let my own seasons of enjoying your wonders begin in Jesus name. Amen.

REMEMBER
*When we submit to God's word over our lives, we have submitted to the ultimate in the universe.*

AUTHOR: JEDIDIAH DAVID

DAILY READING: Isaiah 47-48; Galatians 1-2.

HYMN
" There shall be showers of blessing " :
This is the promise of love ;
There shall be seasons refreshing,
Sent from the Saviour above.

Show - - ers of blessing,
Showers of blessing we need ;
Mercy-drops round us are falling,
But for the showers we plead.

2
" There shall be showers of blessing "
Precious reviving again ;
Over the hills and the valleys,
Sound of abundance of rain.

3
" There shall be showers of blessing " :
Send them upon us, O Lordl
Grant to us now a refreshing ;
Come, and now honour Thy Word.

4
" There shall be showers of blessing ":
Oh that to-day they might fall,
Now as to God we're confessing,
Now as on Jesus we call !

PLEASE SHARE

God can do the impossible! He showed His power when He directed Cyrus to build a temple for Israel, even though Persia was the most powerful nation. When we face challenges, remember God can do anything!

Meet Master Damien Agossou Degbo, a West African kung fu master who brought ancient Chinese martial arts to his homeland of Benin. Inspired by Jackie Chan films at the age of 13, Degbo was mesmerized by the grace, strength, and philosophy behind kung fu.

He joined a local martial arts club and trained rigorously four times a week. His dedication earned him a scholarship to the legendary Shaolin Temple in China, where he underwent intense training in kung fu, tai chi, meditation, Chinese calligraphy, and traditional arts like tea ceremonies and lion dancing.

Returning to Benin, he founded the Super Shaolin Club, now the largest Chinese martial arts institution in the country—and possibly all of West Africa. Located near Cotonou, the club trains around 350 students, both boys and girls, in kung fu, tai chi, and meditation. Degbo’s goal is not just to teach self-defense but to instill confidence, discipline, and cross-cultural understanding in his students.

Now a cultural ambassador, Degbo uses martial arts to build bridges between China and Africa. “Sharing kung fu helps young people understand values like harmony and respect,” he says.

My body is the temple and dwelling place of the Almighty God. Every fiber of my body yields to the Word of God. I glorify the Lord daily with my body. No sickness shall reign in my body, and sin shall not have dominion over me because Christ is the Lord of my life!

I'm Alive

HOW THE APOSTLES DIED.

1. Matthew
Suffered martyrdom in Ethiopia, Killed by a sword wound.

2. Mark
Died in Alexandria, Egypt , after being dragged by Horses through the streets until he was dead.

3. Luke
Was hanged in Greece as a result of his tremendous Preaching to the lost.

4. John
Faced martyrdom when he was boiled in huge Basin of boiling oil during a wave of persecution In Rome. However, he was miraculously delivered From death.
John was then sentenced to the mines on the prison Island of Patmos. He wrote his prophetic Book of Revelation on Patmos . The apostle John was later freed and returned to serve As Bishop of Edessa in modern Turkey . He died as an old man, the only apostle to die peacefully

5. Peter
He was crucified upside down on an x-shaped cross.
According to church tradition it was because he told his tormentors that he felt unworthy to die In the same way that Jesus Christ had died.

6. James
The leader of the church in Jerusalem , was thrown over a hundred feet down from the southeast pinnacle of the Temple when he refused to deny his faith in Christ. When they discovered that he survived the fall, his
enemies beat James to death with a fuller's club.
* This was the same pinnacle where Satan had taken Jesus during the Temptation.

7. James the Son of Zebedee,
was a fisherman by trade when Jesus Called him to a lifetime of ministry. As a strong leader of the church, James was beheaded at Jerusalem. The Roman officer who guarded James watched amazed as James defended his faith at his trial. Later, the officer Walked beside James to the place of execution. Overcome by conviction, he declared his new faith to the judge and Knelt beside James to accept beheading as a Christian.

8. Bartholomew
Also known as Nathaniel Was a missionary to Asia. He witnessed for our Lord in present day Turkey. Bartholomew was martyred for his preaching in Armenia where he was flayed to death by a whip.

9. Andrew
Was crucified on an x-shaped cross in Patras, Greece. After being whipped severely by seven soldiers they tied his body to the cross with cords to prolong his agony. His followers reported that, when he was led toward the cross, Andrew saluted it in these words: 'I have long desired and expected this happy hour. The cross has been consecrated by the body of Christ hanging on it.' He continued to preach to his tormentors For two days until he expired.

10. Thomas
Was stabbed with a spear in India during one of his missionary trips to establish the church in the Sub-continent.

11. Jude
Was killed with arrows when he refused to deny his faith in Christ.

12. Matthias
The apostle chosen to replace the traitor Judas Iscariot, was stoned and then beheaded.

13. Paul
Was tortured and then beheaded by the evil Emperor Nero at Rome in A.D. 67. Paul endured a lengthy imprisonment, which allowed him to write his many
epistles to the churches he had formed throughout the Roman Empire. These letters, which taught many of the foundational Doctrines of Christianity, form a large portion of the New Testament.

THEGOSOEL THAT TOOK THE BLOOD OF THE APOSTLES IS THE ONE TAKING YOUR PASTORS TO THE BANK, AND BECOMING THE RICHEST IN FORBS LIST

THIS SHOULD TELL U THAT THEY ARE PREACHERS OF ANOTHWR GOSPEL,

ON THE DAY OF JUDGEMENT, U WILL UNDERSTAND BETTER