Using goals in the Messi vs Ronaldo debate feels like this:

This is for special person like you...

HOW TO TAKE YOUR SODA DRINKS IN A WAY IT WON'T AFFECT YOU

Do This And Thank Me Later.

WARNING: If you skip any of these steps, you kiss your health goodbye.


Step 1: Buy any of the Soda drinks. Ensure it's chilled.

Step 2: Take it to the kitchen.

Step 3: Grab a glass cup (don't drink directly from the bottle and don't use straw).

Step 4: Pour into the glass cup and allow it to settle for 2 minutes.

Step 5: Ensure there are no fizzy bubbles anymore.

Step 6: Cover it.

Step 7: Carry it to your toilet and pour round the inside of the toilet.

Step 8: Get a toilet brush, add some little soap and scrub the toilet.


Mama Sadé, stop sipping confusion.

You have zobo, fenugreek tea, saffron tea E.t.c.


If this slaps like lime, share this to a friend who still sips liquid regrets to calm herself down.

HOW TO TAKE YOUR SODA DRINKS IN A WAY IT WON'T AFFECT YOU

Do This And Thank Me Later.

WARNING: If you skip any of these steps, you kiss your health goodbye.


Step 1: Buy any of the Soda drinks. Ensure it's chilled.

Step 2: Take it to the kitchen.

Step 3: Grab a glass cup (don't drink directly from the bottle and don't use straw).

Step 4: Pour into the glass cup and allow it to settle for 2 minutes.

Step 5: Ensure there are no fizzy bubbles anymore.

Step 6: Cover it.

Step 7: Carry it to your toilet and pour round the inside of the toilet.

Step 8: Get a toilet brush, add some little soap and scrub the toilet.


Mama Sadé, stop sipping confusion.

You have zobo, fenugreek tea, saffron tea E.t.c.


If this slaps like lime, share this to a friend who still sips liquid regrets to calm herself down.

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...

EVERYONE MUST READ THIS. A LIFE WITHOUT RESTRICTION WILL SUFFER DESTRUCTION ||

Terminating the spirit of Uzziah. The name Uzziah means "the strength of God." Uzziah was not an enemy to Isaiah, so don't get it wrong. Uzziah was a representative of pride. Please, I want you to know something. I'm speaking to you, speaking to me, speaking to us. There is nobody who has gone up that can't come down. Don't trust in your wealth. What is in your life that you depend on? A life without restriction will suffer destruction.

There are things you must not do, even if you can do them. There are things that come to our head, but for the sake of covenant, we can't let them come out of our mouth. When you become useless, you make yourself inconsequential. There are businesses a Christian should not be involved in based on scripture. The exit of Hosea tells us—don't overcelebrate your present level. Appreciate God for it, but there is something more. The biggest enemy of your next level is your previous achievement. Many of you don't know who you are, that is why your current level feels like a big deal to you.

There are some people who will only learn from failure. Let him fail. Do you think anybody could have spoken to the prodigal son? If you still have somebody committed to counseling you, God loves you. I beg God every time—may I never be too big for counsel. When grace leaves you, men will leave you. But can I say this to you? The message has been passed. I don't really like when people want to advise me and they're looking at me Emmanuel Ese’s. If you want to advise me, see me as somebody you are helping.


We are in a generation where success has relatives, but failure is an orphan. Don't think some people can't leave you—just pray that God does not leave you. When God leaves you, you will know. There's nothing like a best friend. When Uzziah dies, the first thing you see—you see God for who He is. Your revelation of God is known in your reference for God. Ah! You know, Satan knows how to sponsor rebellion so you can go even further. There are things you don't say to a pastor. We walk with covenant, and spirituality has no respect for ignorance.

In this kingdom, we don't condemn people just because we have issues with them. All the good things a person has done—you forget immediately. What kind of generation is this? A generation with short memory, with amnesia. We forget the good of people because of one thing happening now. The only thing you do in a place where you know they don't like your father is—when you get there, remind them who your father is. When you see God for who He is, you desire to spend time with Him. You become a replica of what you spend time with.

Redemption does not automatically mean prosperity, so stop thinking that because Christ has paid, Christ paid the price for your redemption—not for your wealth. A constant reminder of where God picked you from keeps you humble. Never be proud. If you mess up, God has a backup. The person God brings to take your place is always better than you. God is aware of your limitations, yet He found you. Please be grateful. Never be self-reliant. There is no self-made man—there are only God-made men.

Constant gratitude is proof of genuine appreciation. Anything you are enjoying today—thank God for it. Stop telling people how you qualified for it. If you want to give God glory, don't touch it—give Him all of it. Anyone who corrupts your mind over your covering is a plague that should be avoided. Bad influence is worse than cancer. There are people who should not be around you. No one who genuinely loves you will speak against what covers you.

1. Can you sacrifice for someone without expecting anything in return?… It's called selflessness
2. Can you be accountable at all times and be known for who you are?… It's called integrity
3. Can you be there for people even when you’re not in the best shape yourself?… It's called compassion
4. Can you keep doing the right thing even when no one is watching?… It's called character
5. Can you help those who can never repay you?… It's called kindness
6. Can you give your time without seeking recognition?… It's called humility
7. Can you stay true to your values in the face of pressure?… It's called conviction
8. Can you admit when you’re wrong and make amends?… It's called maturity
9. Can you lead others without letting power change you?… It's called servant leadership
10. Can you stay hopeful even when everything seems lost?… It's called faith
11. Can you give without expecting to receive back?… It's called generosity
12. Can you love even when you’re not loved in return?… It's called unconditional love
13. Can you wait without complaining?… It's called patience
14. Can you keep learning despite your achievements?… It's called teachability
15. Can you take correction without being defensive?… It's called openness

16. Can you forgive those who deeply hurt you?… It's called grace
17. Can you stand firm when your peers compromise?… It's called courage
18. Can you celebrate others even when you’re struggling?… It's called sincerity
19. Can you listen to understand and not just to reply?… It's called empathy
20. Can you start again after repeated failures?… It's called resilience
21. Can you be faithful to your partner even when no one is watching?… It's called loyalty
22. Can you stay content while waiting for your time?… It's called contentment
23. Can you be honest even when a lie is easier?… It's called truthfulness
24. Can you stay calm when insulted or provoked?… It's called self-control
25. Can you hold on to your dreams in the face of setbacks?… It's called determination
26. Can you lift others while still climbing?… It's called support
27. Can you work hard without needing praise?… It's called dedication
28. Can you pursue excellence even when it’s hard?… It's called discipline
29. Can you apologize when you are wrong?… It's called humanness
30. Can you walk away from wrong even when it’s popular?… It's called principle

In a world that often rewards showmanship and shortcuts, choosing values like selflessness, integrity, and compassion might seem old-fashioned. But these are the foundations that build lasting legacies. Whether or not anyone is watching, choose the path of strength and character. Do good, be consistent, and let your life speak loudly without needing to shout.

OUR WEAPONS AGAINST THE BATTLE OF DESTINY.*

SCRIPTURE: And the Lord said unto Satan, Whence comest thou? Then Satan answered the Lord, and said, From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it. JOB 1:7

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: There is nothing that disarms darkness like light.
Yesterday, we saw that the devil is at war against the lives and destiny of men. We also saw that the major aims of the battles of destiny are both the distraction of focus and the destruction of life and destiny.

Yesterday, we also saw Temptation as one of the weapons the enemy deploys against the destiny of men. Today, we shall be looking at affliction as another weapon the enemy uses to attack the destiny of men.

The devil uses affliction to battle people’s destinies. That way, the time the afflicted person should have been using to pursue meaningful things will be used to service afflictions.
Sometime ago, during the Ebola virus outbreak, many people were quarantined. If the affliction remained on them for six months, they would remain in that isolation for six months. Imagine an active businessman being quarantined for six months; whatever he was doing would be grounded for as long as he remains in that quarantine condition.
Today, I declare the termination of any affliction in your life, in Jesus’ Name.
Now, how do you handle the battles of destiny?

1. Cast your cares upon God (1Peter 5:7, Matthew 11: 28). Cast your cares upon the Lord. Refuse to carry them anymore. If the devil has attacked your destiny with affliction, come to a point where you hand over everything to God, and He will bring you out of that affliction.

2. Use Light to battle. There is nothing that disarms darkness like light. Look for relevant scriptural lights out of Scripture, preached messages and printed books, that can deliver you from the trap of temptation, affliction, opposition, depression, deprivation and rejection. Light causes you to prevail over the forces of darkness (John 1:5).

Beloved, no matter what the condition is, don't battle with tears. Any soldier crying on the battlefield is not qualified to fight. There is a difference between soldiers and soldier ants. Soldier ants are trampled upon, but soldiers waste the enemy. You don't battle with tears and sentiments. Our weapon of warfare – General Purpose Machine Gun (GPMG), Rocket Propelled Grenades (RPG), Anti-aircraft rifle, is the Word of God. Carry it and fire it brutally at the enemy and all his agents.

Remember this✍🏼: There is nothing that disarms darkness like light.

ASSIGNMENT(S):
1. Refuse to cry for the devil
2. Locate relevant lights that can handle your battles and install them into your spirit against the days of confrontation.

PRAYER🙏🏼: Lord, thank You for being a Wall of Fire around my life and destiny. I command every arrow of affliction aimed at me to catch fire and return to its sender. I am untouchable, Lord, in Jesus’ Name.

FOR FURTHER UNDERSTANDING, GET THIS MESSAGE: The Battle of Destiny

DAILY BIBLE READING: Psalm 124-126

QUOTE: Never hold anyone responsible for your success or failure in life. If you want to reach your destiny, be responsible. Culled from, Road Marks to Destiny by Dr Paul Enenche.

AMAZING FACT: Horses can sleep standing up.

PROPHETIC DECLARATION/WORD: Every trap set for you by the enemy is hereby destroyed in Jesus Name.

"I don't think 50 Cent would've dated a man like him if he was a woman. Like who dates a man that can't even give his girlfriend $1?" _ Jamira, 50 Cent's ex laments

"I am very happy right now after brēakîng up with that stîngy man.When I look at how beautiful I am, I wonder what made me date a man like 50 Cent. 50 Cent feels like he's a king and women have to beg after him. There are men out there who would spend all their money just to be with me but I still went for 50 Cent. There are guys who come to my DM and tell me things like I'm so beautiful and they would pay $100k just for a night out with me. And when I tell 50 Cent about it, he'll be like okay. There was never a day when 50 Cent gave me even $1 for turning down money from a man because of him.
There are times when I buy expensive jewelry, clothes, and wigs just to look good for 50 Cent but he never compliments me. When I ask him and I'm like: 'Babe, didn't you notice anything new?' He'll be like: 'I hope that isn't coming out of my pay cheque? Cuz I don't have money.' And I'll be like WTF. He even knows when a lady wants to ask for money before she asks him. And when you do ask him he'll say he's not a Sîmp and he won't give you anything." Jamira

50 Cent is unbothered about the brēak up