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Jed The Creator, Enugu (2025)

09/06/2025

MY FATHER SHØT ME BECAUSE I REFUSED TO MARRY A BILLIONAIRE… BUT I SURVIVED

EPISODE 13: THE INTERVIEW THAT SHOOK THE NATION

The television lights were blinding.

But they were nothing compared to the truth I was about to shine on the darkness that had caged so many young women for years.

I sat across from Binta Kole, the country’s most fearless journalist. The entire nation was watching. Some tuned in out of curiosity. Others—because they were hungry for courage. But a few… watched with dread.

They knew I wasn’t here to entertain.
I was here to expose.

---

Binta leaned forward. “Nneoma, the whole country knows you as the girl who survived a shøt to the chest from her own father. But tonight… you want to tell us the story behind the story. Please, begin.”

I took a deep breath.

“My name is Nneoma Obinna Okeke. And what happened to me didn’t start with a shøt. It started with silence.”

I looked directly into the camera.

“My father tried to force me into marriage with Chuka Udoka, a man known for his violence and exploitation. But when I refused, he shøt me. I survived—but I was meant to disappear. To die quietly so they could bury their shame. But I won’t be buried in silence.”

Binta swallowed hard. “And what about the conspiracy you mentioned to our producers?”

I nodded.

“My case is not isolated. It’s part of a network—a syndicate of powerful men who trade young women for wealth, for power, and for secrets. My father was just a puppet. I have a list of names. And I’m ready to speak.”

Gasps rippled across the studio.

I pulled out a paper and began to read.

“Senator Uchenna Ofor—owner of twelve ‘charity homes’ that double as trafficking dens.
Dr. Enyi Opara—a respected gynecologist who falsifies abortion records.
Chuka Udoka—groomed by money and protected by fear.
Barrister Tade Johnson—launders money through ‘marriage foundations’ for underage girls.
And… General Bako Musa—former army leader turned preacher, whose church owns six safe houses where girls are kept against their will.”

By the time I finished, Binta’s face had gone pale.

“But Nneoma… this is dangerous. These men—”

“I know,” I said calmly. “They’ve already threatened me. But I would rather die telling the truth than live swallowing lies.”

---

That night, the internet exploded.

Clips from the interview went viral.

Hashtags like , , and trended for days.

Protests broke out in front of police stations. Women marched. Men joined. Survivors emerged from hiding.

But deep in a glass tower on Victoria Island…

Senator Uchenna Ofor watched in silence.

He poured himself a glass of wine and picked up his phone.

“Plan B,” he said calmly. “Make it clean. Make it look like an accident.”

---

The next morning, I received a text from an unknown number:

“The lion doesn’t warn twice. You will bleed next.”

I didn’t reply.

I simply turned off my phone, opened my window, and stared into the morning light.

Whatever storm was coming…
I was done running.

Let it come.

---

To be continued…

Follow the Author 👉 Jed The Creator 👈

09/06/2025

MY FATHER SHØT ME BECAUSE I REFUSED TO MARRY A BILLIONAIRE… BUT I SURVIVED
EPISODE 12: THE ENEMY BEHIND THE THRONE

The prison cell was cold.

Chief Obinna sat on a wooden bench, stripped of his agbada and pride. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t the most powerful man in the room.

That honor now belonged to truth.

But the truth was a dangerous thing.

Especially when it threatened to expose men bigger than him.

He asked for a private meeting—with his lawyer, and shockingly… with me.

Mama and Zina were against it.

“Don’t go,” Zina warned. “He’s still your abuser. He doesn’t deserve your presence.”

But something inside me whispered, Go.
Because sometimes, the snake that bites you… also knows where the bigger snakes hide.

I agreed.

>>> WRITTEN BY JED THE CREATOR
---

The meeting room, Ikoyi Prison.

A single metal table. One chair for me. One for him.

He looked up as I walked in. For a moment, he looked like the Papa I remembered—the man who once fed me hot pepper soup when I had malaria.

Then the memory vanished, crushed by pain.

“Nneoma,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You look… stronger.”

I said nothing.

He sighed. “I didn’t call you here for apologies. I called you to warn you.”

That caught me off guard.

He leaned in.

“There are men watching this case. Bigger than Chuka. Bigger than me. Politicians, businessmen, ritualists masked as philanthropists… They sell girls like livestock. And you’ve just kicked the hornet's nest.”

I swallowed. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I’m already ruined. But you…” He shook his head. “You still have fire in your chest.”

He pulled something from his pocket—a torn piece of paper.

“Names,” he whispered. “People you should avoid. People who are coming for you.”

I hesitated… then took the paper.

But before I could read it, the guard stormed in.

“VISITING TIME OVER!”

Obinna stood up. “You’ve started something, Nneoma. Finish it. Even if it burns every last one of us.”

---

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I stared at the list. Five names.

One stood out—Senator Uchenna Ofor.

A man known for his orphanage charities… and rumored for things far darker behind closed doors.

I was about to share the list with the prosecutor the next morning when I received an envelope under my hotel room door.

No sender.

Just a card inside.

“Stop digging… or you’ll be buried next. -U.O.”

---

Fear tried to creep in.

But something stronger rose up inside me.

The bullet didn’t kill me.

Banishment didn’t break me.

I had already lost everything I once held dear.

Now… I had nothing left to fear.

---

I handed the list to the authorities. And then I made a decision that shocked everyone—

I agreed to a live television interview.

Not as a victim.

But as a survivor.

I wanted the world to hear my voice… before someone tried to silence it again.

---

To be continued…

Keep following me to get more stories

Follow the Author 👉 Jed The Creator 👈

08/06/2025

I have a strong feelings that the person reading dis will become a milliønaire 📌📌📌 Amen 🙏

08/06/2025

MY FATHER SHØT ME BECAUSE I REFUSED TO MARRY A BILLIONAIRE… BUT I SURVIVED
EPISODE 11: THE TAPE THAT SHOOK THE WALLS

Court resumed after the recess.

But something had shifted.

Chief Obinna sat stiff now—his hands no longer rested in arrogant ease. And Chuka? He looked... shaken. Like a man who just realized the floor beneath him was cracking.

The judge cleared his throat.

"Before we proceed to cross-examination, the prosecution has presented new evidence."

All eyes turned to the prosecutor.

He held up a small silver device—a recorder.

"Your Honor, this is an audio file retrieved from the former housemaid, Miss Adaora Umeh. It contains a recorded conversation between Chief Obinna and Mr. Chuka Udoka, made two weeks before the incident. It was secretly stored in her diary and submitted to the NGO for safe keeping."

The court buzzed with whispers.

Chief Obinna’s lawyer stood up. "Objection! No authentication—"

The judge waved him off. "Let’s hear it first."

The prosecutor pressed PLAY.

---

[RECORDED AUDIO BEGINS]

Obinna's voice:
"She’s becoming stubborn, Chuka. All that schooling has made her soft. But she will marry you. Even if it takes a bullet."

>>> WRITTEN BY JED THE CREATOR

Chuka's voice, laughing coldly:
"Make sure she does, Chief. Or I’ll take back the twenty million naira I dropped for this arrangement. I don’t care if you drug her. Just don’t ruin her face. I hate scars."

Obinna, irritated:
"Calm down. I know how to break her. The mother is weak. Once I deal with the girl, she’ll beg for forgiveness."

Chuka:
"And if she dies?"

Obinna, casually:
"Then we bury her. Rich men don’t marry rebels."

[RECORDED AUDIO ENDS]

---

Gasps exploded across the room.

One juror dropped her pen. The judge's jaw tightened. Even the court stenographer paused, her fingers trembling above the keys.

But I didn’t cry.

I didn’t flinch.

Because I had already heard worse—in my soul, in my dreams.

The judge turned sharply.

“Chief Obinna Okeke. You just admitted to arranging a forced marriage, bribery, and conspiring to murder your own daughter. Do you deny this voice is yours?”

Chief Obinna stood.

But his voice was different now—not bold, but broken.

“I… I didn’t mean it like that.”

The courtroom laughed bitterly. Some shook their heads. Others shouted, "Shame!"

The judge banged his gavel.

“SILENCE IN THE COURT!”

He turned to the prosecutor. “Continue.”

---

Then… the unexpected happened.

A woman walked into the courtroom, escorted by two police officers.

Young. Pregnant. Her face covered with dark glasses. She removed them slowly…

It was Amaka.

One of the women Chuka had gotten pregnant and abandoned.

“My name is Amaka Eze,” she said. “And I have something to say.”

The judge allowed it.

She turned to Chuka with eyes full of pain.

“You promised to marry me. Then you beat me when I refused to get rid of our child. You threatened to pour acid on me if I spoke. You’re not just a monster. You’re a coward.”

She faced the judge.

“I was afraid. But Nneoma’s story gave me courage. I won’t be silent anymore.”

Then… another woman stood. Then another.

Three victims.

Three untold stories.

---

It was no longer just my case.

It had become a movement.

A courtroom of voices once buried by fear.

---

Outside the courthouse, people began to gather. Banners waving. Chants rising.

“No more silence!”
“Justice for our daughters!”
“Nneoma is all of us!”

And deep inside me, a flame roared.

Not of revenge—but of rebirth.

---

To be continued…

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follow the Author 👉 Jed The Creator 👈

07/06/2025

MY FATHER SHØT ME BECAUSE I REFUSED TO MARRY A BILLIONAIRE… BUT I SURVIVED
EPISODE 10: THE COURTROOM OF SHADOWS

The courtroom was packed.

Journalists, activists, strangers holding signs that read "Let Her Speak," "No Girl Is for Sale," and "Arrest Chief Obinna."

Mama held my hand so tightly her nails dug into my skin. Zina stood behind me, her eyes scanning every corner like a lioness guarding her pride.

And then he walked in.

Chief Obinna Okeke.

My father.

Dressed in his crisp white agbada, his dark shades hiding whatever soul he still had left. The room hushed as he entered. His lips curled into a smirk as if he were walking into a business meeting—not a trial for attempted murder.

And beside him?

Chuka.

Arrogant. Polished. Dangerous.

He locked eyes with me and smiled—a smile that chilled my bones.

The judge arrived. Gavel down. Silence.

“Case Number 1400/25: The Federal Republic of Nigeria vs Chief Obinna Okeke and Mr. Chuka Udoka.”

My heart pounded as the prosecutor stood.

He read out the charges:

Attempted murder of Miss Nneoma Okeke

Bribery and conspiracy

Attempted forced marriage

Obstruction of justice

Papa leaned back, arms folded. As if he didn’t believe a single word could touch him.

Then the judge turned to me.

“Miss Nneoma, you may take the stand.”

I stood. My knees wobbled. The entire courtroom watched.

Each step I took to the witness box felt like walking through fire. But I had already survived a shøt to the chest. I wasn’t going to break now.

I took the oath.

Then I looked straight at the judge and began.

---

“My name is Nneoma Obinna Okeke. I am a nurse. I am a daughter. And I am a survivor.”

“My father shøt me because I said no to marrying a man who offered him billions. I was tossed like garbage, left for dead. But I did not die. I rose.”

The crowd murmured. The judge banged his gavel once. “Order.”

I continued, louder.

“This isn’t just about me. It’s about every girl who is told her voice doesn’t matter. About every woman sold to the highest bidder while her dreams rot in silence.”

My voice cracked.

“I’m standing here because someone had to. Because if I stay silent, I’m as guilty as those who tried to bury me.”

I paused. The silence was deafening.

Then… a single clap.
Then two.
Then the courtroom rose with applause—even the judge didn’t stop it.

But Papa…
He just sneered. “All this drama,” he muttered under his breath. “You were always too emotional.”

The prosecutor turned to him. “You think this is drama, Chief? You tried to kill your own daughter.”

Papa laughed. Laughed.

“I did what any father in my position would do. She disrespected my name. My legacy. You think I’d let her bring shame to my family?”

>>>Written by Jed The Creator

Gasps echoed. Cameras flashed. The judge stared in disbelief.

And then Mama stood from her seat.

“Enough.”

The courtroom froze.

Mama walked to the center, removing her headtie slowly—a traditional symbol of laying down submission.

“I was a silent wife for thirty years,” she said. “But silence ends today. I watched this man nearly destroy my child. I let it happen because tradition said women must endure. But if tradition asks for blood… then I reject it.”

Tears ran freely down her face.

“She is not just my daughter. She is my redemption.”

---

The judge called for a recess.

But I didn’t need to wait for the verdict to know this:

My voice had done more damage than Papa’s bullets ever could.

And this… was just the beginning.

---

To be continued…

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06/06/2025

We have 80 seats in heaven
You seat according to you battery percentage
Mine:51
Thank God i get seat😉

06/06/2025

MY FATHER SHØT ME BECAUSE I REFUSED TO MARRY A BILLIONAIRE… BUT I SURVIVED

EPISODE 9: WHEN THE WORLD TURNED TO LOOK

Three days after our interview broke the internet, it wasn’t just Nigeria watching anymore.

CNN Africa. BBC. Al Jazeera.

Every major network wanted to talk to “the girl whose father shøt her for refusing a billionaire.”
But this wasn’t about fame.

It was about finally being seen—being heard.

---

I sat in a quiet room, microphone pinned to my chest, the global correspondent from BBC adjusting her earpiece. She looked at me, her face serious but kind.

>>> Written by Jed The Creator

“Nneoma,” she began, “you’ve turned your pain into purpose. But… do you remember the first time you felt unsafe in your own home?”

I blinked. The question hit like a slap.

And before I could control it, a memory came flooding back.

---

I was twelve.

I had just returned from school, still in my checkered uniform, when I heard loud voices behind the closed door of my parents’ room.

I crept closer.

Mama was crying. “Obinna, she’s only twelve!”

Papa’s voice was low but sharp. “She needs to start learning how to respect power. Wealth. Do you know how many of my friends are asking about her already?”

I backed away slowly, heart pounding.

That was the day I stopped wearing shorts around the house.
The day I started hiding my growth.
The day I realized… I was never just a daughter. I was property.

---

I told that story during the interview. Word for word.

And by the time I was done, the journalist was speechless.

The video aired within hours.

This time, it wasn’t just trending—it was .

From Lagos to London, from Abuja to Atlanta, the world began asking:
“How many girls are being silenced in homes wrapped in gold?”
“How many mothers are watching daughters bleed behind designer gates?”

---

The next day, it happened.

A court summon.

Federal Criminal High Court vs Chief Obinna Okeke.

Charges:

Attempted murder

Conspiracy to traffic

Financial exploitation

Domestic abuse

The same man who once walked through airports with an entourage…
Was now being summoned like a common criminal.

Zina brought the paper to me, her eyes glowing.

“You did this,” she said.
“No,” I whispered, holding Mama’s hand. “We did.”

---

But just as we prepared to face him in court… something dark stirred.

That night, a package was delivered to our gate. No name. No return address.

Zina opened it carefully.

Inside, wrapped in bloodstained cloth, was a doll.
It had a bullet hole in its chest. And a note that read:

“You might have survived once. But you won’t be lucky again.”

Mama collapsed.

I stood frozen, rage boiling inside me.

“Let them come,” I whispered. “I’ve already faced death.
I came back with fire in my blood.”

---

And just like that… I knew.

This wasn’t just a fight for freedom anymore.

This was war.

And I was done being the victim.

---

To be continued…

Keep following my Page 🤗👇
Jed The Creator 👈

06/06/2025

MY FATHER SHØT ME BECAUSE I REFUSED TO MARRY A BILLIONAIRE… BUT I SURVIVED

EPISODE 8: THE BATTLE BEGINS

The sun hadn’t even risen when the glass shattered.

A loud crash. Then a scream.

Zina jumped out of bed, grabbing the small pistol she kept hidden under her pillow. I rushed into the living room where Mama had fallen to the floor, clutching her chest, eyes wide with terror. The front window was broken—shards everywhere, a brick lying on the tiles with a note tied around it.

Zina picked it up. Unfolded it. Read it. Her face went cold.

"We warned you. Stay silent or you’ll die just like your daughter should have."

Mama’s lips quivered. “They know where we are…”

“No,” Zina said, pulling her up. “They suspect. But they don’t know for sure. We have to move—now.”

Within minutes, she had packed our things. The safe house wasn’t safe anymore.

---

We moved to a new location deep in the outskirts of Ibadan—a quiet house owned by one of Zina’s contacts from the women’s rights coalition. High fences. Armed neighbors. No internet. No name.

But even there, the silence was too loud.

My chest ached every time I looked at Mama. She never said it aloud, but I knew she blamed herself. She would sit by the window for hours, humming a lullaby she used to sing when I was a child—before wealth poisoned our home.

One afternoon, she turned to me. “Nneoma… I want to speak.”

“About what?” I asked.

“Everything. Publicly. I want to confess. Tell the world what your father did. What I let happen. I want to fight with you, not hide.”

I froze.

This was the woman who once told me silence protected a family’s honor. Now she wanted to burn that silence to the ground?

Zina leaned forward. “If you’re sure… we can arrange an interview. I know someone. A journalist. Trusted.”

And just like that… the game changed.

---

The day of the interview arrived.

The journalist’s name was Tayo Adebayo, a bold, fearless woman known for exposing corrupt politicians and ritualists alike. She came with a camera crew, discreet and efficient.

We filmed in a plain room, Mama beside me. No makeup. No jewelry. Just truth.

I started.

“My name is Nneoma Obinna Okeke. I am a registered nurse. I was almost murdered by my father because I refused to marry a billionaire who offered him money in exchange for my life.”

The air was thick. Tayo’s hands trembled slightly as she filmed, but she didn’t interrupt.

Mama followed.

“I am Mrs. Uju Okeke. I was married off at sixteen. I was taught to endure. To obey. But that obedience almost cost me my child. I stood by while my husband tried to sell her soul for status. I did nothing when he pulled the trigger.”

She paused, tears falling.

“But I’m speaking now. If even one mother hears this and chooses her child over tradition, then I’ve done my part.”

---

The interview went viral within hours of airing.

“Nigerian Billionaire Accused of Attempted Filicide Over Arranged Marriage Deal.”
“Wife of Chief Obinna Speaks Out: ‘I Watched Him Raise a Gun to Our Daughter.’”
began trending.

Suddenly, I wasn’t a ghost anymore.
I was a fire.

---

But fire brings smoke. And smoke calls enemies.

Two days later, Chuka’s men struck again.

We were driving to meet the human rights lawyer Tayo recommended when a black SUV began tailing us. Zina noticed first.

“Hold tight,” she said, foot slamming the pedal.

They chased us through potholes and narrow streets, horns blaring, shouting threats. But Zina was trained. She cut through alleys, zigzagged through markets, and finally lost them in a crowded bus terminal.

When we stopped, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

But I looked over at Zina—and she grinned.

“They’re scared,” she said. “That means we’re winning.”

---

That night, I stood outside under the stars.

I touched the scar on my chest. The one Papa gave me.

And I made a promise.

I will not stop. Not until girls like me can say “no” without risking death.
Not until power is stripped from predators who wear agbadas and call themselves chiefs.
Not until silence is no longer a curse mothers pass down to their daughters.

I survived the shøt.

Now I would become the shøt they never saw coming.

---

To be continued…

Follow 👉 Jed The Creator 👈 to read more

05/06/2025

MY FATHER SHØT ME BECAUSE I REFUSED TO MARRY A BILLIONAIRE… BUT I SURVIVED

EPISODE 7: MAMA’S CHOICE

The rain came down hard that night.

The kind of rain that soaked into your bones, reminding you that no matter how fast you ran, some storms were meant to catch you. The safe house was quiet again, too quiet, until Zina burst into the room, phone in hand, face pale as the moonlight that crept through our curtains.

“Nneoma… something’s happened.”

I stood quickly. “What is it?”

“It’s your mother. She’s gone.”

“Gone?” My voice cracked.

“She packed a bag and left the Okeke mansion. The security guard said she walked out without a word. No car. No driver. Nothing.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Not out of fear—but disbelief.
Mama, who never disobeyed.
Mama, whose silence was louder than thunder.
Mama, who once watched me bleed and said nothing.

Now… she was walking away?

---

Back in the past…

Mama had spent the whole day cleaning the same window over and over. She wasn’t looking through it—she was staring at herself in the reflection, asking hard questions:

>>>Written by Jed The Creator

“Who did I become?”
“What did I let happen?”
“What kind of mother lets silence become a weapon?”

And as the evening call to prayer echoed faintly across Enugu’s sky, she made her choice.

She tied her headscarf.
Tucked the birth photo into her wrapper.
And walked out the front door.

She didn’t even tell the maid goodbye.

---

She came to us just before midnight.

A soft knock.

Zina opened the door first, unsure.

But when I stepped out and saw her—drenched, barefoot, shivering with nothing but her handbag clutched to her chest—I broke.

“Mama?”

She stared at me.

And in that moment, I saw something I hadn’t seen in years.

A mother.
Not a wife.
Not a servant to tradition.
Not a frightened woman.

Just a mother.

She dropped to her knees.

“Nneoma… biko. I was weak. I was afraid. But not anymore. I left him. I left it all. For you.”

I knelt with her, tears washing down my cheeks.

We held each other like we were trying to put years back together with nothing but touch.

Zina watched silently from the hallway. She blinked fast, trying not to cry, but failing.

---

Later, as Mama dried herself and sipped hot tea, she reached into her handbag and pulled out a small black flash drive.

“I didn’t just leave empty-handed,” she said softly.

Zina raised a brow. “What’s that?”

“I found it hidden inside your father’s study, behind one of his religious books. The password was your name, Nneoma.”

My heart skipped.

Zina connected the flash drive to her laptop.

And what we saw…
Shattered everything.

Videos.
Recordings.
Bank transactions.

Proof that Papa had accepted millions in ‘grooming gifts’ from Chuka’s father.
That I was never just a daughter to him…
I was a debt he had planned to pay off with my body.

One video showed Papa and Chuka’s father laughing over whisky.

“She’ll resist at first,” Papa had said. “But when the pressure starts, she’ll fold. They always do.”

Chuka had added, “If she doesn’t… I know how to break stubborn girls.”

The screen went black.

My hands trembled.

Zina stood.

“This isn’t just a personal story anymore. This is evidence.”

And suddenly, the mission changed.

It wasn’t just about healing.

It was about justice.

---

But justice has a price.

And by dawn, someone had tried to buy our location.

Zina’s security system pinged.

An encrypted message.

A bounty placed on my head.

Whoever found “the runaway daughter who disgraced her father” would receive ₦10 million.

---

That night, I slept with one eye open.

Not because I was afraid to die.

But because I knew they were finally scared of me.

---

To be continued…

Keep following me 👉 Jed The Creator

05/06/2025

MY FATHER SHØT ME BECAUSE I REFUSED TO MARRY A BILLIONAIRE… BUT I SURVIVED

EPISODE 6: THE GIRL IN THE PURPLE DRESS

The safe house was quiet that morning.

Too quiet.

Even Zina, who usually woke up before dawn to scroll through news updates and drink her bitter black coffee, had stayed in bed longer than usual. Maybe she knew something was coming. Maybe she could feel it in the air like I could.

There was a tension.
A silence that screamed.
Something was about to break.

And it did.

---

By 10 a.m., we received word.

The young girl—the 16-year-old who had messaged us through her aunt—was ready to meet. But she was scared. Chuka’s family had threatened to disown her entire household if she spoke to anyone.

They’d already beaten her brother.

They’d seized her father’s keke business.

All because she dared to say no.

My heart clenched.

Her story was becoming mine.
And I wasn’t going to let history repeat itself.

We arranged the meeting at an old, abandoned primary school in Mushin. Zina and I arrived first, dressed like traders, blending in with the background noise of traffic and struggling street vendors.

She arrived quietly.

She wore a faded purple dress, her braids falling to one side, her eyes swollen like she hadn’t slept in days.

Her name was Ifunanya.

She looked at me with a kind of fear that had no words—just trembling lips and shifting feet.

>>>Written by Jed The Creator

“You’re the girl… the one they said rose from the grave,” she whispered.

I nodded slowly.

She broke down.

Not with loud sobs or wailing—but with quiet, shattering tears that fell like raindrops from a dying sky.

“I was supposed to marry him next month,” she said. “They said my body was my family’s key to wealth.”

I held her hands. “You are not a key. You are a life. You are enough, Ifunanya.”

And for the first time, she smiled—just a little.
A fragile, broken smile.
But a beginning.

---

Back at the Okeke mansion, Mama hadn’t left her room in two days.

The TV was stuck on the same news channel, showing panelists debating my story.

“Maybe it’s a setup,” one man said.
“Why would a respected man like Chief Obinna shoot his own daughter?”

But another woman had spoken up, her voice like thunder through the screen.

“Respected men have done worse. Power hides monsters. We cannot keep pretending tradition justifies abuse.”

Mama stared at the screen until her eyes burned.

She got up slowly and walked to the drawer where she kept her old journals.

And there, hidden beneath her wrapper clothes, she found it—

My birth photo.

Me. Her first child.

Smiling. Innocent.
Before money became a weapon.
Before marriage became a business.

She touched the photo gently and whispered, “My Nneoma... my baby… please forgive me.”

---

That night, I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

The scar from the shøt wound was still there, jagged and mean. It stretched across my chest like a cruel reminder.

But I didn’t hate it anymore.

It had become my armor.

Proof that even when the one who gave me life tried to end it—I chose to live.

Zina walked in, holding her phone. Her face was pale.

“Nne… Chuka just posted a video.”

I froze.

“What kind of video?”

She turned the phone to me.

And there he was.

Chuka Udoka, standing beside a small table with wine, his voice calm, his tone dangerous.

“My family has been disrespected. Lies have been told. But let me be clear—if this girl thinks she can destroy me, she’s forgotten what real power looks like. This is Nigeria. And in Nigeria… men like me never fall.”

He smiled.

“Let’s see how long you last, nurse girl.”

---

I stared at the screen, my blood ice cold.

So this was it.

War.

But I wasn’t afraid.

Because this time, I wasn’t fighting to survive.

I was fighting to end a cycle.

For Ifunanya.
For my mother.
For every girl still trapped in silence.

And if I had to go back into the fire…

I would walk in with my head held high.

---

To be continued…

Follow the Author 👉 Jed The Creator 👈

04/06/2025

MY FATHER SHØT ME BECAUSE I REFUSED TO MARRY A BILLIONAIRE… BUT I SURVIVED

EPISODE 5: THE MAN THEY FEARED

The morning after I posted the truth, my burner phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

Messages.
Comments.
Missed calls from unknown numbers.

People were angry.
Shocked.
Some didn’t believe me.
Others said I was a disgrace to my family.

But many… many others?
They called me brave.
A survivor.
A voice they never had.

The hashtag was trending across Nigeria.
Women shared their stories.
Girls cried into phones, whispering secrets they had buried in shame.
Men reposted in silence, slowly confronting the culture they were raised in.

But as the world reacted with fury and support…
My father?

He responded with silence.

And that silence was louder than any shøt.

---

Meanwhile, at the Okeke mansion…

Chief Obinna sat alone in his office, the curtains drawn. His phone was hot in his hand, dozens of missed calls from politicians, church elders, and business partners.

His face was pale.

Not because he felt guilt.

But because the image he built for over 30 years was cracking.

He paced. He drank. He cursed.
He smashed his phone against the wall.

“Mba! It’s a lie! That girl is dead!” he barked.

But deep down, he knew…

The girl he buried was very much alive.

And now?

She had the whole world listening.

>>>>Written by Jed The Creator
---

Far away, Chuka Udoka was watching too.

He sat in his private villa in Lekki, dressed in a white kaftan, a cigar between his fingers. A girl in her early twenties knelt beside him, shaking as she served him wine.

On the television, Nneoma’s face appeared during a special news segment.

Chuka laughed bitterly.

“This small nurse get liver o,” he muttered.

His cousin, Tobe, stood nearby. “Should we handle it, boss?”

Chuka’s eyes narrowed. “No. Not yet. Let her talk. Let her scream. The louder she gets, the easier it’ll be to silence her when the time is right.”

Tobe nodded.

Chuka took a long drag from his cigar and exhaled slowly.

“Find her.”

---

Back in my safe house, Zina was pacing nervously.

“Your post is everywhere, Nne. People are calling you a national hero. But this is getting dangerous.”

“I know,” I said softly, “but I’m not hiding anymore.”

I sat at the window, watching life pass outside. A young girl skipped past with her schoolbag. Her smile… it reminded me of who I used to be.

Before tradition crushed me.
Before love became currency.
Before my father raised that gun.

I closed my eyes.

“I want to meet that 16-year-old girl—the one Chuka tried to marry.”

Zina blinked. “What? Why?”

“Because I need to look into her eyes and tell her she’s not alone. I need her to know that monsters wear agbadas too.”

Zina hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. But we need protection.”

---

That night, I got another message.

“You don’t know what you’ve started. Stay silent… or we’ll finish what your father couldn’t.”

No name.
No number.
Just a cold warning.

I stared at the screen, my hands steady.

Then I typed one sentence in reply:

“I died once already. Try me.”

---

To be continued…

Follow the Author 👉 Jed The Creator 👈

Jed The Creator

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