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Bethy's Untold Stories, Ikorodu, Ikorodu (2026)

26/05/2026

A Nigerian Story of Love & Betrayal

Title. "The Forced Marriage

A story of two tribes.

Two families.

Two people sold to each other
like assets on a balance sheet.

And the love
that refused
to be a line item.

PART 5

Seun Adeyemi
was twenty-seven years old
and beautiful
in the way
that dangerous people
sometimes are....

With an open face
and easy smile
and eyes that looked
like warmth
until you looked
long enough
to see
what was actually behind them.

Calculation.

Always calculation.

✦ ✦ ✦

Growing up
in the Adeyemi house

Seun had learned
one lesson
above all others:

There was Damilola.

And then there was
everyone else.

Damilola —
the first son,
the chosen one,
the one their father
pointed to
in every room
with the specific pride
of a man displaying
his greatest achievement.

"This is my son.
Damilola.
He will take over
everything someday."

Everything.

Seun had heard
that word
his entire life
like a door
closing in his face.

Everything.

Going to Damilola.

✦ ✦ ✦

He had never said
any of this out loud.

He was too smart
for that.

Instead he had smiled.
Praised his brother.
Been the good younger son,
supportive, present,
never threatening.

He had made himself
indispensable
to their father
in smaller ways...

Running errands,
managing logistics,
being available
in the ways
Damilola was too busy
or too principled
to be.

He had made himself
useful.

And useful people
learn things.

Important things.

Like the clause
in Chief Adeyemi's will....

the one that said:

If the firstborn son
fails to fulfill
his duty to this family....

If he refuses
a reasonable arrangement,

if he chooses
personal interest
over the family legacy....

Everything transfers
to the second son.

Everything.

✦ ✦ ✦

Seun had found
that clause
fourteen months ago.

In a folder
in his father's study.

He had not been
looking for it.

He had been
looking for
a property document.

But he had found
that clause.

And he had read it
three times.

And then he had
put the folder back
exactly as he found it.

And he had gone
to his room
and sat very still
for a very long time.

And something
had shifted
in him
that night.

Something
that had been building
for years.
quietly,
incrementally,
in the dark
had found
its shape.

✦ ✦ ✦

When his father
had first mentioned
the Obi arrangement.

Seun had immediately understood
what it meant
beyond the merger.

It meant:
If Damilola agreed
Damilola inherited everything.

But if Damilola refused,
if Damilola chose Ngozi
over the family arrangement
the clause activated.

Everything.

Going to Seun.

He had volunteered
immediately
to help his father
manage the situation.

"Let me handle Ngozi,"
he had said.
"I know how
to manage these things."

His father
had looked at him
with approval.

Seun had felt it
like sunlight
he had been waiting
his whole life to feel.

✦ ✦ ✦

Now....
here is what
Chioma knew.

Here is what she had
seen from the car window
that evening
as the Obi family
arrived at the Adeyemi gate,
a glimpse,
just a glimpse,
of a face
she recognised.

Because Chioma
had met Seun Adeyemi
six weeks earlier.

Not at a family function.

At a meeting.

A private meeting
at a Maitama coffee shop
that Seun had requested
through a mutual contact
framing it as a
"preliminary conversation
about the families"
before the arrangement
was formally discussed.

She had assumed
it was legitimate.

He had been charming.
Asking questions
about her work,
her ambitions,
her relationship with
her father.

Questions she had answered
because she had no reason
not to.

But now...,
sitting in the back
of her father's car
driving away
from the Adeyemi compound....

She remembered
one specific question
he had asked:

"Does your father know
about anyone
you are currently seeing?"

She had said no.

Immediately.
Instinctively.
The way you lie
when the truth
is not safe.

And Seun
had nodded.
Smiled.
Said:
"Of course. Of course."

And changed the subject.

But he had written something
in the small notebook
he carried.

And she had not
thought about it
again.

Until tonight.

Until she saw his face
in that compound
and realised....

he had been
gathering information.

Not for his father.

For himself.

✦ ✦ ✦

Damilola called her
at seven the next morning.

She told him
everything.

The coffee shop.
The questions.
The notebook.
The specific question
about who she was seeing.

He was quiet
for a long time.

"He knows about Tobe,"
she said.
"I don't know how much.
But he knows something."

"He knows about Ngozi,"
Damilola said.
"He has been watching her.
Photographing her.
Reporting to my father."

Another silence.

"Damilola "
Chioma said carefully,
"your brother
is not doing this
for your father."

"I know."

"He is doing this
for himself."

"I know."

"Which means "

"Which means,"
Damilola finished,
"that he does not want
this merger to happen.
He wants me to refuse it.
He wants me to choose Ngozi.
So the clause activates.
And he gets everything."

✦ ✦ ✦

The silence
that followed
was different
from the others.

This one had weight.

The weight of something
being fully seen
for the first time.

"He has been
on both sides,"
Chioma said.

"Yes."

"Helping your father
push the arrangement through
while also trying
to make you angry enough
to refuse it."

"Yes."

"So whichever way it goes
he wins something."

"Yes."

✦ ✦ ✦

Damilola
sat with this
for a long moment.

Then said:

"We need to take away
both options.

We cannot let
the arrangement stand.
And we cannot let
the refusal
give him the inheritance.

We need
a third option."

Chioma was quiet.

Then, slowly:

"I think I know
what the third option is.

But it requires
both of us
to be very brave.

And it requires
Ngozi and Tobe
to trust us."

She paused.

"Are you ready
for this to get
much harder
before it gets better?"

Damilola thought
of Ngozi
on the blue sofa.

Ngozi saying:
We need to be smarter
than them.
Not louder.
Smarter.

"Yes," he said.

"Then there is something
you need to know,"
Chioma said.

"There is a man
a senator
whose name
is on the merger documents.
A silent investor.
A man who stands to gain
more from this union
than both our fathers
combined.

And I have his name.
And I have proof.

And that proof
is the key
to everything."

A senator.
In the shadows.
With everything to lose.

And Chioma
has his name.

Part 6. By 6pm
The senator's secret
comes out.
And Ngozi and Tobe
finally meet
the people
they were never
supposed to meet.

💬 Comment PART 6 now
What do you think Chioma is planning?
Let's discuss in the comments below 👇

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too good to keep to yourself.

26/05/2026

Good morning besties, it's a beautiful day. Tell me which country you are watching from.

25/05/2026

Good morning besties, what are your plans for this week. Let discuss. Have a productive week.

19/05/2026

A Nigerian Story of Love & Betrayal

Title. "The Forced Marriage

A story of two tribes.

Two families.

Two people sold to each other
like assets on a balance sheet.

And the love
that refused
to be a line item.

PART 4

The Adeyemi compound
in Asokoro
was readyfor the
introduction dinner
before the guests arrived.

Of course it was.

In Chief Adeyemi's house
everything was ready
before it was needed.

That was the point
of having staff.
That was the point
of having power.

You walked into rooms
that were already
perfect for you.

You never had to wait.
You never had to adjust.
The world arranged itself
around your arrival.

✦ ✦ ✦

Damilola arrived
at 5:45PM
in his charcoal grey
traditional senator suit
not his best agbada.

His mother noticed immediately.

"I told you to wear
the navy one."

"I prefer this one."

She looked at him
the way mothers look
at sons who are
quietly fighting a war
she can see
but cannot acknowledge.

"Smile tonight,"
she said.
"Be present.
Be charming.
This is important
to your father."

"I know," he said.

What he did not say....
Nothing about tonight
is important to me.

What he did not say....
I am here for one reason only.
To see who she is.
To see if she needs help.

He straightened his collar.
Walked into
the sitting room.
And waited.

✦ ✦ ✦

The Obi family
arrived at exactly 6PM.

Chief Obi first
filling the doorway
the way powerful men do,
as though rooms
were designed
to announce them.

Mrs. Obi beside him
soft, composed,
wearing a pale gold iro
that said money
without screaming it.

And then....

Chioma.

Damilola had prepared himself
for this moment.

He had told himself:
she is a stranger.

She is part
of something
that is happening to you.

She is not your enemy.

She is not your answer.

She is just a person
in an impossible situation.

What he had not prepared for....

What he could not
have prepared for ....

Was that the moment
Chioma Obi
walked into that room.

she looked directly at him.....

Not at his father,
not at the room,
not at the impressive
Adeyemi sitting room
with its imported furniture
and its generator hum.

She looked
directly at him....

and in her eyes
he saw it.

The same thing
he knew was
in his own.

Not attraction.

Something more important
than attraction.

Recognition.

The recognition
of someone
who is also trapped.

✦ ✦ ✦

They shook hands.

Both parents watching.

Both families
performing warmth
at each other.

"Damilola.
This is Chioma."

"Chioma.
This is Damilola."

Her hand in his
for three seconds.

Her eyes in his
for two.

And in those two seconds....

Without a word,
without a signal,
without anything
their parents could see...

they said everything.

✦ ✦ ✦

The dinner was elaborate.

Egusi.
Pounded yam.
Assorted meat.
Chapman for the women.
Cognac for the chiefs.

The conversation
was all performance.

Chief Adeyemi
cataloguing
the Adeyemi legacy.

Chief Obi
cataloguing
the Obi achievements.

Two men comparing
the size of their empires
while their children
sat beside each other
eating
and saying nothing
of any meaning.

Damilola spoke
when spoken to.

Answered questions
about the subsidiaries
he managed.

Chioma spoke
when spoken to.

Discussed her consulting work
with the polished ease
of someone who had been
presenting herself
in rooms like this
since she was sixteen.

But underneath
the table...

underneath
the performance....

Damilola slid a small
folded paper
toward Chioma's hand.

She did not look down.

Did not react.

Simply let her fingers
find it.
Close around it.

✦ ✦ ✦

In the bathroom
five minutes later....

she unfolded it.

Three words.

In his handwriting.

Are you okay?

She stared
at those three words
for a long time.

In twenty-six years
of being
Chief Obi's daughter

of being the asset,
the pride,
the treasure,
the girl who never
disappoints

three words.

Nobody had asked her.

Not today.
Not this week.
Not during
any of the meetings
and arrangements
and logistics
of her own future
being planned
without her.

Nobody had thought
to ask.

Are you okay?

✦ ✦ ✦

She returned to the table.

Sat beside him.

Under the table

she slid the paper back.

He opened it
in his lap.

Read her answer:

No.

And beneath it....

three words of her own:

Is Ngozi safe?

✦ ✦ ✦

He looked up
from the paper.

Found her eyes
across the performance
of the dinner.

And gave her
the smallest nod.

For now.

Her jaw tightened
slightly.

Then...
barely visible
she nodded back.

Okay.

Then we fight.

✦ ✦ ✦

The dinner ended
at 9PM.

Pleasantries exchanged.
Plans made.
The fathers already
discussing wedding dates
with the efficiency
of men closing a deal.

At the door...

as the families
said their goodbyes.

Chioma moved
close enough
to Damilola
to speak
below the noise
of the room.

"My phone number
is on the paper,"
she said.

He had not noticed.
He had folded it
back into his pocket.

"Call me tomorrow,"
she said.
"Not tonight.
Tomorrow.
Early."

"Why?" he murmured.

She picked up
her handbag.
Smiled
at his mother.
Said something warm
and perfectly composed.

Then, under her breath,
low enough
for only him:

"Because I know something
about your brother
that you need to hear.
And you need to hear it
before he makes
his next move."

✦ ✦ ✦

The Obi family car
pulled out
of the Adeyemi compound.

Damilola stood
at the gate
watching the headlights
disappear
into the Asokoro night.

His mother
touched his arm.

"She is lovely, isn't she?"

He said nothing.

His hand was
in his pocket

around the folded paper

around her number

around the words:

Is Ngozi safe?

And he thought:

This woman
is not my enemy.

She might be
the only other person
in this entire city
who understands
exactly what is
at stake.

Chioma knows something
about Seun.

Something that will reframe
everything Damilola
thought he knew
about his own brother.

And what Seun
has been doing....

behind everyone's back,
is not just loyalty
to his father.

It is something
far more personal.
Far more dangerous.
Far more devastating.

Part 5 today by 7 PM.
The brother's secret
comes out.

💬 Comment PART 5 now

What do you think
Chioma knows about
Damilola's brother

Share this story
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to be reading this story
right now

19/05/2026

Good morning besties. Today's weather feels like going under the duvet. Is it raining in your area. Say your area in the CS if it's raining now.

16/05/2026

They called it a arrangement.
She called it a prison.
From the moment she was handed over like a transaction, she knew one thing....
she would find a way out. Or die trying.
But what happens when the man she was forced to marry... isn't who she expected?
This story will pull you in from page ONE.
Drop a 🔥 if you love dramatic, emotional, can't-put-it-down reads.
The Forced Marriage....start reading now.

16/05/2026

This is a story about betrayal and secrets .

15/05/2026

A Nigerian Story of Love & Betrayal

Title. "The Forced Marriage

A story of two tribes.

Two families.

Two people sold to each other
like assets on a balance sheet.

And the love
that refused
to be a line item.

PART 3

Damilola drove to Ngozi's
apartment on Saturday morning
instead of calling.

Because some things....

Some things
you cannot say
into a phone.

Some things
require you
to be in the room.

To see the person's face.

To be present
for what your words
are about to do
to someone
you love.

He owed her that much.

✦ ✦ ✦

She opened the door
in an oversized Lagos state
university sweatshirt,
pencil in her hair,
a sketchbook in her hand.

She was mid-drawing.

She was always
mid-drawing.

Her face when she saw him....
open, warm, moving
toward a smile....

And then she saw
his expression.

And the smile
stopped
halfway.

"Damilola."

Not a question.

A recognition.

The recognition
of someone
who has been waiting
for a shoe to drop
and is watching it fall.

"Can I come in?"

She stepped back.
Let him in.
Closed the door.

✦ ✦ ✦

He sat on her sofa
the blue one
she had bought herself
from the Wuse market,
the one with the slight tear
on the left armrest
she kept meaning to fix.

And he told her everything.

The Thursday meeting.

The two chiefs.

The handshake.

The document
with her name on it.

He told her in the way
of someone who has decided
that the kindest thing
he can do
is to be completely honest....

Even when honesty
is the hardest thing
in the world to offer.

Ngozi listened.

She did not interrupt.

She did not cry.

She did not look away.

She sat across from him
in the chair
by the window.

The chair where she did
her best drawing,
where the morning light
came in at the angle
she loved.

And she listened
to the man she loved
tell her
that two men
who did not know her
had decided
she was not enough
for their plan.

✦ ✦ ✦

When he finished.

Silence.

The kind of silence
that is not empty
but completely full.

Then Ngozi
set down her sketchbook.

Stood up.

Walked to the window.

Looked out
at Wuse Zone 2.

At the street below,
the okada riders,
the woman selling akara
at the corner,
the ordinary
relentless beauty
of a city
that did not stop
for anyone's heartbreak.

"How long
have they been planning this?"
she asked.

Her voice was
very quiet.

Very controlled.

The voice of someone
choosing to be calm
because the alternative
was too large
for a Saturday morning.

"I don't know,"
Damilola said.

"Months," she said.

Not a question.

A conclusion.

"At least months.

This kind of arrangement...
it does not happen
in one Thursday evening.

They have been planning this
for months."

✦ ✦ ✦

She turned from the window.

And he saw it then....

not tears.

Not collapse.

Something harder
and more frightening
than either of those.

Clarity.

"Your father
had someone following me,"
she said.

"Ngozi "

"The silver Prado, Dami.

The one that has been parked
on this street
for three weeks.

I noticed it.

I thought it was
a neighbour's visitor.

But it was always
in the same spot.

Always just far enough
to seem casual."

She walked
to her bookshelf.

Pulled out her phone.
Opened her photos.

Held it toward him.

On the screen
a photograph she had taken
discreetly.

A silver Toyota Prado,
plates visible,
parked outside
her building.

"I took that
eleven days ago,"
she said.

"I have four more."

✦ ✦ ✦

Damilola stared
at the photograph.

Something cold
settled in his chest.

Not just the violation
though that was real
and it was enormous.

But something else.

The realisation
that his father
had been doing this
not recently
but for a long time.

Planning.

Watching.

Moving pieces
across a board
that Damilola
did not even know
he was standing on.

"I am going
to fix this,"
he said.

Ngozi looked at him.

The look of a woman
who loves a man
and also sees him
with perfect clarity.

"Dami."

Her voice was gentle.
Firm. Both.

"This is not a small thing
your father has done.

This is not something
you fix
with a conversation.

These are powerful men.

With resources.

With networks.

With the kind of patience
that comes from
never being told no."

She sat beside him
on the blue sofa.

Took his hand.

"We need to be
smarter than them.
Not louder.
Smarter."

✦ ✦ ✦

He looked at her...

this woman
in her university sweatshirt,
pencil in her hair,
sketchbook abandoned
on the chair....

And he understood
something
he should have always known.

She was the most capable person
in any room
she was ever in.

Including this one.

Including the rooms
she had never been invited to.

"What do you need?"
he asked.

"Information,"
she said.

"Who is the Obi girl?

What does she want?

Is she willing?

Or is she trapped too?"

Damilola thought
of the introduction dinner
he had not yet told Ngozi about.

The one scheduled
for the following weekend.

The one where he would meet
Chioma Obi
for the first time.

He thought of what his mother
had said about it...

"Come with your best agbada.

Smile.

Be charming.

Make your father proud."

He had said nothing
in response.

But now....

Now he was thinking
of something else entirely.

✦ ✦ ✦

"There is a dinner,"
he said slowly.

"Next Saturday.

An introduction.

I have to meet her."

Ngozi was quiet
for a moment.

"Go," she said.

He looked at her.

"Go," she said again.

"Find out who she is.
Find out if she is
in this willingly
or if she is
as trapped as you.

Because if she is trapped...."

She paused.

Held his gaze.

"Then you are not enemies.
You are the same."

✦ ✦ ✦

What Damilola
did not know
as he held
Ngozi's hand
on that blue sofa.....

What he could not
have imagined.....

Was that across the city
at that exact moment,

His younger brother, Seun
was sitting in a car
outside Ngozi's building.

Watching.

Photographing.

Reporting.

And smiling
the smile
of a man
who has confused
loyalty to his father
with loyalty to his family.

The two are not
the same thing.

They were never
the same thing.

But Seun
would not learn that
until it was
almost too late.

The introduction dinner
is next.

And when Damilola
and Chioma
sit across from each other
for the first time.....

What passes between them
in thirty seconds of silence
will change
the entire direction
of this story.

Do you think Damilola and Ngozi
fell in love when they met for
the first time?
Let me know your thoughts in the CS

Have you been sharing this story if you have, thank you and if not do share it with your friends and on your page.

Part 4 loading.

14/05/2026

A Nigerian Story of Love & Betrayal

Title. "The Forced Marriage

A story of two tribes.

Two families.

Two people sold to each other
like assets on a balance sheet.

And the love
that refused
to be a line item.

PART 2

She had a system
for surviving
her father's house.

Chioma Obi
had developed it
over twenty-six years
of being
Chief Okechukwu Obi's
most valuable asset.

She thought he never used
that word out loud.

He used words like....

"My pride."
"My treasure."
"My daughter
who never
disappoints me."

Beautiful words.

That all meant
the same thing....

Do not embarrass me.
Do not choose wrong.
Do not cost me
more than you are worth.

✦ ✦ ✦

The system was simple.

In the morning...
She smiled
at breakfast.

In the afternoon....

She worked
at her consulting practice
in Maitama
where she was brilliant
and nobody asked her
to be anything else.

In the evening...

She came home
to the Maitama compound
with its three generators
and its imported furniture
and its silence
that was so complete
it had a texture.

And at night...

At night
she picked up her phone
and called Tobe.

✦ ✦ ✦

Tobechukwu Eze.

She had never
called him
her boyfriend.

The word felt too small
for what he was.

Too casual.
Too easy.

Who was Tobe...

Was the first person
who had ever looked at Chioma
past the Harvard degree,
past the consulting practice,
past the coral beads
and the composed smile
and the daughter
who never disappoints....

And asked...

"But who are you,
Chi?

When nobody
is watching?"

She had not known
how to answer that.

Not at first.

Because nobody
had ever asked.

✦ ✦ ✦

He was an architect.

Not the kind
that designed
Abuja mansions
for men like her father.

The other kind.

The kind that spent
his days in Karu
and Nyanya
and the outskirts
of this glittering city.

Designing affordable homes
for families
who would never
be invited
to her father's house.

He drove a Highlander
with a cracked dashboard
and three
architectural drawings
always in the back seat.

He read Chinua Achebe
aloud to her
on Sunday mornings.

He made her laugh
in ways that arrived
without warning
and refused
to be contained...

The real laugh,
not the social one,
the one that creased
her eyes
and made her forget
she was supposed
to be composed.

She had been in love
with him
for two years.

Her father
had never met him.

This was not
an accident.

✦ ✦ ✦

The morning after
that Thursday
in Asokoro.....

Chioma came down
to breakfast
in a white linen dress,
hair natural,
no makeup,
Gerald Tobe's voice
still warm
in her memory
from their midnight call.

Her mother
was already seated.

Mrs. Patricia Obi....

A woman who had spent
thirty years
perfecting the art
of knowing everything
and saying
only what was
strategically necessary....

Looked up
from her tea.

Smiled.

The specific smile
of a woman
who is about to deliver
something difficult
wrapped in warmth.

"Sit down, nne."

Chioma sat.

The orange juice
was already poured.
The toast already made.
Everything
already arranged.

Like always.

Like everything
in this house
was always already arranged
before she arrived.

✦ ✦ ✦

Her father walked in
at exactly 7:15.

Chief Okechukwu Obi
was a man
who moved
like someone
who expected furniture
to rearrange itself
in his path.

He sat.
He poured his tea.
He opened his newspaper.

And then....
without looking up,
without ceremony,
without a single word
of preparation.

He slid a document
across the table.

Past the orange juice.
Past the toast.
Until it rested
directly in front
of his daughter.

Chioma looked at it.

It was a printed document.

Three pages.

Official looking.

Full of the kind of language
that real estate developers
and corporate lawyers
used when they were
turning human lives
into line items.

At the top...

A name she did not recognise.

Adeyemi.

At the bottom....

A date.

December.

And in the middle...

Buried between
legal clauses
and bride price frameworks
and wedding timeline logistics....

Her own name.

Chioma Adaeze Obi.

Listed.

Like an asset
being transferred.

✦ ✦ ✦

She did not speak.

Her mother
touched her hand
across the table.

The touch of a woman

who knew.

Who had known.

Who had perhaps
even agreed.

"It is a good family,"
her mother said softly.

"Yoruba,"

Her father said,
still not looking up
from his newspaper,
as though
this conversation
was already finished.

"But this is Abuja.

We are modern people.

The Adeyemis' are respected.
Connected. Wealthy."

He turned a page.

"The boy is thirty".

Responsible.

His father and I
have discussed everything.

The wedding will be
in December."

✦ ✦ ✦

Chioma picked up
her orange juice.

Drank.

Set it down.

Her hands
were completely still.

Twenty-six years
of her father's house
had taught her hands
to be still
even when everything else
was screaming.

She looked at her mother.

Her mother
looked at the table.

And in that moment....

In the precise moment
her mother
looked away....

Chioma understood
two things
with absolute clarity

One.

This had already been decided.

Two.

Her mother
had been part
of the deciding.

✦ ✦ ✦

She excused herself
from the table
with a quiet smile
that revealed nothing.

Walked upstairs.

Closed her bedroom door.

Sat on the edge
of her bed.

And for exactly
three minutes....

She allowed herself
to feel it.

All of it.

The betrayal.

The fear.

The specific grief
of being loved
by people
who did not know
the difference
between love
and ownership.

Three minutes.

Then she picked up
her phone.

Called Tobe.

He answered
on the first ring.

"Chi —"

"They found someone,"
she said.

Her voice was
completely steady.

"My father.
He has arranged
a marriage.
A Yoruba man.
Adeyemi family.
December."

Silence
on the other end.

The silence
of a man
absorbing a blow
and deciding
how to remain standing.

"Okay," Tobe said finally.

Just that.

Okay.

Not
this cannot happen.

Not
I will fix this.

Just okay.

The okay of someone
who is thinking.

Who is already
building something
in his mind.

"What do we do?"
Chioma whispered.

And Tobe said
the four words
that changed
the temperature
of the entire situation:

"We do not panic."

✦ ✦ ✦

What neither of them knew....

what Chioma could not
have known
sitting on that bed
in her quiet Maitama room....

was that forty minutes away,

in a Wuse Zone 2 apartment
that smelled of jollof rice
and oil paint.

A woman named Ngozi
was sitting
by her window
staring at her phone....

Waiting for a call
from Damilola
that was taking
too long to come.

And when it finally did....

What he said
would change
both their lives
in ways
neither of them
had a name for yet.

Chioma is not going
to take this quietly.

And Ngozi....

Ngozi is about to discover
that the woman
she was supposed
to see as competition
is actually
the only ally
she has in this city.

But first....

Damilola has to make
the worst phone call
of his life.

Who do you think Damilola
wants to call?
Let's discuss in the CS.

I need you to share this story with your friends and on your page.

14/05/2026

Good morning, l thank God for another day, another opportunity, another open door of strategic ideas.
Have a value packed and productive day.

Bethy's Untold Stories

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