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12 cupcakes for ₦2,000? How do you even make profit?” 🤔I get this question a lot! Truth is, I once thought the same thin...
21/09/2025

12 cupcakes for ₦2,000? How do you even make profit?” 🤔
I get this question a lot! Truth is, I once thought the same thing… until I found a superb commercial recipe I now swear by. 🧁✨

I don’t follow the regular 1kg flour to 1kg sugar and butter formula — yet the taste is still 100% top-notch! 😋 With my method, 1kg gives me 98–100 cupcakes if i don’t overfill my cups.

Here’s the math:
96 cupcakes (8 dozen) = ₦16,000 💰
Production cost (ingredients, gas + nylon) = ₦10,000
Profit = ₦6,000
Minus ₦1,000 transport, I’m still left with ₦5,000 profit from just 1kg.
Now imagine producing 2kg — that’s ₦10,000 profit in one go! 🔥

I know many of you want the recipe… but my dear, good things aren’t free. I didn’t get it for free either. That’s why I’ll be giving it out for a small tòkèn to those serious about turning cupcakes into cash. 💵💖.

This picture below was the batch I made yesterday which was sold out already and I've made another batch last night ready to sell for today.
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- Master the art of the perfect cupcake batter
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** How to package
**Join Us For:**
- on Whatsapp in a fun,
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*** Commercial buns Recipe
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Bake, Create, and Celebrate with us! 🍰✨

I Slept Hungry Until a Billionaire Texted Me by MistakeThe night it all began, my stomach growled louder than the old ce...
15/09/2025

I Slept Hungry Until a Billionaire Texted Me by Mistake

The night it all began, my stomach growled louder than the old ceiling fan turning above my head, and the emptiness inside me felt like knives tearing through my chest. My name is Mariam, a 23-year-old final-year student who thought life would be brighter once I entered university, but instead it pushed me deeper into poverty than I ever imagined. My father died when I was little, my mother sells firewood in the market, and sometimes she goes days without making enough to feed us. That night, I had walked back to my small room after hours of standing in front of a kiosk, hoping to be given some leftover bread for free, but the shopkeeper shook his head, saying he had nothing left. I smiled weakly and whispered, “It’s okay,” but as I turned away, my eyes burned with tears. I was so hungry I felt dizzy. Back in my room, I lay on the thin mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling, whispering a prayer to God: “Ya Allah, if You can hear me, please, just give me one meal tonight, just one.” My phone buzzed beside me, and for a second I thought it was my mother. But when I picked it up, I saw an unknown number flashing on the screen with a message that made no sense: “Transfer the 50 million immediately, I’m waiting.” I blinked, confused. It was a text clearly not meant for me. I wanted to ignore it, but curiosity forced me to reply: “Sorry, wrong number.” A moment later, another message came in: “Who is this? Why are you replying?” My fingers trembled as I typed: “I’m just a student. You sent me a message by mistake.” Then silence. I dropped the phone beside me, clutching my stomach as hunger twisted like a rope inside me. But just as I was about to drift into restless sleep, another text came: “Student? At this hour? Why are you awake?” I hesitated, then typed back: “Because I’m hungry, and hunger doesn’t let people sleep.” I regretted sending it immediately, embarrassed, but it was the truth. Minutes passed, and then another text arrived: “Where are you? Do you have food?” My heart raced. Who was this stranger? I didn’t want pity, but the ache in my stomach made me reply: “No. I’ve not eaten since yesterday.” Silence again. My phone’s screen dimmed. I shut my eyes, telling myself not to expect anything. But then, just as my tears slipped down my cheek, a message popped up: “Stay awake. I’ll fix this.” I sat up, confused, staring at the glowing screen. Who was he? Why did he sound so commanding, so sure? Within thirty minutes, there was a knock at my door. My heart almost leapt out of my chest. At this time of night, who could it be? Fear and hunger wrestled inside me, but when I opened the door slightly, I saw a delivery man standing there with two large food packs and bottled water. “For Mariam?” he asked. My lips trembled as I whispered, “Yes… but who sent it?” He smiled, “A certain Mr. Khalid. He said you’ll understand.” I didn’t know any Khalid. My knees felt weak as I carried the food inside. The aroma of fried rice, chicken, and stew filled my tiny room, and tears poured down my face. I hadn’t eaten like this in months. As I ate with shaking hands, my phone vibrated again. “Did you get it?” I typed back with tears dripping on the screen: “Yes. Thank you. I don’t know who you are, but may God bless you.” His reply came instantly: “Don’t thank me yet. You’ll hear from me tomorrow.” I didn’t know that Khalid wasn’t just anyone—he was one of the youngest billionaires in the country, and that single mistaken text would drag me into a world of wealth, power, betrayal, and a kind of love I never believed could exist for someone like me.

To be continued

MY MOTHER-IN-LAW TURNED INTO A BIG BLACK BIRD AND TOOK MY NEWBORN BABY AWAYEPISODE 3The night after I saw her shadow car...
13/09/2025

MY MOTHER-IN-LAW TURNED INTO A BIG BLACK BIRD AND TOOK MY NEWBORN BABY AWAY
EPISODE 3

The night after I saw her shadow carrying my baby against the moon, I swore I would not sleep again until I got him back. Everyone thought I was losing my mind—Daniel begged me to rest, the doctors prescribed pills, and neighbors whispered about me being cursed with madness after childbirth—but deep inside I knew the truth. My baby was alive, and my mother-in-law was using him for something unspeakable. I kept going back to her room, studying her notebook filled with dark rituals. Every symbol began to make more sense the longer I stared, and I realized there was one line underlined twice: “The ritual of binding must be renewed at the third moon, or the sacrifice returns to the womb that bore it.” That meant I had a chance, but only if I was brave enough to face her.

On the night of the third full moon, I prepared myself. I wore the thin white gown I had delivered in, the stains of motherhood still clinging to it like armor. I carried a candle, some salt, and a photo of my newborn—things I prayed would protect me. As the moon reached its peak, the flapping came again, but this time I didn’t wait inside. I ran into the woods behind the house where the sound drew me, the earth cold beneath my feet, branches scratching my arms. The deeper I went, the louder the cries became until I stumbled upon a clearing glowing with firelight. And there she was—no longer my frail mother-in-law but a monstrous black bird with wings that spread wider than any man, her red eyes fixed on me, and in front of her a stone altar where my baby lay, crying faintly, bound in strips of black cloth.

Rage drowned out my fear. “Give me my son!” I screamed, but the creature only laughed, a sound both human and animal. She spoke in a voice that rattled the air, “He carries the blood of my lineage. With him, I live forever.” Her wings flapped violently, the fire bending toward me, but I remembered the line: the sacrifice returns to the womb that bore it. I stepped into the circle of fire and salt and began shouting the prayers I had learned as a child, words of light against darkness, my voice shaking but growing stronger. The bird shrieked, thrashing, feathers falling around me, the ground trembling under her weight. Then I pressed the photograph to my chest and cried out, “He is mine! Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood—you cannot keep him!”

The fire exploded outward, the salt glowed like lightning, and the bird staggered back screeching, its wings burning away into ash. With a final piercing cry, she collapsed to the ground, transforming back into my mother-in-law’s withered body. But in her hand was nothing—no baby. My heart stopped until I felt warmth against my chest. My son was suddenly in my arms, his tiny fists clinging to my gown, his cries softening as if nothing had happened. Tears streamed down my face as I held him tight, refusing to ever let go again.

By dawn, the clearing was empty—no ashes, no feathers, no sign of her. Daniel found me clutching our child, and though he never fully understood what happened, he saw the truth in my eyes and never doubted me again. We left that house, far away from the shadows of his mother, and I raised my son with a fierceness I never knew I had. But some nights, when the moon is full and the wind howls, I still hear faint wings above my roof, reminding me that evil never truly dies—it only waits.

The end

Oh Lord, as our Children resume back to School, we ask the Mighty Hand of God Almighty will rest upon them for protectio...
13/09/2025

Oh Lord, as our Children resume back to School, we ask the Mighty Hand of God Almighty will rest upon them for protection, preservation and provision

They will not be victims of any evil occurrences as they journey to and fro.

The mercy and favor of God will speak on their behalf at every point in time.

And they shall be anointed with the spirit of excellence to do better than their peers in Jesus Mighty Name.
AMEN!!!

MY MOTHER-IN-LAW TURNED INTO A BIG BLACK BIRD AND TOOK MY NEWBORN BABY AWAYEPISODE 2The hospital walls felt like a priso...
12/09/2025

MY MOTHER-IN-LAW TURNED INTO A BIG BLACK BIRD AND TOOK MY NEWBORN BABY AWAY
EPISODE 2

The hospital walls felt like a prison after that night, everyone treating me as if I had lost my mind, but inside me burned the certainty that my baby was alive somewhere in the claws of that monstrous black bird. My husband, Daniel, tried to comfort me, but his words were hollow, his eyes filled with doubt. He whispered to doctors behind closed doors, asking if I needed psychological help, while I sat by the empty cradle with milk drying on my chest and tears soaking my gown. But the more they dismissed me, the more determined I became to uncover the truth. Days passed and my mother-in-law’s absence grew more suspicious. No one had seen her leave, her phone was switched off, and even Daniel admitted it was strange, though he still refused to believe my story. One evening, while the house was quiet, I entered her locked room, a place she had always forbidden me from entering. The smell hit me first—strange herbs and rotten meat, mixed with something metallic like blood. The walls were covered in old, yellowed papers filled with symbols I couldn’t understand, and at the center stood a small wooden altar with black feathers scattered around it. My hands trembled as I lifted a torn notebook resting on the altar, and as I opened it, my heart sank. Pages upon pages of rituals were written there, rituals for transformation, for power, for sacrifices. And on one page, a fresh note in her handwriting: “The blood of a newborn grants eternal strength. I shall not grow weak while life still beats in my son’s lineage.”

That was when it all made sense. She had never welcomed me into her family, had always looked at me with resentment, and now I knew why—she had waited for this child, her grandchild, not out of love but out of greed for some twisted immortality. That night as I lay awake, I heard it again—the flapping of wings, louder this time, closer, circling above the roof. I ran outside barefoot into the cold, and there she was—a shadow against the moon, her wings enormous, her claws clutching something that cried faintly. My baby. I screamed her name, my voice breaking the silence of the street, and the black bird screeched back, a sound that chilled me to the bone before vanishing into the night sky once more. No one else saw her, no one else heard her, and once again they accused me of delusion. But I knew I was in a battle not just for my sanity, but for the very soul of my child.

To be continued

12/09/2025

Get ready for a thrill ride! More Fair battles, more Rewards and more exciting games.

Shout out to my newest followers! Excited to have you onboard! Hope Dagogo Okojaja, Busari Adama Omoso Queeneth, Puren K...
11/09/2025

Shout out to my newest followers! Excited to have you onboard! Hope Dagogo Okojaja, Busari Adama Omoso Queeneth, Puren Kagendo

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