27/11/2025
"My husband gives me ₦1,000,000 every month for 'üpkeep.' He bought me a G-Wagon last week. But brothers and sisters, I am cryîng inside that G-Wagon right now."
I am typing this with shâking hands from my neighbor's bathroom. If Chief dayo finds me, I am dêád.
Please, if you are a young girl reading this, STOP PRAYING FOR A RICH MAN. Pray for a God-féáring man. Not all that glîtters is gold.
My name is T**e. I met Chief Dayo at a wedding in Ikeja three months ago. He was handsome, sprayed dollars like it was paper, and smélled like expensive perfume.
When he asked for my number, I thought God had finally picked my call.
Two weeks later, he prõposed.
My mother wãrned me. "T**e, we don't know his village. We don't know his people. Why the rüsh?"
"Mama, you are old school," I told her. "He is an Oil and Gas magnate!"
I îgnõred her. We did a small wedding, and I moved into his mansion in Lekki Phase 1.
The house was like pãradise. Marble floors, gold chandeliers, swimming pool. But there was ONE rule.
"T**e," Dayo said on our first night, holding my face. "You have âccess to everything. My cards, my cars, the whole house. But NEVER enter the room in the basement. That is my Prayer Room. I need spîritual prîvacy for my business."
I laughed. "Is that all? No prõblem, baby."
For two months, it was blîss. I was living the life. I põsted pictures on Instagram, and my friends were cõmmenting "God when?" and "Oppression!"
They didn't know I was slêêping with a strãnger.
Every night at exactly 2:00 AM, Dave would wâke up. He would leave our bed and go down to the basement. He wouldn't return until 5:00 AM, smêlling of something bürnt, like brnt hair and rõtten eggs.
When I asked him, he would get ãngry. "I am bãttling spîritual fõrces to keep this money flõwing! Do you want to go back to süffering?"
I kept qüiet because I loved the money.
But last night, cüriosîty k!lled the cat.
Dayo traveled to Abuja for a meeting. He was supposed to spend two days there.
