Favour's Library, Okene (2026)

10/11/2025

Part 2...
By the time he was awake, I was seated across from him, a slow smile lifting one corner of my mouth. My two hulking bodyguards flanked me like pillars. The sight of panic in Elijah’s eyes—raw, hot, animal—sent a delicious pulse through my veins.

“Sleeping beauty,” I mocked, as he strained against the chains that bit into his wrists. He thrashed, sawed at the metal with useless strength.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said, voice soft. “It won’t help.” He blinked up at me, bewilderment turning to fury, and something inside me hummed with satisfaction.

“Get me out of here!” he barked, breath ragged. He sounded small in that moment. I laughed low and sweet.

“You were saying that a few minutes ago when I was the one tied to this bed,” I said.

“You bitch!” he spat. I rose and walked to him, leaning close enough for him to see the smile sharp as a blade. Then I struck him—one hard slap that tipped his head to the side. I ran my fingers over the sting on his cheek as if smoothing a fault line.

“Careful, darling,” I murmured. “Choose your words.” My smile stayed warm; my eyes were ice.

He swallowed, chest heaving. “Why are you doing this?”

“Is it about the flash drive?” he pleaded. “Money—name your price. Just don’t let anyone see it.”

I laughed, and it was a sound without mercy. “I love the way you beg. So…faithful. You should’ve done it sooner.” He sagged, beaten not only by the chains but by my calm.

“You’re—” He searched my face, trying to find whatever part of me might still be human. “You’re mad.”

“You and Austin were stupid,” I said. “So stupid.” I let the words hang between us, tasting them. “None of you ever figured it out. Not Austin—not before he died.”

Confusion cracked across his features, then comprehension, and his eyes widened with the slow, awful recognition of a man watching his life collapse. “You never had a stalker,” he said, voice raw. “You killed Austin. You planned it. You—”

“Of course I did,” I said, delighted at his horror. “I stalked myself. Foolproof. It was easy to fool that idiot.” I watched the color drain from him.

“You psychopath. He loved you,” he whispered.

“He loved his vices,” I shot back. “Clubs. drunks. St*****rs. He slept with whatever glow stuck to his fingers. Don’t you dare pretend you were innocent. You shared in it. You celebrated it.” Shame fluttered across his face. Good.

“He was my friend,” he said, the defense collapsing.

“He was my brother’s rival,” I corrected. “Demola.” The name was small and cold. His face went slack.

“You—” His voice broke. “No.”

“Yes.” My voice narrowed. “Demola was my brother. You and Austin stole his code, stole his work, and killed him to keep the credit.” I watched the confession move across his face like a smear of ink. “You deserve every shadow that follows you.”

“Please,” he begged, tears slipping unashamed down his cheeks. “I didn’t—he did it. I told Austin not to—”

I cut him off with a scoffing breath. “You put it on Austin now because he can’t defend himself.” I leaned in, voice low and relentless. “When Demola begged you? You walked away.”

His cries filled the room, raw and small. “Please, Sarah—”

“Bring it out,” I said to one of my guards without looking away from him.

The guard moved like a shadow. When he returned he carried a plain box, the kind of thing people trusted without thinking. I opened it and let the lid fall back. The look on Elijah’s face was animal—dread sliding into the corners of his eyes.

“Say hello to Austin for me,” I said, and set the device on the table. I did not explain. I did not need to.

“Please—” he sobbed, clambering against the chains, rattling metal. “Don’t do this.”

I stood, smoothing my hair with a single, measured movement as if preparing to leave a stage. The guards herded me toward the car. I turned once to watch the villa, the place where lies had been layered on top of one another, catch fire to the future they’d stolen.

I pressed the remote. A small, final sound answered me like a benediction. The villa erupted behind us in a thunder of glass and flame, a furious blossom that devoured clapboard and sin alike. Heat hit my face and I let it. The shockwave rolled over the driveway and I closed my eyes.

“Rest in peace, Demola,” I whispered.

A soft smile touched my lips. I felt, at last, the hollow grief begin to change into something like relief—cold, exacting, complete.

06/11/2025

THE STALKER

My boyfriend was stabbed twenty-five times by my stalker.

That sentence still feels foreign in my mouth — like it belongs to someone else’s story. But it’s mine.
That night plays in my head on repeat.
The smell of iron. The silence. The way the blood spread across the floor like a crimson halo. I stood there, frozen, watching the person I loved most become a memory.
I had warned him.
I told him about the man who left gifts and handwritten letters on my doorstep — all signed “Yours, always.” At first, he laughed, teasing that I was too pretty not to have a secret admirer.

It was supposed to be harmless.
Until the letters started mentioning things only someone watching me would know.
The color of my dress that morning.
The way I brushed my hair.
The name of the perfume I wore only at night.
Then the gifts became strange — a lock of my hair, a photograph of me sleeping, a dead bird wrapped in lace.
And then came the letter, written in what looked like blood.
My boyfriend had received that one. He read it, scoffed, and tossed it aside.
“It’s just some freak,” he said. “Ignore it.”
But I couldn’t. Because every word in that letter felt like a prophecy.
And I was right.

The night he died, something in me broke. The police found nothing — no DNA, no fingerprints, not even a footprint. My stalker had vanished like a shadow at sunrise.
After that, I barely existed. I moved through each day like a ghost, speaking only when I had to, breathing only because I couldn’t stop. Therapy helped me survive — but barely.
Until one night.

The street was empty, the air cold enough to sting. I could hear my footsteps echo off the pavement — and then, another pair, right behind me.

I turned. Nothing.
My heart hammered. I quickened my pace.
The sound followed.
I reached into my bag for my pepper spray — but before I could find it, a hand grabbed my neck. A cloth pressed over my face. The sharp, sweet smell filled my nose.
Darkness swallowed me whole.

When I woke up, I was lying on a bed, wrists chained to both sides. My head throbbed. The room was softly lit, almost elegant — white curtains, cream walls, the faint scent of lavender. Beautiful, in the most terrifying way.
The door creaked open.
And there he was.

“Elijah?” My voice cracked.
My boyfriend’s best friend stepped into the room, smiling like a man who’d already won.
“Hello, baby,” he said.
I je**ed away as his hand brushed my cheek.
“Fierce,” he murmured. “That’s what I love about you. That fire in your eyes.”

“You’re disgusting,” I hissed.

His hand shot to my throat. I choked as his grip tightened. His voice was calm, too calm.
“Careful,” he said softly. “Use nice words. I don’t want to be angry with you.”
When he let go, I coughed, gasping for breath. His expression hardened.

“Where is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He slapped me. My head snapped to the side; the taste of blood filled my mouth.
“The flash drive,” he growled. “Where is it?”

I blinked through the pain and forced a trembling smile. “I’ll tell you. But first, answer one question.”
He hesitated. “What?”
“How many guards are in this house?”

“None,” he said, frowning. “Why?”

“So, you’re all alone?”
He smirked. “I can handle a petite woman like you.”

The smirk on my face grew cold.
“Good,” I whispered.
He frowned. “What do you—”

A knock echoed on the door.
His eyes darted to it. “What tricks are you playing?”
“What do you mean? Open it,” I said, voice dripping with calm.
Gun drawn, he approached the door. “Who’s there?”

Silence.
He cracked it open—

A masked man swung a bat into the back of his skull. Elijah collapsed instantly.

Two more masked men entered, quick and precise. They unchained my wrists.
“Sorry we’re late, boss,” one of them said.

I rubbed my sore wrists and smiled, a chill running through me that wasn’t fear.
“Don’t worry,” I said softly. “You’re right on time.”
They dragged Elijah onto the bed and chained him exactly as I had been.

I stood before him, brushing a strand of hair from my face, staring at the man who once smiled at me across dinner tables.
Now, his life was in my hands.
A slow, wicked smile curved my lips.
“Let the show begin,” I whispered.

Part 2 loading....

10/07/2023

Who doesn't love soft life?
Well
I do!
I know you do too...

Guy!!
🙂
With life sweet and soft as bed of roses!🌹🌹
But roses have thorns
And no matter how you feel your bed is soft
You will surely get hurt

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Okene

Telephone

+2349020752501

Website

http://www.favourslibrary.com/

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