HE FORCED HER TO L!CK HIS WOUND FOR 50 MILLION. WEEKS LATER, STRANGE THINGS BEGAN TO HAPPEN TO HER

HE FORCED HER TO L!CK HIS WOUND FOR 50 MILLION. WEEKS LATER, STRANGE THINGS BEGAN TO HAPPEN TO HER

HE FORCED HER TO L!CK HIS WOUND FOR 50 MILLION. WEEKS LATER, STRANGE THINGS BEGAN TO HAPPEN TO HER

Ranti’s scream tore through the night. “Daddy, leave me alone! I will never be poor like you!”

The entire compound went silent. Neighbors peeked from their windows. Even the moon seemed to pause.

Her father, a thin man with cracked feet hardened by years of farming, froze. His hoe slipped from his hand and dropped to the dusty ground.

“What did you just say to me?” he asked, his voice shaking.

Ranti’s eyes burned with pride. “Yes, you heard me! I will not waste my life carrying firewood and farming cassava. I want a big life. I want to be rich!”

Her mother, who had just returned from selling pepper in the village market, dropped her tray. “Ranti, you dare speak to your father like this? Is it money that will give you peace?”

“Peace?” Ranti spat, “What peace do you have? Look at our house, leaking roof, torn mats, no electricity! Mama, you wake up every morning to hawk pepper, and still, you cannot even buy yourself one wrapper! I am done living like this. I want more!”

Her father’s face hardened. “We gave you food, shelter, and school. What else do you want?”

“Everything!” Ranti shouted. “I want wigs, shoes, fine clothes! I want a life where people will respect me!”

Her words sliced through the night like a knife. Then her father pointed at the small mud hut behind him.

“You see this house? I built it with my sweat and we are struggling to raise you and your siblings better. If you throw away our dignity because of shiny things, one day, those same things will destroy you.”

But Ranti only laughed bitterly. “Dignity will not buy me food, papa. Dignity will not make me a woman of class. You may be content being poor, but I refuse!”

That night, when the crickets sang and the lanterns dimmed, Ranti packed her small bag. Inside, she put the borrowed clothes, wigs, and shoes her friend, Shade, had given her. She didn’t even look back at her sleeping parents. She whispered to herself:

“This village cannot hold me. I am meant for more.”

And before dawn, she boarded a rickety bus heading to the city.

The city of Lagos welcomed her with noise, bright lights, and Tall houses. Ranti walked the busy streets like a queen, even though she had only two borrowed wigs and one torn handbag. She lived in a tiny room with Shade, but every photo she posted online told a different story.

She smiled beside cars that were not hers. She borrowed gowns to take pictures in hotels she could never afford. Slowly, followers began to call her “Slay Queen.” Messages flooded her inbox. Men promised her the world.

But one name stood out: Chief Tunde Adebayo. He was rich. His name alone carried weight in the city. He sent her flowers, gifts, and even money. For the first time, Ranti felt like her dreams were close.

One night, she called Shade, her voice trembling with excitement.

“Shade, Chief Adebayo has invited me to a hotel. He said he wants to see me face-to-face. Can you believe it? He even promised to give me something big.”

Shade’s eyes darkened. “Be careful, Ranti. Not every rich man gives without taking something back.”

But Ranti waved her off. “You don’t understand. This is my chance! All the years of suffering will end. I will never be poor like mama and papa.”

Shade tried to stop her, but Ranti had already made up her mind.

The night of the meeting arrived. The hotel glittered with golden lights. Ranti wore a red gown, her borrowed wig shining in the dim lights. She looked like a queen. Her heart pounded as she entered the suite.

There he was. Chief Tunde Adebayo. His agbada was pure white, his fingers heavy with gold rings. His smile was calm, almost too calm.

“Ah, my beautiful Ranti,” he said, his voice smooth as honey. “I have been waiting for you.”

Ranti blushed. “Good evening, Chief.”

He handed her a small box. Inside was money—bundles of fresh naira notes.

“Fifty million naira ,” he said. “For you. But only if you can do one thing for me.”

Ranti’s heart raced. She imagined herself buying clothes, shoes, even renting her own apartment. She leaned closer.

“What do you want me to do?”

Chief Adebayo lifted his agbada slowly. Her eyes widened in horror.

On his leg was a large, deep wound, swollen and oozing.
He looked straight into her eyes and whispered:

“L!ck it.”