Is The Gods Are Not To Blame By Ola Rotimi A Tragedy?

In our tenth year together, the King of the Gods, Aetheon, threw the grandest wedding I had ever seen on the peak of Mount Olympus. And at the ceremony itself, he calmly told me he had cheated on me. "Go on with the rite, or stop it right now. It's your call." He swirled the wine in his cup, bored. He told me that just before the ceremony began, he had sex with a mortal girl. The world went cold around me. I stared up at the king standing high above me. "Do you love her that much?" His brow creased slightly, as if he thought I was making too much of it. "Not really. She's a fragile little mortal, nothing more." "You've just been so proper, so well-behaved these past ten years. Never a flaw I could find. It was interesting, for once, to be adored by someone who didn't know any better." He turned the thunder ring on his finger as if none of it mattered. "Don't worry. If you choose to go through with the ceremony, you'll still be my queen—no question. And if you want to throw a fit about it, fine. Throw your fit. I won't stop you." I stood frozen on the altar platform. I had waited ten years for this day. And now the perfect ceremony in front of me pressed down on my chest until I couldn't breathe.

“But I have lifted my voice in pain to pray to you too. Am I irrelevant? I have done that since I was born. Do I not matter? Do the gods segregate as well?” “Feisty…” he replied, but before he could continue, I glanced at the edge of the cliff for a second, then turned back to him and smiled. “I refuse to be useful to these people you love so much. Even in my death,” I said as I jumped off the cliff. It was the beginning of my complicated fate with the gods and the end of my suffering with werewolves.

I had seven days left to live. My father was the God of War. My mother was the Goddess of the Harvest. I was born with divine power running through my veins, and like all gods, I should have lived forever. But I'd been poisoned by Godsbane, a plant so deadly that even the Healer had no cure. I forced myself back to the temple through the pain, one step at a time. That was when my husband Caelum, the King of the Gods, came home. His expression was grave. "Lyra," he said, "your sister Selene has collapsed. Her divine blood is completely spent. The Healer says she won't survive the month. The only way to save her is for someone who shares her bloodline to give her half their divine blood." "You're twins. Your blood is perfectly matched." He paused. "Would you reconsider donating half of yours?" "I know it's a lot to ask." He hesitated, then reached into his robe and placed a divine decree on the table before me. It called for the revocation of my title as Queen. "But if you won't save Selene, I'll have to honor her last wish. She says she wants to marry me before she dies." I looked at the decree for a long moment. "Don't worry," he said, his voice softening as he took my hand. "Once this is over, I'll burn it myself and marry you again as my Queen. Lyra, you know you're the only one for me." I looked at him trying so carefully not to push too hard, and something hollow settled in my chest. He wasn't the only one. Even my parents, when I'd refused before, had turned cold and driven me from our home: "If you'd rather watch your sister die than help her, then get out. Don't ever come back." If that was what they all wanted, fine. I had seven days left anyway. "All right," I said. "I'll give her the blood." My father and mother were pleased. They said I'd finally come to my senses. I finally became the Queen they'd always wanted me to be. A good daughter. But when I died, why did they all cry?

The line between Infatuation and Obsession is called Danger. Wunmi decided to accept the job her friend is offering her as she had to help her brother with his school fees. What happens when her new boss is the same guy from her high school? The same guy who broke her heart once? ***** Wunmi is not your typical beautiful Nigerian girl. She's sometimes bold, sometimes reserved. Starting work while in final year of her university seemed to be all fun until she met with her new boss, who looked really familiar. She finally found out that he was the same guy who broke her heart before, but she couldn't still stop her self from falling. He breaks her heart again several times, but still she wants him. She herself wasn't stupid, but what can she do during this period of loving him unconditionally? Read it, It's really more than the description.

The autobiography of the sorrowful life of a young boy amidst joy. A cruel and unforgettable past. Wickedness beyond recognition. Born to a busy and ignorant father. Nurtured in the cruel arms of his stepmother. Fate, love and hurdles surround his young life. Having God as the only voice that listens to him. Holding on to hope that light still exists at the end of the tunnel - A moral-filled book that threatens to keep you glued until the end. A book based on African settings, names and themes.

Amara Nwosu believed graduation would mark the beginning of her freedom — a quiet transition from struggle into possibility. Instead, it became the night her life collapsed in front of Lagos’ most powerful elite. At an exclusive graduation gala in Ikoyi, a leaked video exposes a hidden network of betrayal involving the people she trusted most — her boyfriend, her best friend, and those she once believed were shaping her future. Within hours, Amara is not just humiliated… she is publicly dismantled. But humiliation is never random in Lagos. Behind the scandal lies a deeper system of power — one that connects university politics to corporate empires and political families who operate beyond consequences. And at the center of it all is Damian Afolayan — a billionaire who does not intervene, does not explain… but watches. Carefully. Quietly. As if her destruction was never accidental. Thrown into a world of wealth, silence, and dangerous secrets, Amara is forced to survive in spaces designed to erase her. But survival slowly turns into awareness… and awareness into something far more dangerous than revenge. Because in Lagos, power does not fear love. It fears exposure. And Amara is no longer willing to stay invisible.