My Husband Kicked Me Out of the Helicopter because of My Father’s Multi Million DOLLARS properties…
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My Husband Kicked Me Out of the Helicopter Because of My Father’s Multi-Million Dollar Properties
I never imagined marriage could be the rope that tied me to death. That day, high above the mighty Niger River, the cold wind slapped my face as the helicopter blades roared. My heart pounded—not from the height, but from the man beside me. My own husband, Fei. His eyes, once soft when he asked for my hand, now burned with hatred and greed. Before I could beg, he shouted over the noise, “This is the only way, Amina. Your father’s wealth belongs to me.” Then his hands shoved me hard on my shoulders. I screamed as my body lifted off the edge. For a second, I was weightless, suspended between life and death. Then the world spun as I plunged toward the dark, rushing waters below. My last thought before hitting the surface was not about dying, but about revenge.
But before I tell you how I survived, you need to know how I got here—how the man I trusted became my executioner. My name is Amina Ysef, the only daughter of Chief Ysef, a wealthy businessman in Abuja, Nigeria. My father built an empire from scratch: estates, petrol stations, transport companies, and hectares of land. But with wealth came envy. Many relatives hated him. I carried the weight of that envy everywhere. My father shielded me, sending me to the best schools, always driven in black jeeps with tinted windows. My mother died when I was ten, so I was my father’s jewel. People whispered that whoever married me would marry into fortune. I thought love could protect me. I thought I was careful. I was wrong.
When Fei entered my life, he was everything a young woman could dream of: tall, handsome, his ebony skin glowing under the Abuja sun. His smile was warm, his voice soothing. He said he was an entrepreneur, that he loved me for who I was, not my father’s money. For two years, he chased me, writing love letters, sending flowers, even fasting during Ramadan to impress my father. Slowly, my father accepted him. “Amina, you’re my only child. If this man truly loves you, I will not stand in your way,” he said. The wedding was grand—traditional Yoruba drums mixed with Hausa praise singers, dignitaries, politicians, even foreign investors. My father spared no cost. I wore glittering silver lace; Fei looked like a king beside me. Everyone clapped, but no one knew the storm waiting behind his smile.
The first six months were peaceful. Fei treated me like a queen—washing my feet, cooking breakfast, taking me on boat rides on the river. But little by little, his mask cracked. One night, he came home drunk, eyes bloodshot, words slurred. “Amina, your father controls everything. When will you tell him to hand the businesses to me?” he shouted. It was the first time I saw greed flashing in his eyes. I tried to calm him down. “Fei, my father will decide when it is time.” But patience was not in Fei’s dictionary. Soon, the shouting turned to threats. “If you don’t give me access, I will show you pepper.” At first, I laughed it off, but deep down, fear grew. My father noticed too. “Amina, I don’t like this man’s eyes anymore. They are no longer eyes of love, but of hunger.” But I defended Fei. I thought marriage meant endurance.
The turning point came when my father fell ill. His blood pressure rose dangerously high and he was admitted to the hospital. Fei saw his chance and began pressuring my father to sign over properties. My father refused. “Fei, I built this empire with sweat and blood. I will never give it to a stranger. If Amina has children, they will inherit it, not you.” That day, Fei’s jaw tightened. His silence was deadly. Later, he whispered to me, “If your father will not hand it to me while alive, maybe death will do the job faster.” My blood ran cold. I begged him not to think such evil thoughts. But his smile was cruel. “Amina, don’t worry. One way or another, what belongs to me will be mine.” That was when I realized my husband saw me as a bridge to fortune—and bridges, when no longer needed, are destroyed.
The day Fei invited me on a helicopter ride, I thought it was romantic. “Let’s fly over the river, just you and me,” he said. He held my hand, kissed my cheek, and told me to dress nicely. I wore a flowing green gown, my braids tied back. My heart softened, hoping maybe he still loved me. But as we flew higher, he grew quiet, his grip tight and painful. Then he leaned close. “This is your last ride, Amina. Say goodbye to your father’s empire.” Before I could scream, his hands shoved me hard. The world spun. My gown flapped like broken wings. The river rushed closer. I hit the water with a crash that knocked the breath out of me. Darkness pulled at my eyes. My body sank deep into the cold. For a moment, I thought it was over. But something in me refused to die. Something whispered, “Live, Amina. Live for your revenge.”
I kicked my legs, fought the water, and rose back to the surface, gasping for air. Fei’s helicopter was already flying away. He thought I was dead, but I was alive, and my revenge had just begun.
The headlines screamed: “Chief Ysef’s daughter dead in helicopter crash.” My father’s mansion was surrounded by mourners. Fei, the snake, was already in black clothes, pretending to weep at the gate. I watched, hidden by a scarf. He was crying fake tears, shaking hands like a widower. My father, weak from illness, believed him. That night, I stayed in a small, cheap hotel, staring at myself in the mirror. I was supposed to be dead. But instead of grief, I felt something sharper than pain—revenge.
The next day, I disguised myself and went to the hospital. My father almost fainted when he saw me. “Amina, my daughter. They said you drowned,” he cried. “Papa, I am alive. But you must not tell anyone yet—especially Fei.” His eyes widened. “Did Fei try to kill you?” I swallowed hard. “Yes, Papa. He wants your empire. He will not stop until he controls everything.” My father broke down in tears. “I warned you about him, Amina.” I held his hands. “Let him think I am dead. Only then can I gather the strength to destroy him.”
In the following days, I watched from the shadows. Fei began moving into my father’s businesses, pretending to act like a caretaker. He sweet-talked my father’s partners, saying “Amina wanted me to handle things before she died.” Some believed him, some didn’t. One night, I followed him to a nightclub. Inside, he wasn’t mourning—he was celebrating. Bottles of champagne, laughter, women. He wanted my father’s wealth and freedom to enjoy it without me in the way.
One evening, I found a letter slipped under my hotel door. “Amina, I know you are alive. Meet me at the abandoned warehouse by midnight. If you want the truth about your husband, come alone.” My heart stopped. It could be a trap, but curiosity was stronger. That night, I walked quietly to the warehouse. A shadow moved from the corner. It was Musa, my father’s driver of fifteen years. He was more than a driver—he was like an uncle to me. Months before my wedding, he had disappeared. “Amina,” he whispered, “thank God you are alive. I knew that devil could not kill you so easily.”
“Musa, what do you mean ‘that devil’?” He sighed heavily. “Fei didn’t come into your life by accident. He planned it. He and some greedy relatives have been working together for years. They used me to spy on your family. When I refused, they threatened my life. That’s why I disappeared.” My stomach twisted. Memories rushed back—how Fei always seemed to know exactly what I liked, how he appeared at the right time. It was all staged. “You kept quiet, Musa. You let me marry a monster.” “I tried to warn your father, but Fei already had people in powerful places. If I spoke louder, they would have killed me—and maybe you too.”
Suddenly, footsteps. Musa pulled me behind crates. The warehouse door creaked open. Fei’s voice echoed. “Come out, Amina. I know you didn’t die. This time, I won’t leave it to chance.” The sound of metal clicked. He had a gun. Musa squeezed my hand. “Stay here. Let me distract him.” Before I could stop him, Musa stepped out. “Fei, your fight is with me!” Fei’s eyes narrowed. “Musa, you should have stayed in your grave.” He raised the gun. Bang. Musa staggered, clutching his chest. Tears spilled as I watched the only man who had just revealed the truth collapse onto the cold floor.
That same week, Fei staged a massive memorial service for me. I sat in the shadows, disguised with a veil, watching him stand on stage, his voice shaking with fake sorrow. “My dear wife, Amina, was taken too soon,” he said. “I will honor her memory by protecting her father’s businesses.” The crowd clapped, praising his loyalty. I clenched my fists. Revenge is sweetest when your enemy does not see it coming.
A message appeared on my phone: “If you truly want to destroy Fei, meet me tomorrow at the old train station. Come alone. I know his secrets.” I went, and there I met Jeday, an old worker from my father’s factory. He handed me a folder: photos, papers, a USB drive. “Fei is laundering money, bribing officials, killing anyone who stands in his way. The USB contains proof—audio recordings, transfer records, names of partners. If we make this public, he cannot hide.”
We planned carefully. I acted like a ghost, pretending to be dead while we stripped Fei’s power. We froze his accounts, leaked rumors to the press, and worked with Inspector Adabo Whale, an honest man forced out of his job for refusing bribes. My cousin Tulu returned from London to help. But Fei struck back, kidnapping my father and threatening to kill him if I didn’t reveal myself.
On the night Fei staged a public “truth reveal,” he tried to humiliate me and my father. But I stepped forward, revealed myself, and exposed his crimes with the USB evidence. Chaos erupted. Inspector Adabo Whale’s men stormed in, rescuing my father and arresting Fei. The headlines told the story: “Wife Survives Murder Attempt, Exposes Husband’s Crimes.” Fei lost everything.
Victory did not taste sweet. Musa’s blood, the river’s cold, my father’s trembling hands—revenge had cost me everything. But I had survived, faced betrayal, and destroyed the man who tried to kill me. My father held my hand. “Child, you have avenged us. But do not let the fire of revenge burn the rest of your life. Live, Amina, live.” I nodded, knowing I would never be the same. I had survived death, faced betrayal, and my revenge had shocked everybody.
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