My Husband Kicked Me Out of the Helicopter because of My Father’s Multi Million DOLLARS properties…
The River’s Vengeance
The cold, cruel air of the Niger River high above me felt like the last breath of life. It was a roar of wind and machine, a cacophony that drowned out the frantic pounding of my heart. I was in a helicopter, but my world was tilting, not from turbulence, but from the man beside me: Femi, my own husband.
His eyes, once filled with the tender light of a suitor, were now nothing but hardened chips of hatred and greed. He didn’t even bother with a lie. “This is the only way, Amina. Your father’s wealth belongs to me.” And then came the shove—a brutal, shocking force against my shoulders.
I screamed as my body lifted, weightless for a horrifying second, before the world became a terrifying blur. I plunged toward the dark, rushing waters of the river below. My final thought, a fierce, burning coal of refusal, was not about dying, but about revenge.
The Jewel and the Serpent
To understand how I survived, you must know how the man I trusted with my life became my executioner. I am Amina Ysef, the only daughter of Chief Ysef, a wealthy businessman in Abuja, Nigeria. My father built an empire, and I, his sole heir, carried the weight of the envy it created. People whispered that whoever married me would marry into fortune. I believed love could protect me. I was wrong.
Femi entered my life as a dream: tall, handsome, an “entrepreneur” with a soothing voice and expensive cologne. For two years, he courted me patiently, winning my father’s trust. The wedding was grand, a feast of gold lace, Jollof rice, and dignitaries—a celebration everyone cheered, blind to the storm hidden behind his perfect smile.
The mask cracked slowly. Six months of gentle kindness eroded one drunken night when he stumbled home, eyes bloodshot. “Amina, your father controls everything. When will you tell him to hand the businesses to me?” It was the first time I saw greed flashing like a flame. His shouting turned to threats: “If you don’t give me access, I will show you Pepper.”
Even my father noticed. “I don’t like this man’s eyes anymore,” he warned. “They are no longer eyes of love. They are eyes of hunger.” But I, foolishly, defended Femi. I thought marriage meant endurance.
The turning point came with my father’s illness. With his blood pressure dangerously high, Femi saw his chance, pressuring him to sign over properties. My father refused. “Fei, I will never give it to a stranger.”
That night, Femi whispered, “If your father will not hand it to me while alive, maybe death will do the job faster.” My blood ran cold. I realized he no longer saw me as his wife. I was a bridge to fortune, and once crossed, bridges are destroyed.
Alive for Vengeance
The water swallowed me whole, pulling me deep into the cold darkness. For a moment, I thought it was over. But a fierce whisper, cold and sharp, cut through the shock: “Live, Amina, live for your revenge.” I kicked, fought, and rose to the surface, gasping. My husband’s helicopter was already a speck, shrinking into the distance. He thought I was dead. He was wrong.
The headlines screamed: “Chief Ysef’s Daughter Dead in Helicopter Crash.” I watched from the shadows, disguised in a scarf, as Femi, the snake, stood at my father’s mansion, wearing black and weeping fake tears.
I had to move. I went to the hospital where my father was admitted. When he saw me, he nearly fainted. “Papa, I am alive, but you must not tell anyone. Especially Femi.” I told him the truth: Femi had pushed me. My father broke down, but he agreed to my plan. I would remain a ghost.
My rage was a quiet fire. I watched Femi move into my father’s businesses, pretending to be the caretaker. I followed him one night to a nightclub in Wuse. He wasn’t mourning; he was celebrating. Champagne bottles sprayed as he laughed and danced with women. The truth became clear: he didn’t just want the wealth; he wanted freedom to enjoy it without me in the way.
The Hunter and the Prey
The next night, an anonymous letter was 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.”
It smelled of a trap, but curiosity and need were stronger than fear. Wrapped in my scarf, I went.
In the dim moonlight, a figure stepped out: Musa, the driver who had worked for my father for 15 years, a man I considered a protector who had suddenly vanished months before my wedding.
“Thank God you are alive,” he whispered. “That devil could not kill you so easily.”
Musa revealed the shocking truth: Femi’s courtship was no accident. “He planned it. He and some of your greedy relatives have been working together for years. They used me to spy on your family.” Femi had studied my life, my routines, my friends. That first “accidental” bump-in at the charity event? Staged.
My hands shook as the memory of his calculated performance rushed back. “So, Femi is not just greedy,” I choked out. “He is a hunter. And I was the prey.”
Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed. The warehouse door creaked open. A flashlight beam cut the darkness. “Are you here?” The voice was cold, mocking. It was Femi.
“I knew the river wasn’t enough to kill you,” he sneered. “But this time, I won’t leave it to chance.” The cold click of a gun being cocked froze my blood.
“Stay here,” Musa whispered, stepping out from the crates. “Femi, your fight is with me!”
Femi raised the gun. Bang. The gunshot exploded. Musa staggered, clutching his chest, and collapsed. The only man who had revealed the truth about my husband lay bleeding on the cold floor.
Tears blinded me, but the anger was now a roaring, unstoppable machine. I had to continue. For Musa.
The Storm Gathers
The next day, I had my first ally: a man named Jeday, who sent me a message. Jeday was an old factory worker with sharp eyes and a battered folder filled with secrets: photos of Femi with politicians, gang leaders, and a small USB drive taped inside.
“Femi didn’t just steal from your father,” Jeday explained. “He’s been helping other rich men launder money… He kills or scares anyone who stands in his way.” The USB held the proof: audio recordings of meetings, transfer records, and names of his partners.
Jeday taught me how to read financial papers and spot shell companies. We formed a dangerous plan: to act like a ghost, slowly cutting Femi’s power by leaking information to the press and freezing his accounts. Our first strike—leaking a rumor that a company Femi used to move my father’s money was flagged for illegal activity—worked. Femi panicked.
We gained another ally: Inspector Adabo Whale, an honest man who lost his job for refusing bribes. He would coordinate a full, simultaneous coordinated freeze—leaking the audio from the USB to three independent media houses at the same time Femi moved his money.
The Lioness Strikes
On Thursday night, as we prepared the final list of shell companies, a sudden arrival brought hope: my cousin, Tulu, who sold his London home to return and help with his money and lawyers.
But the relief was fleeting. Femi made his move. Mercenaries kidnapped my father from his study. Femi called me, his voice smooth and menacing. “I am planning something grand. You will see him on the night the city watches. If you don’t stop, I will make sure the whole world watches him drown.”
Femi forced me into the open. He staged a massive public event in the plaza, going on stage like a victor. He held a box, promising to expose the “liar” who “staged her death.” But he played his ultimate card, showing a video feed of my frail father, held hostage with a knife to his throat, on a screen for the entire crowd to see.
“Come out, Amina,” he called, his voice loud and cruel. “Show yourself. Tell the truth and free your father.”
My heart split. I thought of Musa’s blood, of Jeday’s faith, of the truth on the USB. I pushed through the crowd, my hands trembling. I pulled the veil from my face.
Femi’s smile vanished like a candle in the wind. The cameras swiveled. The crowd roared.
“Femi is the liar!” I shouted, my voice cutting through the noise. “He murdered Musa. He tried to murder me, and he kidnapped my father to hide his greed!”
Femi clicked the remote to silence me, but the screen behind him lit up again with my father’s face. The man in gloves pushed a microphone to his mouth. For a moment, the world stopped.
Then my father’s voice, weak but clear, broke the silence: “My daughter, Amina, is innocent. It is him. It is Femi who betrayed us. Do not believe his lies!”
The crowd erupted. Femi, in a fit of pure rage, hurled the remote and drew a pistol, pointing it at me.
Bang!
It wasn’t his gun. From the shadows, Inspector Adabo Whale fired, striking Femi’s arm.
Chaos exploded. Tulu and Jeday rushed the stage. Adabo Whale’s allies swarmed the van at the plaza’s edge. Shots rang out, and in moments, my father was dragged out, weak but alive.
On stage, Femi, bleeding, was seized by the police. The mighty man, stripped bare of his mask, was finally brought down. The truth had burned too brightly to be hidden.
Aftermath
Weeks later, the headlines told the story: “Wife Survives Murder Attempt. Exposes Husband’s Greed and Crimes. Widow’s Deadly Revenge Shocks the Nation.”
Femi sat in prison, a shadow of the man who tried to own me. His allies abandoned him.
My father held my hand one evening. “Child, you have avenged us. But do not let the fire of revenge burn the rest of your life. Live, Amina, live.”
I had survived death. I had faced betrayal and destroyed the man who tried to kill me. The revenge was complete, but the cost was high. I was alive, and the lioness who emerged from the Niger River would never be the same.
