Deborah’s breath quickened as Daddy Possibilities tightened his grip on her shoulders.

His words echoed in the dimly lit chamber like chains clamping around her spirit.

She had heard rumors whispered among older girls in the choir—stories about “special prayers” behind closed doors—but she never wanted to believe them.

Not about him.

Not about the man her mother revered more than her own father’s memory.

“Stand up,” Daddy Possibilities commanded.

His tone carried authority, the kind that silenced dissent.

Deborah rose slowly, her knees trembling.

He smiled.

“You are chosen, my daughter.

God has given you beauty for a reason.

If you reject this blessing, you reject your own destiny.”

Her throat tightened.

She wanted to scream, but the words died before reaching her lips.

All she could think of was her mother outside, probably kneeling in the main sanctuary, praying for this very moment—believing that her child’s life was being transformed for the better.

Deborah whispered, “I just want to pray on my own.”

Instantly, his smile vanished.

His eyes hardened.

“Silence!” he barked.

“You dare challenge the anointing? Do you think your small prayers can compare to the mantle God placed upon me? You’re just a child.

Without me, your life will remain ordinary.

With me, you will become extraordinary.”

Her body stiffened.

In that moment, she realized this was not about God.

This was about power—about control.

Daddy Possibilities moved closer, his hand brushing against her waist.

Deborah flinched, stepping back instinctively until her back hit the wall.

The cold plaster sent a chill through her spine.

“Stop resisting,” he muttered, his tone low, dangerous.

“Many daughters before you have walked this path.

Look at their lives now—married well, studying abroad, blessed with riches.

Do you want to remain poor, forgotten, struggling like your mother?”

The insult stung.

Deborah’s mother had worked tirelessly as a market woman, selling fabric under the blazing sun, all to pay school fees and keep food on the table.

And yet here was this man—this supposed servant of God—dismissing her sacrifice while preying on her daughter.

Something inside Deborah snapped.

Her fear slowly turned into a quiet, simmering anger.

“I don’t want your blessing,” she said, her voice firmer this time.

Daddy Possibilities narrowed his eyes.

For the first time, his confidence wavered.

He wasn’t used to defiance, especially not from a girl barely stepping into adulthood.

“You will regret this,” he hissed.

“Do you know how many lives I control in this city? With one word, I can close the doors of every university to you.

You will never get admission.

You will never find favor.”

Deborah’s lips trembled, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.

“God will decide my future, not you.”

The room fell silent.

Only the flickering candle seemed to breathe.

Daddy Possibilities took a step back, his jaw tightening.

He muttered something under his breath, then reached for the bottle of oil on the table.

He anointed her forehead aggressively, pressing his thumb so hard it hurt.

“You are cursed,” he spat.

“You and your stubbornness.

Go!”

Deborah stumbled out of the chamber, her heart pounding.

She found her mother waiting anxiously near the altar.

“How was the prayer, my daughter?” Mrs.

Rachel asked eagerly, eyes shining with hope.

Deborah opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat.

If she told her mother the truth, would she even believe her? Or would she accuse her of lying against the “man of God”?

So she simply whispered, “It’s over.”

Her mother smiled, relieved.

“Praise God! Now your life will change.”

But Deborah knew better.

Something inside her had changed—but not because of Daddy Possibilities.

It was the moment she realized the truth: sometimes, the people the world calls “men of God” are the very wolves the Bible warned about.

And she silently vowed—one day, she would expose him.