I STOLE MY MADAM'S HUSBAND AND I NOW I AM PAYING THE PRICE,HE IS A RITUALIST.
Confession: I Used a Love Portion to Steal a Rich Man, But Now I’m Living His Curse
I never thought I’d be the one writing this. For years, I believed I had outsmarted life — that I had finally escaped poverty and built myself into a “madam.” But now, every time I look at myself in the mirror, I see her — the woman I once served — and I finally understand why she looked like that.
I was a house help from Lesotho, working for a wealthy family in Johannesburg. The husband was a respected businessman, the kind people whispered about with admiration and fear. The wife, on the other hand, looked nothing like the rich women I saw on TV. Her eyes were tired, her body fragile, her mind always drifting away even in the middle of a conversation. I used to think she was just ungrateful, that she didn’t appreciate the life she had — the mansion, the cars, the jewelry.
I used to envy her, deeply.
I would clean their bedroom and smell her perfumes, wear her shoes when no one was around, and imagine myself as the lady of the house. And that’s when greed entered my heart. I wanted her life. I wanted her husband. I wanted everything she had.
So when one of my friends back home told me about a woman who could make any man fall in love using a love portion, I didn’t hesitate. I bought it with the little money I had saved, followed every instruction — mixing it into his tea one quiet afternoon when madam was away.
It worked faster than I expected.
Within months, he started showing interest in me. Within a year, he divorced his wife. And before I could even believe it, I was sitting in the same spot she used to sit, wearing her wedding ring, sleeping in her bed, and living her life.
At first, it was everything I dreamed of. I had maids of my own. I had cars, a chef, and a closet full of designer clothes. I would look at myself and smile, thinking I had finally made it. But slowly, something started to change.
My body grew weak. My mind became cloudy. I would find myself standing in the middle of a room, unable to remember why I was there. I started losing weight no matter how much I ate. I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, I’d wake up in the middle of the night and see shadows standing at the edge of the bed — watching me.
And that’s when I remembered her. The wife I thought was just dull and lifeless. I remembered how she used to stare into nothing, her eyes hollow and her laughter forced. Now I understand. She wasn’t just sad — she was empty.
I found out the truth too late.
The man I married wasn’t just rich. He was a ritualist. His wealth came from dark powers that demanded a living sacrifice — the soul of the woman who shared his bed. His first wife was his sacrifice, and when she could no longer feed the darkness, he found me.
I thought I used a love portion to make him love me. But now I see — it wasn’t me who trapped him. It was him who trapped me. The love portion wasn’t a spell of attraction. It was a doorway. I opened it with my own hands, and now I’m the one being drained, piece by piece.
My skin has lost its glow. My bones show through my clothes. My laughter feels foreign, forced — just like hers. I see her reflection in me every day, and sometimes I even dream of her, whispering, “Now you know.”
I used to think she was cursed. But maybe, in some twisted way, she was finally free.
And now, I’m the living ghost of the woman I destroyed.
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