Blood dripped from Amara Okafor’s split lip as she sprinted through the midnight streets of Lagos, her four-year-old daughter Zara clinging to her neck. Behind them, her ex-boyfriend’s drunken roar echoed off the concrete, a threat that felt closer with every desperate heartbeat. Amara’s phone was dead. She had no money, no plan—only the raw instinct to survive.

She rounded a corner and saw it: a black Mercedes idling at a red light, windows tinted darker than the night itself. The door was unlocked. She didn’t think. She yanked it open, threw Zara inside, and dove in after her. “Drive. Please, just drive,” she screamed, her voice breaking.

The man behind the wheel turned slowly. His face was carved from stone, eyes cold as death. Amara knew this man—everyone in Lagos did. Chuk Woody Okonquo, the billionaire whose name made even the police nervous. And now Amara, battered and terrified, had invaded his car.

What happened next would change everything—not just for Amara, but for the man who had spent a lifetime building walls no one dared cross.

A Night of Survival and Destiny

The Mercedes interior smelled of expensive leather and cologne that probably cost more than Amara’s monthly rent. Her hands trembled as she clutched Zara, feeling her daughter’s rapid heartbeat. The little girl was eerily silent, her voice stolen by shock hours ago when the nightmare began.

Chuk Woody’s eyes met Amara’s in the rearview mirror. They were dark, calculating, missing nothing. His custom suit, his presence, filled the car with an authority that made the air heavier.

“Please,” Amara whispered, “My ex-boyfriend—he’s going to kill me this time.”

“Quiet,” Chuk Woody’s voice was deep, commanding, final. Not cruel, but absolute.

He pressed the accelerator. The Mercedes surged forward, smooth as water. Through the rear window, Amara saw Tundai stumble into the street, his face twisted with rage, his shirt stained with palm wine. He was screaming something, but they were already too far away to hear.

“Where are we going?” Amara asked, trying to keep her voice steady for Zara’s sake.

“Somewhere he won’t find you,” Chuk Woody’s eyes never left the road. “That cut on your lip needs attention.”

Amara touched her mouth, wincing. She’d almost forgotten about it. Tundai had backhanded her when she refused to give him money for more drinks. That was two hours ago. Everything after that was a blur of running, hiding, praying.

“I don’t have money to pay you,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t ask for money.”

The car turned into a neighborhood Amara recognized only from newspapers and gossip. Ikoyi—where ministers lived, where oil magnates built their estates, where people like her never went unless they were cleaning someone’s toilet.

The gates to Chuk Woody’s compound opened automatically. Security cameras tracked their approach. The driveway was longer than Amara’s entire street in Ajagun. The house—no, mansion—rose before them like something from a dream, all glass and white stone lit from below by golden lights.

“This is a mistake,” Amara said suddenly. “I shouldn’t be here. I should go to a shelter.”

“At midnight, with a child?” Chuk Woody parked the car and finally turned to look at her directly. His face was handsome in a harsh way, like something carved with a blade rather than sculpted with care. A thin scar ran from his left eyebrow to his cheekbone.

“The shelters in Lagos are full, and your ex knows where they all are. Every drunken Ajagun does.”

He knew where she was from. Of course, he did. Probably smelled the poverty on her like smoke.

“Why are you helping me?” Amara asked. Men like Chuk Woody didn’t help people like her without wanting something. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.

Chuk Woody was silent for a long moment. Then: “My mother once ran through the streets of Aba with me on her back, running from my father. No one helped her. She died when I was seven.”

He opened his door. “Come. My housekeeper will tend to your injuries.”

Amara looked down at Zara, who was finally starting to relax in her arms, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion. They had nowhere else to go. No family that would take them in. No friends with enough money to hide them. Just this cold-eyed billionaire who somehow understood.

She got out of the car.

The Mansion and the Man

Inside, marble floors reflected crystal chandeliers. Abstract art that probably cost millions hung on walls painted in muted, expensive colors. A woman in her fifties appeared, her face kind despite her formal uniform.

“Ada, please prepare the guest suite,” Chuk Woody said. “And bring the first aid kit.”

Ada’s eyes softened when she saw Amara and Zara. “Oh, you poor thing. Come, let’s get you cleaned up.”

As Ada led them up a sweeping staircase, Amara glanced back. Chuk Woody stood in the foyer, phone already to his ear, his voice low and dangerous as he spoke to someone about finding a man in Ajagunlay and making sure he understood consequences.

Amara shivered. She’d heard the stories about Chuk Woody Okonquo—how he’d built his empire from nothing, how he destroyed anyone who crossed him, how even the governor’s office treated him with careful respect. She’d just thrown herself into the protection of the most dangerous man in Lagos.

What terrified her most was the small voice in her head whispering that she’d never felt safer.

Morning in a New World

Amara awoke to sunlight streaming through curtains that probably cost more than her yearly salary. For a confused moment, she forgot where she was. Then it all crashed back: Tundai’s rage, the desperate run, the Mercedes, Chuk Woody’s stone face.

She sat up quickly, panic flooding her veins. Where was Zara? Her daughter was gone from the bed they’d shared.

Amara bolted from the room, barefoot on cold marble, her heart hammering. The house was massive. She could get lost in here. Zara could be anywhere.

She rushed down the stairs, nearly colliding with Ada at the bottom.

“Easy, easy,” Ada caught her shoulders. “Your daughter is fine. She’s having breakfast with Mr. Okonquo.”

“What?” Ada smiled. “Come see for yourself.”

She led Amara to a sunlit kitchen that looked like something from a magazine. Granite countertops, professional appliances, a breakfast table by French doors overlooking a garden. And there at that table sat Zara in a clean dress that definitely wasn’t hers, carefully eating pancakes. Across from her sat Chuk Woody, still in his suit from last night, reading a newspaper and occasionally glancing at the child as if making sure she was real.

“Mama!” Zara’s face lit up. “Mr. Chuku made me pancakes with honey.”

“Ada made them,” Chuk Woody corrected without looking up from his paper. “I merely supervised.”

Amara stood frozen in the doorway. This scene was wrong in every possible way. Violent men didn’t make breakfast for children. Billionaires didn’t let street women sleep in their guest rooms. Lagos didn’t work like this.

“Sit,” Chuk Woody said, turning a page. “Ada, please bring our guests some tea.”

“I should leave,” Amara said. “I shouldn’t have stayed. This is too much. I’ll figure something out.”

“Sit.” It wasn’t a request this time.

Amara sat.

Chuk Woody finally looked at her. In daylight, his face was even more intimidating. The scar seemed deeper. His eyes were the color of dark honey, sharp with intelligence that missed nothing.

“I made some calls last night. Your ex-boyfriend, Tund Adel, has three priors for assault. One against his previous girlfriend. She’s in a wheelchair now.”

Amara’s blood turned to ice. She’d known Tundai was dangerous. But wheelchair dangerous?

“He works at the port when he’s sober enough. Lives with his mother in Ajagun. Drinks at the same bar every night. Mama Ngozi’s place on Boundary Road. He spent this morning looking for you. Asked everyone on your street. Threatened your landlord.”

“How do you know all this?” Amara whispered.

“I own three security companies in Lagos. Finding information is simple.” He folded his newspaper with precise movements. “You cannot go back there. He will hurt you. Next time, he might kill you.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go.” Shame burned in Amara’s throat. “I work at a hair salon in Yaba. I barely make enough for rent. I have no family. Zara’s father died before she was born. Construction accident. I met Tundai six months ago. He seemed nice at first.”

Her voice cracked. “They always do.”

Ada placed a cup of tea in front of her. The china was delicate, painted with tiny flowers. Amara was afraid to touch it.

“You’ll stay here,” Chuk Woody said.

“What?”

“You’ll stay here until we find you permanent accommodation. Somewhere safe, somewhere he can’t find you.”

He stood, adjusting his cufflinks. They were gold, understated, expensive.

“I have meetings today. Ada will help you settle in. There are clothes in the guest room that should fit. We’ll discuss your employment situation this evening.”

“Why are you doing this?” Amara demanded. “Men like you don’t help women like me without wanting something.”

Chuk Woody’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. “Perhaps I’m not like other men.” He walked to the door, then paused. “Or perhaps I am. And you’ll discover that soon enough. Either way, you’re safe here. Your daughter is safe. That’s what matters.”

He left before Amara could respond.

Zara tugged her sleeve. “Mama, can we stay? The bed is so soft, and there’s a garden with butterflies.”

Amara looked at her daughter’s hopeful face. Zara hadn’t smiled like this in months. Not since Tundai’s true nature had emerged. Not since their tiny apartment had become a place of fear rather than home.

“I don’t know, baby,” Amara whispered. “I don’t know what any of this means.”

But she did know one thing. She had no other choice, and that terrified her more than anything.

A Life in Limbo

Three days passed like a strange dream. Amara and Zara existed in a world that wasn’t theirs—eating meals they didn’t cook, sleeping in beds they didn’t make, walking through rooms filled with objects worth more than their lives. Ada was kind, patient, treating them like guests rather than charity cases.

But Chuk Woody remained an enigma. He was rarely home. When he was, he spoke little, observed much. Amara caught him watching her sometimes, his expression unreadable. Was he calculating what she owed him, planning when to collect? The uncertainty was torture.

On the fourth morning, Ada knocked on Amara’s door with a message. Mr. Okonquo wanted to see her in his study. Alone.

Amara’s hands trembled as she walked through the house. The study was on the second floor, overlooking the garden. She knocked softly.

“Enter.”

The room was all dark wood and leather, walls lined with books that actually looked read. Chuk Woody sat behind a massive desk, papers spread before him. He gestured to a chair.

“I’ve been making arrangements,” he said without preamble. “There’s an apartment in Victoria Island, two bedrooms, secure building, good schools nearby. The rent is paid for a year.”

Amara’s mouth went dry. “I can’t accept that.”

“You can and will.”

“I can’t afford—”

“I’m not asking you to afford it,” Chuk Woody leaned back, studying her. “Consider it an investment.”

“In what?”

“In keeping a woman and child safe from a violent man. The return is knowing he can’t touch you.” His voice was matter-of-fact, as if discussing a business transaction rather than her life.

“I’ve also contacted the salon where you work. They’ll hold your position. But I have another proposition.”

Here it comes, Amara thought. The price.

“I need someone to manage my household staff,” Chuk Woody said. “Ada is excellent, but she’s getting older. She needs help. The position pays well. Better than the salon. You’d work here in this house, organizing schedules, managing supplies, handling minor issues. Normal business hours, weekends off.”

Amara stared. “You want to hire me?”

“I want to hire someone competent. Ada speaks highly of you. Says you’re observant, quick to learn, good with organization. She noticed you reorganized the guest room closet by color and season within two days of arriving.”

“That was just—I was bored. I wanted to help.”

“Exactly. Most people in your situation would simply accept help passively. You look for ways to contribute. That’s useful.”

Amara’s mind raced. A job, a safe apartment, freedom from Tundai. It was everything she’d prayed for. But nothing was free in Lagos. Nothing.

“What do you really want from me?” she asked bluntly.

Chuk Woody’s expression shifted slightly. It might have been respect. “Direct. Good. I want exactly what I said. Someone to manage my household, someone I can trust not to steal from me, lie to me, or create drama. In return, you get safety, employment, and the chance to build a real life for your daughter.”

“And if I say no?”

“The apartment in Victoria Island is yours regardless. The job offer is separate. You can refuse it, and I’ll help you find something else.” He paused. “But I think you’re smarter than that.”

He was right. She was desperate, yes, but she wasn’t stupid. This offer was better than anything she’d find on her own. And despite his cold exterior, Chuk Woody had done nothing to harm her. Nothing to make her uncomfortable. He’d simply helped.

“Why me?” Amara asked. “You could hire anyone. Someone with experience, someone from a proper family.”

“I don’t want someone from a proper family.” For the first time, something like emotion crossed his face. “They come with expectations, connections, agendas. You come with nothing but a desire to survive. That makes you honest. Honest people are rare in my world.”

Amara thought of Zara, of the schools Ada had mentioned in Victoria Island. Good schools. Schools where children wore uniforms and learned computers. Schools where her daughter could become something more than a girl from Ajagunlay who’d gotten pregnant and broken.

“I accept,” she said. “The job and the apartment. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Chuk Woody returned to his papers, dismissing her. “Work starts Monday. Ada will train you. And Amara—” She turned at the door. “If Tundai comes looking for you, you tell me immediately. Not the police. Me. Understood?”

The coldness in his voice made her shiver. She nodded and left.

Trust and Transformation

Later that evening, Amara stood in the garden watching Zara chase butterflies. The sun was setting, painting Lagos in gold and purple. For the first time in years, she felt something dangerous. Hope.

“He’s not a good man, you know.” Amara turned. Ada had appeared beside her, quiet as a cat.

“Mr. Okonquo,” Ada continued. “He’s done things, terrible things, to build his empire, to protect what’s his. The stories you’ve heard, most of them are true.”

“Then why do you work for him?”

Ada smiled sadly. “Because he’s also saved three women’s shelters from closing. Because he’s put more children through school than the government has. Because when my husband was dying and the hospital wanted money we didn’t have, Mr. Okonquo paid for everything. He never mentioned it again.”

She looked at Amara. “He’s dangerous, but he’s not cruel. Learn the difference.”

That night, unable to sleep, Amara walked through the quiet house. She found herself outside Chuk Woody’s study. Light glowed beneath the door. She heard his voice, low and angry.

“I don’t care what it costs. Find him. Make it clear that the woman is under my protection now. If he even thinks about looking for her…” A pause. “You know what to do.”

Amara backed away silently, her heart pounding. She should be terrified. She was terrified. But beneath the fear was something else. Something warm and dangerous. Gratitude. And maybe, just maybe, the beginning of trust.

A New Role, A New Life

Amara’s first week working for Chuk Woody was intense. Ada trained her in everything from managing the household accounts to coordinating with the gardener, security team, and cook. The house ran like a machine, every part precise, and Amara was determined to master her role.

She was good at it—better than good. Years of stretching money too thin, of making something from nothing had taught her efficiency. Within two weeks, she’d reorganized the entire supply system, saving money and reducing waste.

Chuk Woody noticed. “The grocery bills are down 15%,” he remarked one evening, reviewing reports in his study.

Amara had brought him tea, a task she’d taken over from Ada. “How?”

“I found better suppliers, and I noticed we were throwing away a lot of vegetables because we bought too much at once. I adjusted the ordering schedule.”

She set the tea down carefully. “Was that inappropriate? Should I have asked first?”

“No, it was smart.” He looked up at her. Really looked, not just glanced. “You have a talent for this.”

Amara felt heat rise in her cheeks. Compliments from Chuk Woody Okonquo were rare enough to feel significant. “Thank you.”

“How is Zara adjusting to her new school?” The question surprised her. He rarely asked personal questions.

“She loves it. She made a friend, Kioma. They’re learning to read together.”

Something softened in Chuk Woody’s expression. “Good. Education is everything. It’s the only way out.”

“Out of what?”

“Poverty, violence, the cycle.” He returned to his papers, but his voice remained less guarded than usual. “My mother cleaned houses in Aba, rich people’s houses. She worked sixteen-hour days so I could stay in school. When my father found out she was hiding money for my education, he beat her so badly she never fully recovered.”

Amara’s breath caught. This was the most personal information Chuk Woody had ever shared.

“After she died, I was eleven. I should have ended up on the streets. But her employer, a Lebanese man named Mr. Khalil, he took me in, sent me to good schools, university. He saw something in me. Potential, maybe. Or perhaps he just felt guilty that his money couldn’t save my mother.”

Chuk Woody’s jaw tightened. “He died five years ago. Heart attack. I named my first office building after him.”

“I’m sorry,” Amara said softly. “About your mother.”

“Don’t be. She won. In the end, she won. Because I’m here, and my father died drunk in a gutter.” His eyes met hers, fierce and proud. “That’s the only revenge that matters. Success.”

The moment stretched between them, heavy with shared understanding. They both knew what it meant to run, to survive, to claw your way up from nothing.

Danger and Loyalty

The study door burst open. A man in an expensive suit strode in—too comfortable, too familiar. He stopped when he saw Amara.

“Chuku, we need to talk about—” His eyes raked over Amara, assessing, dismissing. “Is this the new maid?”

“Household manager,” Chuk Woody corrected coolly. “Amara, this is Ema, my business partner. She manages my household staff.”

Ema’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, household manager. Very progressive of you, Chuku.”

The condescension in his tone made Amara’s spine straighten. She knew men like Ema, men who looked at women like her and saw only poverty, only something to use and discard.

“I’ll leave you to your business,” Amara said, gathering the tea tray.

“Wait,” Chuk Woody’s voice stopped her. “Ema was just leaving.”

Ema’s smile faltered. “But we need to discuss the port contract—”

“Tomorrow. In the office. Not in my home.” Chuk Woody’s tone left no room for argument.

Ema’s face darkened. He glanced between Chuk Woody and Amara, something calculating entering his expression. “Of course. Tomorrow.” He left, closing the door harder than necessary.

“I’m sorry,” Amara said. “I should have left immediately when he arrived.”

“Why? This is your workplace. You have every right to be here.”

Chuk Woody stood, moving to the window. “He forgets sometimes that money doesn’t make him better than other people. It just makes him richer.”

“He’s right though, isn’t he? I am just a maid. A woman from Ajagunlay playing at—”

“Stop.” Chuk Woody turned, his intensity pinning her in place. “Never let anyone make you feel small. Not Ema, not anyone. You work hard. You’re intelligent. Where you came from doesn’t define where you’re going.”

His words unlocked something in Amara’s chest. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

For a long moment, they simply looked at each other. The air felt charged, dangerous. Amara was suddenly very aware of how close they were standing, of the way Chuk Woody’s eyes had softened when he looked at her.

Then his phone rang, shattering the moment. He answered it, his voice immediately shifting to business mode. Amara slipped out quietly, her heart racing.

That night, she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d defended her, the way he’d looked at her—like she mattered, like she was more than just another employee, another charity case.

It was dangerous to feel this way. Dangerous to imagine that a man like Chuk Woody Okonquo could see anything in a woman like her beyond gratitude or duty. But her heart, traitorous thing, was already imagining impossible things.

When the Past Comes Knocking

The next morning, Amara arrived to find a small box on the kitchen counter with her name on it. Inside was a smartphone—new, expensive, already set up with her name in the system.

Ada smiled. “Mr. Okonquo said you needed a proper phone for household management, for organizing schedules and such.”

But when Amara turned it on, she found only two numbers programmed in: Ada and Chuk Woody’s. And a text message from an unknown number that made her blood run cold.

I know where you work now, Amara. You can’t hide behind money forever.

Tundai had found her.

Amara’s hands shook as she showed the message to Chuk Woody. They were in his study again, but this time the door was locked. His expression went cold and hard as stone.

“How did he get your number?” His voice was dangerously quiet.

“I don’t know. The phone was brand new. Unless he followed me, or someone told him where I work.”

Chuk Woody was already on his phone, speaking in rapid Igbo to someone—his security team, Amara realized. After a tense conversation, he hung up.

“You’re not leaving this compound until we find him.”

“I can’t hide forever.”

“You won’t have to.” The look in his eyes made Amara shiver. “I’m ending this today.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means Tundai Adel is about to learn what happens when someone threatens what’s mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone should have frightened her. Instead, it sent warmth flooding through her chest.

“What’s mine?” She was his to protect. When had that happened?

“I need to get Zara from school,” Amara said, panic rising. “If he knows where I work, he might know—”

“Already handled. My driver picked her up twenty minutes ago. She’s in the playroom with Ada.”

“You—How did you—?”

“I’m not stupid, Amara. I had security watching your daughter from the moment that message came through.” He stepped closer. “Do you trust me?”

It was a loaded question. Trust. Such a small word for something so enormous.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Then let me handle this my way.”

Violence and Vulnerability

Three hours later, Chuk Woody returned to the compound with blood on his knuckles. Not a lot—just enough to tell a story.

He found Amara in the library, pretending to organize books while her mind spun with terrible possibilities.

“It’s done,” he said simply.

“What did you do?” Her voice shook.

“Nothing illegal. Nothing permanent.” He poured himself a drink. Whiskey neat. “Tundai and I had a conversation. I explained that you were under my protection. I showed him proof of his assault charges. I told him that if he ever contacted you again, those charges would be filed with the police along with evidence of several other crimes he’s committed.”

He took a sip. “I also made it clear that I have connections in every prison in Lagos State and that prisoners don’t treat men who hurt women very kindly.”

“You threatened him.”

“I promised him.” Chuk Woody met her eyes. “There’s a difference. I keep my promises.”

Amara should be horrified, should be terrified of this cold, violent side of him. But all she felt was overwhelming relief—and something deeper. Something she’d been trying to deny for weeks.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t thank me,” he set down his glass. “I’m not a good man, Amara. I’ve hurt people, destroyed lives, built my empire on the broken backs of others. You should be afraid of me.”

“I know.” She moved closer to him. “Ada told me the stories, the things you’ve done—and yet you’re still here.”

“And yet I’m still here.”

Amara reached out, hesitating, then gently took his hand—the one with bloody knuckles. “Because I’ve also seen you make pancakes for my daughter. Seen you pay for women’s shelters. Seen you defend me to your business partner. People aren’t just one thing, Chuk Woody. They’re complicated.”

He stared at their joined hands. “You make me want to be better.”

“You already are better. You just don’t see it.”

The distance between them collapsed. One moment they were standing apart. The next, Chuk Woody’s hand was cupping her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. His eyes searched hers, asking permission.

Amara rose on her toes and kissed him. It was soft at first, tentative, testing. Then Chuk Woody’s arms wrapped around her, and the kiss deepened, becoming something fierce and desperate. Years of loneliness, of fear, of surviving alone—all of it poured into that kiss.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Chuk Woody rested his forehead against hers.

“This is insane,” he murmured. “Completely. I’m your employer.”

“I know.”

“You deserve better than me.”

“That’s not your decision to make.” Amara smiled, feeling brave and terrified and alive. “Maybe I want to decide for myself what I deserve.”

“Amara, I know this is complicated. I know there are a hundred reasons why this is a terrible idea. But I also know that I feel safer with you than I’ve ever felt with anyone. That you make me laugh. That you see me. Not the poor woman from Ajagunlay. Not the charity case. But me, Amara, the person I am.”

Chuk Woody’s expression softened in a way she’d never seen. Vulnerable, open. “I don’t know how to do this. Relationships, normal things. Everything I touch, I ruin.”

“Then we’ll figure it out together. Both of us broken people learning how to be whole.”

He kissed her again, slower this time, tender, like she was something precious that might shatter.

A New Shelter, A New Beginning

The new women’s shelter in Ajagunlay opened on a Saturday morning. It was modest, nothing like Chuk Woody’s mansion, but it was clean, safe, with beds for twenty women and their children, resources for job training, legal aid, security.

Amara cut the ribbon, Zara beside her in a new dress, beaming proudly. Chuk Woody stood back, letting her have this moment, but his eyes never left her.

“You did this,” Amara said later in the car driving home. When had his house become home?

“We did this,” Chuk Woody corrected. “Your idea, your design, your management. I just paid for it.”

“Just?” Amara laughed. She wore a ring now. Not an engagement ring, not yet, but a promise—a beautiful sapphire that caught the light when she moved.

“You’re impossible.”

“You love impossible,” he replied.

She did. Against all odds, against all reason, she’d fallen in love with Lagos’s most feared billionaire—and he, incredibly, had fallen for a single mother from Ajagunlay who had stumbled into his car one desperate night.

They weren’t perfect. Their relationship confused people—his business associates, her old friends, everyone with an opinion. But they didn’t care. They’d both survived too much, fought too hard to let other people’s expectations define their happiness.

“Mama,” Zara said from the back seat, “Can we have pancakes tomorrow?”

Chuk Woody glanced at Amara, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Only if you promise to help make them.”

“I promise.”

Amara watched her daughter’s bright smile, felt Chuk Woody’s hand find hers, saw the city of Lagos rushing past the windows. This improbable, impossible life built on desperation and violence and unexpected grace.

She’d run from one nightmare straight into another man’s arms—the most dangerous man in the city. The man who’d become her salvation, her partner, her love.

Life was strange. Life was hard. Life was beautiful. And for the first time in years, Amara Okafor believed in happy endings.

Some encounters aren’t coincidences. They’re the price the universe demands to show you who you really are.

If you want to know what happened next, click on the video. There’s a scene there that made thousands rethink everything they thought about destiny. See if you feel the same.