WHO IS MALIK HAMPTON?

Ghosts in the Ballroom

The heavy door thudded shut behind Malik, sealing Sarah and Michelle in the corridor’s sudden, brittle silence with the echo of his final words "Let the world see Janet for what she is" seemed to vibrate in the air, sending a dare thrown at the gilded cage of the Roy estate. 

Sarah stared at the closed door, her chest tight, the icy calm she’d forced upon herself cracking like thin glass. Malik had walked away. Not in retreat, but towards the heart of the storm, towards the ballroom where Janet held court. Panic, cold and sharp, pricked at her spine.

Michelle’s hand descended on her shoulder, possessive and warm. 

"See? Unstable. Reckless…. He’s sealing his own fate, Sarah. Now is the time to—" he murmured, his voice slick with satisfaction.

Sarah flinched away from his touch as if scalded. The predator’s glint in his eyes, previously masked by charm, now seemed blindingly obvious.

 "Time for what, Michelle? To distance myself? To throw him to the wolves while you swoop in?" She asked, her voice low and dangerous.

He spread his hands, the picture of reason.

 "To protect the Roy legacy. To protect you. He’s a liability, Sarah. A cleaner playing at revolution. Let Janet deal with him. We can salvage this, together. Claim he acted alone, under duress…" His gaze lingered on her face, assessing, calculating the price of her cooperation.

Before she could spit a retort, a murmur, then a swell of noise, crashed through the heavy door from the ballroom. It wasn’t the resumed buzz of polite conversation. It was shocking, outrageous and confusing. Sharp gasps punctuated the rising tide of voices.

Sarah’s blood ran cold identifying the voice. 

“Malik!” she altered and lunged for the door handle, but Michelle was faster, he quickly blocked her path with his body.

 "Sarah, no! It’s too late. Going in there now ties you to his madness!" He explained.

"Get out of my way!" Sarah snarled, shoving against him with surprising strength born of desperation.

Michelle held firm, his grip tightening on her arm.

 "Think! This is chaos. Let it play out. Declare him unstable, a fraud. Stand with me and I'll defend you before Paul; I can do it again. We can still win this." Michelle pleaded.

The noise from the ballroom intensified. Malik’s voice boomed over a sudden hush, amplified. Then, cutting through the artificial grandeur, came another voice, trembling, laced with fear: Nina’s voice.

"...It was her plan…. All of it. Janet handed me a bottle of wine before the party… she told me it was the same bottle Sarah planned to present… altered… Fake label. Different vintage…"

Sarah froze, listening through the door and Michelle was forgotten at that moment.

"...She knew in advance what Sarah would bring… Stay close to Sarah. Make sure the wine is swapped before she presents it…"

Nina’s recorded confession, raw and terrified, filled the corridor, leaking from the ballroom. Malik had recorded it. He’d planned this and he's now in the lion’s den armed with the truth.

A roar erupted from the ballroom – John Roy’s voice, thick with fury.

 "Lies! Filthy lies coerced from a frightened girl! Seize him! Seize that lying vermin!" John screamed.

Sarah heard the scuffle, the clatter of something falling, the shouts of security. She wrenched herself free from Michelle’s slackened grip and flung the door open.

The scene erupts into chaos as she enters. The glittering assembly is shattered, with guests either standing stunned or congregating in small groups, their whispers laced with shock and dismay.

 Malik stands at the center, a lone figure surrounded by three burly guards, one of whom has his arm restrained. Yet Malik's demeanor remains calm and collected with his eyes scanning the crowd with a determined intensity that settles briefly on Sarah in the doorway.

Janet stood near Paul’s imposing chair, her face a mask of porcelain fury, cracks showing around her eyes. John was purple with rage, straining against his own wife’s restraining hand as he pointed a shaking finger at Malik.

 "Slander! Treachery! He assaulted that maid, forced her to say those things!" He exclaimed, his voice sounded more like thunder.

Paul Roy remained seated, his face granite, but his knuckles were white where he gripped the head of his cane. His gaze, sharp and ancient, flickered between Janet’s rigid fury and Malik’s unnerving calm.

"Explain this, Janet," Paul’s voice cut through the din, low and lethal. It wasn’t a request; it was an inquisition.

With calculated composure, Janet stood tall, her demeanor that of a polished and experienced performer.

"Father, this is absurd " Her voice was tight but controlled. "A desperate ploy by a criminal who infiltrated our home! That recording is meaningless! Taken under duress, threats! Look at him!" She gestured contemptuously at Malik. Sigh, she continued.

 "A cleaner with delusions of grandeur! He attacked Nina earlier; Sarah saw! He’s dangerous and unstable!" Her eyes darted to Sarah with a silent venomous command to corroborate.

Sarah opened her mouth for the weight of Janet’s expectation and Michelle’s hissed 

"Now, Sarah! Deny him!" from behind her, pressing down. But the sound of Nina’s terrified confession still rang in her ears. She saw Malik, surrounded but unbowed, the man who had saved her life twice. The man she had just eviscerated with her words. The liar she had married, who was now the only one speaking truth.

Before Sarah could speak, Janet leaned close to John and her whisper carried an icy edge in the sudden hush. 

"Call your father now and burn this cleaner to ash." She laminated, her eyes cut through Malik like a blade.

John nodded, fumbling for his phone, his eyes blazing with vindictive triumph.

The guards tightened their grip, hauling Malik back. He didn’t struggle, but as they turned him, his gaze locked onto Paul’s gaze. 

 "The truth doesn’t burn, Janet," Malik stated, his voice clear and carrying a heavy weight. "It festers. And this," he nodded towards the unseen source of the recording, perhaps a phone discarded on the dais, "is just the smell of rot."

"Enough!" Paul slammed his cane down. The sharp crack silenced the room. He glared at the guards. "Hold him. Not in a cell." His gaze swept the shocked assembly. "Take him to the library. Now." His eyes then pinned Janet. "You. John. With me." It was an order that brooked no argument. 

As the guards began to propel Malik towards a side exit, Sarah finally found her voice, stepping forward.

 "Grandfather—" she exclaimed.

Paul’s gaze sliced to her, cold and assessing.

 "You will wait, Sarah." The dismissal was absolute.

Malik passed close to her as the guards marched him out. His eyes met hers again, just for a fleeting second. No blame and expectation. Just a silent intensity that stole her breath. Then he was gone, swallowed by the corridor leading to the estate’s library.

Sarah stood rooted as all eyes in the room were set upon her with pity, curiosity and scorn expression. Michelle materialized beside her, trying to take her elbow. 

"Sarah, come away. This is a disaster, but we can still—" He muttered, his voice sounded more like a whisper.

Sarah spun on him, the fury she’d suppressed finally erupting. 

"‘We.? There is no ‘we’ Michelle!" Her voice, though not a scream, carried the same raw power as her earlier cry of ‘enough’. "You wanted me to abandon him. Why? Tell me the truth!"

Michelle’s mask of concern slipped, revealing the cold ambition beneath. He straightened, a smirk touching his lips. 

"Because he’s a ghost, Sarah," he hissed, leaning in so only she could hear. " Just nobody playing dress up. Ghosts don’t inherit empires. They haunt the edges. I offered you reality and power. A future built on strength, not the delusions of a cleaner who thinks he can fight generals."

The confirmation of his naked ambition, his utter disdain for the man who was, legally, her husband, was the final shove. Her hand flew with a sharp crack echoing as her palm connected with his cheek.

"Get out," she breathed, her voice trembling with rage and a terrible, dawning clarity. "Get out of this house. And if you value your position, Michelle Dwelt, you will tell Janet nothing of what just transpired between us. Nothing!"

Michelle touched his reddening cheek, his eyes wide with shock and then burning humiliation. He glanced towards the library door, then back at Sarah, his expression hardening into pure venom. 

Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode away, not towards the ballroom exit, but deeper into the house, his path uncertain but his enmity clear.

Sarah didn’t watch him go. Her focus was already shifting. She smoothed her dress, lifted her chin and walked with deliberate steps towards the corridor leading to the library. Paul’s guards flanked the heavy mahogany doors.

"Mr. Roy is not to be disturbed," one stated flatly.

"I am Sarah Roy," she said, her voice regaining its steel. "And I will see my husband." She met the guard’s impassive gaze, the weight of her name, her fractured birthright, the only weapon she had left. Inside that room, her fate, Malik’s fate, and the future of the Roy empire were being decided. She wouldn’t wait outside any longer.

*****************************”*””””**

Inside the library, the air crackled with tension thicker than dust on ancient parchment. 

Malik stood near the cold fireplace, flanked by guards, his posture relaxed but watchful. Paul sat behind a massive desk with an unreadable face. Janet stood rigidly beside John near the window, her composure brittle while John kept glancing at his phone.

"Your accusation is grave, Malik, supported by… unconventional evidence." Paul stated, his voice devoid of inflection.

"Truth doesn't require a notary, Mr. Roy, only ears willing to hear it.” Malik replied calmly. 

Janet scoffed. "Truth? From a blackmailer? A thug?"

"Enough, Janet," Paul silenced her, his eyes never leaving Malik. "You claim my daughter orchestrated this sabotage. To what end?"

"To discredit Sarah, to ensure her inheritance remained… contested. To maintain her own position. Fear is a powerful motivator, even for a maid." Malik stated simply.

A muscle ticked in Paul's jaw. He knew the viper's nest he presided over but before he could respond, John's phone buzzed. He looked at it and a savage grin spread across his face.

 "He's here." He whispered.

Almost on cue, the distant sound of powerful engines tearing up the gravel drive reached the library. Moments later, heavy, authoritative footsteps echoed in the grand hallway outside, approaching fast.

The library doors burst open not by a guard, but by the imposing figure who filled the doorway. General Arthur Vance, John’s father, stood framed in the entrance. He wore no uniform, but his bearing screamed military precision ramrod straight. He was flanked by two severe looking men in dark suits who radiated quiet menace.

The temperature in the library seemed to drop ten degrees. Janet’s rigid posture softened with visible relief. John puffed out his chest. Paul’s expression remained impassive, but a new wariness entered his eyes.

The General’s gaze swept past Paul, past Janet, past John and finally landed unerringly on Malik. His voice, when he spoke, was deceptively quiet, yet it silenced the room like the crack of a rifle shot, carrying the weight of unquestioned authority and simmering fury.

"Where is the man who threatens my family?" General Vance demanded, his voice cutting through the thick silence like a blade.