WHO IS MALIK HAMPTON?

The Forgotten Favorite

"What! That's right," Sarah exclaimed, her fork halfway to her mouth before she set it down.

Janet smirked, pleased by the crack in Sarah’s perfectly ironed composure.

Grandfather’s birthday hit her like a slap. Of course she remembered that it's today—the media reminders alone wouldn’t let her forget. But the gift? The gesture that meant everything to Paul Roy, the family patriarch? That had slipped through the cracks of corporate battles, PR interviews, and signature stuffed mornings thoughts. 

Sarah glanced at the TV still playing Michelle DeWitt’s smug face, but her mind rewound to the past, to Grandfather’s study—shelves lined with vintage scotch bottles, mahogany cabinets full of collectibles and that one moment years ago when he had looked at her. Not Janet, not David, not even John, and said, “You have the clearest mind of them all. One day, Roy Enterprises will be yours.” 

And now? It's hers. She had been his favorite one.

And now, a forgotten gift would feel like betrayal. Not just disrespect, but an insult.

Her chest tightened. For the first time in years, she felt something toward Janet that wasn’t jealousy or frustration. She felt... oddly grateful. Even if Janet’s intentions were soaked in venom, the reminder was genuine.

“I almost forgot. Thank you for reminding me,” Sarah admitted, standing.

Janet blinked at the softness in her voice, thrown off for a beat.

“You’re welcome. I’m getting him a 1962 Margaux. He’ll love it. You should get wine too—if you can afford something vintage, that is,” she said too sweetly.

Sarah nodded slowly, though her pride bristled. She opened her mouth to respond when Malik returned silently with a glass of warm water balanced in his hand. He placed the water gently in front of Janet without meeting anyone’s eyes.

Janet’s glare followed him as he walked out again, the air parting around him like he was never supposed to exist.

“You should teach your kitchen manager some manners,” Janet muttered.

Sarah didn’t reply.

The rest of breakfast disintegrated into familiar ash, and Janet ridiculed Malik’s presence in the family like it was some sort of embarrassing rash.

“If you’d just married someone like Michelle, none of this would be a problem. You’d be wearing diamonds from DeWitt Holdings instead of playing dress-up in Roy money,” Janet continued, dabbing her mouth with her napkin like the devil in pearls.

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Michelle’s a walking press release with a trust fund. He’s not a man. He’s a headline.”

“And yet he was invited to tonight’s party as a VIP. You? Just a granddaughter.”

“That’s because Grandfather doesn’t trust outsiders,” Sarah said coolly.

Janet’s grin widened. “Oh, you think Michelle’s an outsider? He’s got your grandfather’s ear. He’s donating a private collection tonight. Rare coinage. From the Qing Dynasty. Don’t tell me you’re bringing nothing but yourself and the... kitchen manager. The cleaner you called husband.”

That stung more than it should have.

Sarah pushed her chair back, she couldn't endure the taunting coming from Sarah anymore.

 “I have work.” she whispered standing up for the chair to avoid more insults.

“Avoiding the truth doesn’t make it less true. Let go of the burdens, Sarah. You could still have someone like Michelle. Someone serious. Someone that fits,” Janet sang.

But Sarah was already walking away, her heels clicking the floor like gunshots and she didn’t look back.

Janet remained seated for a few more minutes, stirring her now cold eggs with a bored sigh before rising. She tossed one last look toward the hallway where Malik had disappeared.

“Try not to burn the house down,” she called out loudly, then let herself out with a self satisfied smile.

Malik had listened to their conversation and Sarah’s reactions before they all disappeared. He stood behind the kitchen wall, waiting for the click of the front door lock before moving. Then he exhaled slowly.

He walked over to the table, quietly collecting the untouched plates and the shattered pieces of pride left behind by Janet’s voice. One by one, he scraped, wiped, and sorted. The routine grounded him. Calmed him. But this time, something different simmered beneath the silence.

He dried his hands and stepped away, entering the hallway and pausing by a small locked cabinet. From beneath a stack of cookbooks, he retrieved a phone—a sleek, silent device that had nothing to do with his current role in this household.

He dialed a number. One ring. Two. Then, click.

“Prepare me a vintage birthday gift that is worth a lot and deliver it immediately,” he said. “Use the original case.” Malik added, then hung up the phone.

No names. No pleasantries. Just the weight of precision.

He stared at the photo on the shelf beside him, displaying Sarah, younger, smiling, seated next to Paul Roy at a Roy Enterprises shareholder gala. Grandfather’s hand rested on her shoulder with unmistakable pride.

A few minutes later, Malik heard a ring at the door. He opened it to reveal a delivery guy.

“Your order is here, sir!” the delivery guy said.

Malik took the order and opened the box.

Inside were artifacts, scrolls, gems, and coins, along with a bottle of aged liquor sealed with emblems no longer in circulation.

“It’s time to make Sarah proud,” Malik thought to himself.