Who is Malik Hampton!

The soft clatter of pots and the sizzling of eggs filled the Roy penthouse, a soundscape of order and obligation. Malik's sleeves rolled up, and his eyes focused on what he was making. They were moving between the stove pot and the counter like a man with a purpose, even though the purpose wasn't his. He was neither a chef nor a servant. He was Sarah Roy's husband, but only in name and the kitchen was his cage. "Malik, Grandfather's birthday is tonight. You’ll be there. Don’t make me say it twice.” Sarah's voice cut through the morning like glass. She appeared in the doorway, dressed immaculately in a navy pantsuit, her every button and fold screamed nothing but wealth and power. Malik didn’t look up. His eyes focused on flipping the pancake he was making as he responded, "I remember, I’ll be there." "You better be, and not in one of your bargain-bin jackets. Wear something decent. I won’t have you embarrassing me again,” she snapped, striding in. Her stilettos clacked sharply on the floor. Malik's jaw tightened. "Noted." He responded, concentrating on what he was doing. Sarah paused, staring down at him. Something about how calm he always seemed irked her more than any protest would have. She hated that she had to rely on him for the smallest things like breakfast and errands but hated even more how unbothered he appeared doing it. As if it was natural for her husband to be a glorified housekeeper. Her eyes narrowed. "Remember the first time I introduced you to my family?" she said coldly. "I told them you were my husband, and you know what happened? You spoil everything telling them that you're a cleaner. But should’ve kept it that way." Malik stirred the eggs. "I remember." She turned, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "They laughed at me. Janet, John, even Mother. But at least Grandfather accepted it—because you saved my life, not because he respects you. Don’t get too comfortable with that approval." Malik nodded, and his little attention was already at Sarah now. Before he could comment, the doorbell rang, distracting their conversation. Sarah sighed. "Get that." He glanced at the stove. "Breakfast will burn. Can't you just check it yourself?” "Then turn it off. You’re not frying diamonds," Sarah yelled. Frustrated, Malik obeyed, wiping his hands and walking to the front door. As the door was opened, he was greeted with the piercing perfume and permanent sneer of Janet Roy, Sarah's sister. "Oh, the kitchen boy is answering the door now. How progressive,” she said, mock surprise thick in her voice. "Good morning, Janet," Malik responded, avoiding his snapping gaze, stepping aside. Janet didn’t wait. She brushed past him deliberately, nearly knocking him off balance. "Move. You take up space like you own it, huh?" “Huh!” The words hurt a lot, but Malik exhaled, choosing silence. He returned to the kitchen immediately trying to get his work done. Janet, already surveying the house like a queen returning to her estate, made a beeline to the sitting room. Malik heard a clink, then a sharp c***k and he rushed in. A crystal glass lay shattered on the floor, red wine juice seeping into the cream rug. "Janet..." he began, trying to keep calm. She looked at him sweetly. "Oops. You should really polish your furniture better. I slipped." Malik was angry, but before he could protest, Sarah appeared. Her eyes scanned the mess and her face hardened. "What happened?" She questioned. Janet shrugged, feigning innocence. "Ask your kitchen manager." Sarah’s glance slid to Malik. His lips parted, but she cut him off. "Just clean it up," she exclaimed. Malik looks at her face trying to say something, but he doesn't bother. It didn't matter anyway. He bent down wordlessly, blotting the spill with a towel, and watched Janet as she walked over to the couch like royalty. "We’re eating here, right?" she called. Sarah hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. Malik, serve breakfast," she ordered. Malik took a second look before nodding and went back to the kitchen to serve his already prepared food. As Malik was setting up the table, Janet turned on the TV. Within seconds, a news segment popped up. ".... Michael Dewitt, heir to Dewitt Holdings, continues to impress as he announces plans to expand his corporate influence into Roy Enterprises..." Janet smiled and turned up the volume. The screen showed Michael, flanked by his stately parents, fielding questions from reporters like a born aristocrat. "Now that’s a man worth marrying," Janet said with sugar-laced venom. Malik placed the final plate and took his seat without a word. Janet lifted her fork, sniffed the food dramatically, then took a bite. One second later, she dropped the fork and grabbed her throat. "Oh my God. What is this? Are you trying to poison me?" Sarah slammed her fork down, wondering what was going on at first but Janet's face revealed everything. "Malik! Water!" She screamed. Malik quickly rushed to the fridge, pulled out a bottle, and returned quickly. Janet took it, then recoiled. "Ugh. It's cold. Are you trying to freeze my stomach too?" Sarah stood. "I’ll get warm water." "No," Janet stopped her with a hand. "We were in the middle of an important conversation." Sarah paused, torn. Then she sat again. Malik, dismissed at a glance, turned to leave. As he reached the hallway, Janet’s voice followed him like a dagger. "So, what are you giving Grandfather for his birthday tonight, dear? You’re his favorite, surely you’ve planned something extraordinary?" Her smirk echoed louder than the words themselves.