Who is Malik Hampton!

Paul Roy’s Birthday Party

The Roy estate glowed bright, like it opened the whole night. Huge chandeliers hung overhead, sparkling like stars frozen in place, lighting up crowds in fancy silk dresses, satin gowns, and perfectly fitted tuxedos. Outside, drones buzzed around like busy fireflies, snapping photos of every shiny diamond pin and fake smile. Even the fountain inside got a makeover: flowers shaped like orchids and irises turned into proud peacocks—showy, royal, just like the Roy family.

This wasn't some simple birthday bash. It felt more like crowning a king to show off their lasting power.

Paul Roy turning sixty-five wasn't just a party. It was a big statement: We're still on top. Still strong. Still impossible to touch. Important guests like government big shots, tech bosses, and even far-off royals moved through the ballroom like players in a fancy game of chess, each step planned to get them closer to the heart of the Roy empire.

Then the Dewitt's arrived.

Michael stepped in flanked by his parents, all three dressed as if styled by Fortune itself. His father, Arnold, clasped Paul’s hand with the ease of an old ally though their alliance was barely a year old. A murmured joke, and Paul laughed, a rare warmth softening his sharp features.

Elizabeth DeWitt kissed Sarah’s cheek with flawless grace. The gesture looked tender. It felt like ice.

Their gift followed with a quiet ceremony: a Faberge egg nestled in midnight-blue velvet, its surface shimmering with enamel blues and ruby reds that caught the light like trapped fire. Besides, it lay a set of Qing Dynasty coins, their patina gleaming under the chandeliers—ancient, silent, worth more than most guests’ annual incomes.

A hush rippled through the crowd.

“Two point five million,” someone breathed.

The number passed from guest to guest like a spark, each whisper sharper, more awed than the last.

Near the champagne tower, Janet stood beside Michael, her sapphire gown perfectly matching the hue of his tie. Too perfect. She leaned in, laughing at something he said, her voice syrup sweet. “You’re always so thoughtful, Michael. And so noble in your interest in Sarah.”

Michael turned, eyes glinting with amusement. “No sign of your husband?” he asked Sarah, his tone light, but his gaze lingered just a beat too long.

Sarah stiffened. “He’ll be here,” she said, spine straight and her voice steady though her pulse hammered in her throat.

“I hope so,” Michael murmured, stepping closer. “Wouldn’t want you standing alone tonight.” The words were kind but the implication wasn’t.

Sarah offered a polite nod and slipped away before he could press further.

She remembered how MAIK had saved her once; That was their third meeting, when his grandfather insisted that she must marry before handing Roy's businesses to her. Michael could have been the right match but Sarah wants just a simple man like Malik.

Who will save her now ?

The whispers of his absence and incompetence filled the hall.

“Where is Malik?”

“Did she really come by herself?”

“Even the staff look uneasy.”

She kept smiling, the perfect Roy mask, until a butler leaned into her grandfather’s ear. Paul’s expression shifted. The warmth vanished. His eyes swept the room and locked onto hers, sharp as flint.

Panic fluttered in her chest. She excused herself quietly and retreated to a side hallway, where she pressed her wrapped gift into a maid’s hands.

“Hold this for me. I’ll present it shortly.” Her voice was calm, and her fingers trembled as she handed it.

Alone in the corridor, she pulled out her phone and dialed Malik's number. Once. Twice. Three times. No answer.

“Pick up,” she hissed, her voice low and tight with fury. “Not now. Please.”

The screen went dark. The call failed.

For a heartbeat, Sarah stood frozen in humiliation, fear, and something dangerously close to despair rising like floodwater. Then she inhaled sharply, squared her shoulders, and walked back into the lion’s den.

This time, she didn’t hide her stride. She owned it. But the room noticed. Noticed her empty hands. Noticed the gap on the mahogany gift table where her offering should’ve been.

Whispers sharpened into knives.

Her mother, Evelyn, stood near Aunt Clara, a woman who wielded gossip like a stiletto. Clara took the microphone with theatrical concern. “Let’s not let her absences dim the evening. The celebration, after all, must go on.”

Polite laughter, cold as marble followed and gifts resumed.

A gold-encrusted chessboard. A carriage clock older than the country. Paintings signed by names no one could pronounce, but everyone knew were worth villas.

Oliver, a hopeful executive from a mid-tier food brand, presented a rare Patek Philippe and murmured something about partnership. Paul gave a slow, assessing nod. Oliver exhaled like he’d dodged a bullet.

Then Janet stepped forward.

Cameras flashed. She unveiled a sculpture of solid emerald and jade, carved into a lion entwined with the Roy crest. Estimated value: $2.8 million. The crowd gasped. Janet smiled, serene. She didn’t mention the sleepless nights, the maxed credit lines, the antique dealers who’d nearly laughed her out the door. She’d paid for everything but dignity.

David followed with a Churchill manuscript, its pages yellowed, signature bold. Paul’s nod was brief but approving.

And still Sarah’s space on the table remained empty.

“She hasn’t presented yet,” a woman murmured behind a diamond-encrusted fan.

“Maybe she forgot,” another chuckled, pearls glinting.

Janet drifted over, flute of champagne in hand, eyes wide with faux concern. “Sarah, darling, are you alright? You look… strained.”

Sarah scanned the room for the maid she'd handed her gift earlier, but no sign of her whereabouts.

“You didn’t forget your gift, did you?” Janet added, voice dripping honey. “That would be… unfortunate.”

Sarah’s jaw tightened. Her grandfather watched her now not with curiosity, but with the quiet disappointment of a man who believed he’d been proven right.

Then Michael appeared at her elbow, his hand brushing hers warm and deliberate. “If you ever need someone strong beside you,” he said softly, “I’m right here.”

The words sounded like support but felt like a trap.

Sarah withdrew her hand with quiet dignity. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

Before she could retreat, Paul’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

“Sarah!”

Silence crashed down. Every eye turned and every breath held.

She froze. For a wild moment, she wished the marble floor would split open and swallow her whole.

She’d never disappointed him. Not once.

Until tonight.

Her mind raced. Where is the gift? How do I fix this?

Then a flicker of movement, the maid finally burst from the side hall, breathless, clutching the box to her chest.

“Miss Roy! I’m so sorry, the security scanner held me up. They insisted on verifying the contents when I followed you out.”

Relief hit like a wave. Sarah took the box, gave a tight nod, and turned toward the stage.

She walked slowly but without hesitation, every step echoing in the hushed room. She placed the box before Paul and unwrapped it with steady hands.

“What's this?” Paul Roy exclaimed.