The evening was unusually quiet in the Sikandar household. Agha Jan sat in his study, a room lined with shelves that carried his life's battles—files of companies, framed awards, and faded black-and-white photographs of his youth. His cane rested against the desk, a silent reminder that time was no longer on his side.
He stared at the papers before him: drafts of inheritance divisions prepared by his lawyer. His empire—his sweat, his sleepless nights—was reduced now to numbers, shares, and percentages.
His heart was heavy, but he knew it had to be done.
For years, whenever he bought a property, he placed it under his children's names. He had meant to secure their futures, never realizing this would one day fuel their greed.
The elder sons had been given everything: ventures, opportunities, wealth. Now, he wanted the younger ones to have something of their own. He remembered a conversation with Ruhan, long ago, when he offered to make him and Rayyan the guardians of the family business.
"Baba," Ruhan had said softly, "I will be happy if you gave my shares to Alyana and Rayyan. They deserve it more. I don't need them. I didn't work for it—it belongs to them. They have a life ahead."
The memory faded, and with it came a decision.
That night, Agha Jan called his children together in the drawing room. The chandeliers glowed softly, casting light on polished tables and velvet sofas. The siblings settled into their places: Wajdan, proud as always, claimed the seat closest to his father. Rubab folded her dupatta neatly over her head. Zavian leaned back, calculating. Ruhan sat straight, calm but alert. Rayyan and Alyana, the youngest, looked uncertain, their hands resting in their laps.
At the back of the room, Kaina observed in silence.
Agha Jan cleared his throat. His voice, though aged, still carried the authority that had once built an empire.
"It is time," he said, "to speak of the future. I am not young anymore. A man who fears death is a fool—but a man who does not prepare his children is a greater fool. I want to settle the inheritance now, while I still breathe. So you do not fight like other families."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across them.
"You all know Zavian and Wajdan already have their ventures. They have long been separated from the board. Their businesses are part of the group, yes, but independent. Now, I must decide the heir of the group itself."
Before he could announce his decision, Wajdan shot to his feet, eyes blazing.
"What? No. The empire belongs to me. I am the eldest son. The responsibility is mine."
A stunned silence followed. The word inheritance hung in the air like a storm cloud.
Ruhan frowned. His voice was steady but firm.
"Wajdan—what are you saying? You have no right to raise your voice at Baba. If we must discuss, then calmly. Not like this."
But Wajdan's jaw tightened. His voice rose, sharp with entitlement.
"How many times must I remind you, Ruhan? You never worked for this family business. You have no place in this. I stood by Baba, carried his name, represented him.
Who else did that? Zavian has his own venture. Rayyan is too young to understand. So it belongs to me. Simple. Do you think you deserve equal shares in something you never built?"
Alyana gasped. Rayyan shifted uneasily. Zavian tried to interject, but before he could, Alyana spoke timidly:
"Wajdan bhai… please. This is not the way to speak to Baba—"
"Do not lecture me!" Wajdan snapped, cutting her off. His anger burned hotter.
He turned to Ruhan, venom in his voice.
"And you—always sitting there, pretending to be noble. What have you ever done for this family? Nothing! Always the preacher, never the leader."
Ruhan's fists tightened on his knees, but his tone stayed calm.
"And what have you done, Wajdan? Closed five businesses? Wasted crores? Dragged Baba's name through mud? And now you want everything?"
He leaned forward, eyes steady.
"I don't want a share. I never did. But I want equality for everyone here. That is the honor of this family. Not your greed for control."
The words struck deep.
Agha Jan's cane shook as he stood. His voice trembled, heavy with grief.
"Wajdan! Do you have no respect? I gave you more chances than anyone. More money, more trust. Every time you failed, I forgave you. And today, you dare stand above your brothers and sisters as if they are beggars? Shame on you!"
For a moment, silence fell. Then Wajdan's face twisted with fury.
"Shame? You call me shame? I am your eldest son! Without me, this family is nothing. Deny me my right, and remember this—this house will see war!"
Gasps rippled across the room. Even the youngest grandchildren, who had been playing in the corner, froze. Their innocent eyes brimmed with confusion. The uncle they once adored—the one who brought them sweets, who told them stories—stood before them now, poisoned by greed.
Ruhan rose to his feet, his voice cutting through the tension.
"Your right? No, Wajdan. These are not rights you speak of—they are demands. Property can be divided, but respect, once broken, can never be restored."
Kaina moved closer to her husband, her heart aching as she watched the family unravel.
Agha Jan leaned heavily on his cane, shoulders bent beneath the weight of betrayal.
"This is not what I built, Wajdan. I wanted my children to stand united. I wanted honor. Instead, you bring dishonor to my house."
But Wajdan did not listen. He stormed out, his footsteps echoing like thunder against the marble.
For the first time in decades, the Sikandar household felt fractured—its walls unable to contain the storm that had begun.