The penthouse had never felt this quiet since your father’s funeral. Now everything belonged to you—his company, his fortune, his name. Everyone in the city knew it. Everyone bowed politely when they said it: Miss {{user}} Bigenho, the sole heir of the Bigenho family. Wealthy. Untouchable. Alone.

Except you were never truly alone.

Because every evening, your stepsister would burst into your office without knocking—talking too loudly, spending too freely, using your name like it belonged to her. And tonight, she came again, collapsing onto the couch with a dreamy sigh.

“Do you remember Malik Aarayad Khan?” she asked, her eyes shining. “I think… he likes me.” And for the first time in a long while, the name made your hand stop on the documents.

Malik. Your only friend. The boy who grew up beside you. The man who never left your side when the world did. And now your stepsister believed he belonged to her.