The house of Sikandar's Barkat Mansion stood like a fortress of pride. High walls of stone guarded sprawling gardens, marble halls echoed with laughter, and the very air seemed heavy with ease. Generations had been raised beneath its roof—never knowing the weight of hunger, never touching the dust of hardship.
At the heart of it all was Agha Jan—Saad Sikandar to the world, but always Agha Jan within his family. His empire had been carved from sweat, sacrifice, and sleepless nights—a legacy not written in gold but etched into the calluses of his hands. Yet his children, sheltered from the storms he once braved, knew nothing of struggle. What they desired was granted; what they lost was replaced. In their world of privilege, sacrifice was a stranger.
For years, unity had been their strength. The six Sikandar siblings lived under their father's shadow, bound by blood and by the honor of their name. Among them, Wajdan—the eldest—seemed to shine the brightest. Charismatic, admired, almost heroic in the eyes of cousins and grandchildren, he embodied what many believed would be his father's legacy.
But appearances are deceiving. Wajdan's glow was partly the story the family told themselves—a brilliance maintained by pride. In truth, he often looked down upon his quieter brother, Ruhan. Unlike his siblings, Ruhan chose to begin from scratch, vowing to first earn his place in the world before ever touching the family empire. By the age of fifteen he worked and learned the struggles of ordinary men, but he never spoke of his efforts, never boasted, never challenged Wajdan's arrogance. His silence was not weakness, but patience—and it made him invisible in a house dazzled by Wajdan's showmanship.
Beneath Wajdan's charm lay a hunger—a restless, consuming desire—that would one day devour the family whole.
It began quietly, like cracks beneath polished marble: small disputes over property, whispers of entitlement, the old questions of inheritance. Agha Jan, now in his seventies, longed for peace in his final years. Instead, he found rebellion. The son who had once been his pride would rise as his deepest wound.
The Sikandar household — Barkat Mansion , once a sanctuary of comfort and honor, was destined to be torn apart by greed, betrayal, and the poisonous thirst for power. And when the marble halls finally crumbled, only one question would remain:
What is a family's last honor—its empire of wealth, or the love that binds its blood together?