This Eid was not Eid. Whatever happened that day in Barkat Mansion had never been heard, never seen before. The storm had begun.
Wajdan's tongue grew sharper with each passing day. In front of collaborators, in public gatherings, even before servants, he mocked his father. He no longer called him Agha Jan, or Baba, neither Abba but sneered, "Haji sahab."
Once, during a business meeting, he laughed coldly:
"Haji sahab only knows how to give khairat (charity). If that is the case, then give me what I ask for in khairat as well."
The insult echoed like poison through the haveli.
The air inside the Sikandar household thickened. Servants whispered, children carried unspoken fear in their games, and Agha Jan's illness deepened with every blow of humiliation.
Behind closed doors, Wajdan gathered his allies. Sania, always dignified, leaned forward with conviction.
"The eldest deserves more than the younger ones. That is law, that is tradition."
Zavian, sharp-eyed, calculating:
"Bhai, Abba won't live forever. We cannot wait for his passing. Pressure must be applied—legal, emotional, whatever it takes. The house, the land, the businesses… they must fall into our hands before others twist the matter."
Rubab, draped in silks, nodded with pride.
"This family needs direction. You are the eldest—you are the natural king."
Wajdan smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
"Without a king, this house is nothing but walls."
Meanwhile, Ruhan stayed close to his father. He insisted on a hospital visit when Agha Jan resisted.
"This time you must listen to me, Abba," he said with quiet resolve. It was the first time he demanded anything—and Agha Jan, moved by that firmness, could not refuse.
At the hospital, Ruhan walked step by step, ensuring every test was done. He carried the files himself, stood beside his father like a shield.
Back at Barkat Mansion, rumors of secret meetings spread fast. Alyna and Rayyan could bear no more. One afternoon, they stormed into the study where Wajdan sat.
"Enough, bhai!" Rayyan's voice shook. "You are breaking this house with your own hands."
Wajdan rose like a storm. "A house without a king is just walls! Do you want chaos? Do you want outsiders to mock us? I will secure the Sikandar name, even if I must take it by force."
Alyna's eyes brimmed with tears. "You call it security, bhai, but it is nothing but pride. You are not saving us—you are tearing us apart. Every word you speak bends Abba's back lower."
Then came Sabiha—quiet, firm, her truth sharper than steel.
"Wajdan bhai, this house is not yours. It is Abba's. It is where our mother lived and died, where our father-built life brick by brick. And yet you wish to sell it, divide it, shame it like a marketplace?"
Her words froze the room.
Kaina stepped beside her, her voice steady:
"You demand respect, yet you destroy the dignity of the man who gave you everything. If Abba's honor breaks, what honor will remain for us? Wealth we can lose, bhai. But if we lose respect for parents, we have lost everything."
For the first time, Wajdan faltered. His jaw clenched, but no answer came. He turned away, eyes burning.
That night, Wajdan hosted investors, proudly announcing his upcoming collaboration with Forex. As guests departed, Wali walked a few steps behind him. He had always shadowed his father like a loyal soldier. But this time, his feet slowed.
He stopped. Turned. Slipped silently into his room.
Wajdan never noticed. He strode ahead, intoxicated with pride.
But Sarim noticed. From the staircase, he saw her brother retreat. His young heart sank. For he saw what her father did not—the growing emptiness in Wali's eyes, the shame of being called Wajdan's son.
Wali no longer adored the man he once called hero. He felt betrayed. If being Wajdan's son meant becoming like him, he wanted no part of it.
In hushed corners, Aleena and Rayyan began their mission to hold the family together. They pleaded with bhabis—Sabiha, Kaina—and even approached Rubab.
"Please, speak to bhai. Make him stop before it's too late."
Rubab only folded her arms. "Whatever your brother does is right. He is the eldest. His decisions are my decisions."
And so, loyalty and betrayal split the Sikandar's like a blade.
That night, whispers and prayers mingled in the same house. But both sides knew—the cracks had grown too wide for plaster.