glitter with gold from streetlights and neon flickers from some
24-hour bodega down below. But up here, in my penthouse
perched like it owns the skyline, the city's noise doesn't matter.
Tonight, something else is stirring inside mesomething older
than the concrete, older than my carefully curated life.
I bolt upright in bed, heart hammering. Moonlight spills across
the marble floor, catching the edges of my gold-etched desk. My
parents' framed photo glares at me from the corner. Dad, tall,
composed, storm in his eyes. Mom, elegant, sharp, every smile
measured. And yet... it's like I'm staring at strangers. Faces I
know, lives I don't.
Then I hear ita whisper, soft, impossible to ignore. Juannika...
rise.
I press my palms against the sheets, trying to convince myself
1THEHEIR'SAWAKENING
it's exhaustion, maybe too many late nights in the boardroom.
But no. My chest tightens as if the words have roots in my bones.
You are the first-born. You are the heir.
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