The Heir’s Awakening. The Heir Legacy, #1

New York City never truly sleeps. Not at 3 a.m., when the streetsglitter with gold from streetlights and neon flickers from some24-hour bodega down below. But up here, in my penthouseperched like it owns the skyline, the city's noise doesn't matter. Tonight, something else is stirring inside me-something olderthan the concrete, older than my carefully curated life. I bolt upright in bed, heart hammering.
Moonlight spills acrossthe marble floor, catching the edges of my gold-etched desk. Myparents' framed photo glares at me from the corner. Dad, tall, composed, storm in his eyes. Mom, elegant, sharp, every smilemeasured. And yet. it's like I'm staring at strangers. Faces Iknow, lives I don't. Then I hear it-a whisper, soft, impossible to ignore. Juannika.rise. I press my palms against the sheets, trying to convince myself1THEHEIR'SAWAKENINGit'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.