ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ Ⅵ

𝘨𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦'𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘷

I shift in my seat, trying to calm the nerves bubbling in my stomach. The city lights flicker through the tinted windows, making everything outside look like a dream—one I'm still unsure I want to be part of.

"Michael, can you roll the partition up?" I ask, my voice softer than I intended.

His lips twitch into a smirk as he glances at me. "You shy or somethin', baby?"

I roll my eyes, but before I can answer, he turns toward the front. "Bill, pull it up."

With a quiet hum, the glass divider slides into place, sealing us off from the world outside. The air inside the car suddenly feels thicker.

Michael leans in, resting his elbow on the back of the seat, his dark eyes scanning me slowly, deliberately. "So..." His voice is smooth, teasing. "You ready to step into my world, Gigi?"

I swallow, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my dress. "Yes," I say, but it comes out softer, almost unsure.

He catches that. He always catches everything.

His smirk fades just a little as he tilts his head, studying me. "You sure?" His voice is lower now, more serious.

I meet his gaze, holding it even though it makes my heart race. "I'm sure."

The air between us crackles with something unspoken, something dangerous and intoxicating all at once. But before either of us can say another word, the car slows, then stops.

Michael glances out the window and smirks. "Looks like we're here, beautiful."

I exhale a breath I didn't realize I was holding as the driver steps out to open my door. 

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𝒎𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍'𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒗

The restaurant is dimly lit, the kind of place where people whisper secrets over candlelight and million-dollar deals are made behind closed doors. I keep a hand on the small of Giselle's back as I guide her inside. She's tense, her eyes scanning the place like she doesn't belong. But she does. She just don't know it yet.

We sit at a secluded table in the corner, away from curious eyes. I order for us—something light, something she'll like. She watches me with a look I can't quite place, like she's trying to figure me out.

"You always this bossy?" she teases, raising a brow.

I smirk. "Only when I know what's best."

She shakes her head, but she's smiling now.

We ease into conversation, peeling back layers, exposing just enough to keep the other intrigued.

"I got to LA on business," I tell her, swirling the whiskey in my glass. "Had to settle a debt."

"Debt?" she asks, her eyes narrowing slightly.

I exhale, leaning back in my chair. "My father... He owed the Presleys money. A lot of it. Lisa's mother made sure I paid every damn penny."

Her lips part slightly, like she wants to say something, but she doesn't. Instead, she nods, absorbing it.

"What about you?" I ask, setting my glass down. "Tell me something real."

She lets out a breath, looking down for a moment before meeting my gaze again. "My dad left when Solange was a baby. I had to step up, be the man of the house... even though I was just a kid myself."

I don't say anything, just let her talk.

"My mom—she's tough, but I get why. She had to be. She's always on me, always making sure I don't... I don't end up lost." She exhales, almost like she's realizing something out loud. "She's scared. I know that now."

I nod, understanding more than she thinks.

We eat in comfortable silence after that, letting the words settle between us. It's a rare thing—to sit with someone and not feel the need to fill the quiet.

When we're done, I pull out the small box from my jacket pocket and slide it across the table.

"What's this?" she asks, looking at me before carefully opening it.

Inside, the snake pendant glints under the soft light. Her fingers trace over it, and I see it—how she falls in love with it instantly.

"It suits you," I murmur.

She looks up at me, something unreadable in her eyes. Then, without a word, she unclasps the chain around her neck and replaces it with mine.

I smirk, satisfied.

We leave the restaurant, and she's warm against me, a little unsteady. "I think I'm drunk," she murmurs, leaning into me as we walk to the car.

I chuckle. "Nah, you're just feeling good."

The drive back to her place is quiet, her head resting against the seat, her fingers occasionally playing with the pendant around her neck.

When we pull up to her house, I step out first, coming around to open her door. She wobbles slightly, and I steady her with a hand on her waist.

"You good?"

She nods, smiling lazily. "Yeah..."

I walk her up the porch steps, but I don't follow her inside. Not yet. Instead, I lean in, my voice low. "Keep that necklace on. Always."

She looks up at me, and for a moment, I think she's gonna say something smart, but she doesn't.

Instead, she just nods.

I step back, watching as she slips inside, the door clicking shut behind her.

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gιѕєℓℓє'ѕ ρσν

I barely make it through the front door without stumbling, my heels clicking against the wooden floor louder than I want them to. My head is buzzing, my body warm, and that damn snake pendant around my neck feels heavier than it should.

Then I see her.

Mama's sitting in the living room, arms crossed, her sharp eyes already cutting into me.

"Where the hell have you been?" Her voice is low but tight—dangerous.

I swallow hard, standing up straighter. "Out."

She scoffs. "Out where?"

I roll my eyes. "It's not your business, Mama."

Wrong answer.

She stands up so fast I flinch. "Not my business? Not my business? Giselle, as long as you're under my roof, everything you do is my damn business."

I shake my head, frustration bubbling up in my chest. "I'm grown, Mama! You don't gotta control every little thing I do!"

"Control?" She lets out a humorless laugh. "Girl, you don't know the first thing about control. You walk in here smelling like expensive liquor, dressed up like some man's trophy, and I'm supposed to just let it slide?" She points at me. "Who were you with?"

I hesitate. Just for a second. But she sees it.

Her lips press into a tight line. "You were with that man, weren't you? That man everybody's whispering about."

My hands clench into fists. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Her expression hardens. "Oh, but I do. And I'm telling you right now, Giselle—whatever you think this is, you better end it. That man ain't no good."

My throat tightens. "You don't know him."

"And you do?" she challenges, stepping closer.

I don't answer. I can't. Because the truth is... I don't. Not really.

But I want to.

Mama exhales sharply, shaking her head. "I raised you better than this."

That's it. That's the final straw.

I spin on my heel and storm up the stairs, my vision blurring with tears. I throw open my bedroom door, my breath coming in shaky gasps as I grab a bag and start shoving clothes into it.

She don't get it. She never does.

I wipe at my face angrily, zip up the bag, and without thinking, I push my window open. The night air hits my face, cool against my flushed skin. My heart pounds as I swing my legs over the ledge, gripping the gutter and slowly climbing down.

When my feet hit the pavement, I don't stop. I just start walking.

The streets are quiet, the glow of streetlights casting long shadows as I make my way down the sidewalk. I don't know where I'm going. I just know I can't stay here.

Then, out of nowhere, a black car pulls up beside me.

The window rolls down, and there he is.

Michael.

He leans against the door, watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes. "You lost, baby?"

I don't say anything, just wipe my face and keep walking.

He chuckles, slow and smooth. "You runnin' away?"

I stop. My shoulders tense.

He already knows the answer.

Michael sighs, then reaches over and pushes the passenger door open. "Get in."

I hesitate, looking back toward my house in the distance.

Then I look at him.

I don't know why, but my feet move before my mind catches up. I slide into the seat, shutting the door behind me.

Michael doesn't ask any more questions. He just pulls off into the night, leaving everything else behind.

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bey has left the nest, to get in the arms of her prince

well damn