𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⅩⅧ

TW: rape and kidnapping

Giselle's POV

Aaliyah sat on the edge of the bed in Giselle's room, wrapped in one of Michael's silk robes. Her face was pale, eyes red and swollen from crying. Solange sat beside her, holding her hand, trying to comfort her — but nothing could ease the pain in the room.

Giselle sat in front of them, gripping her own hands so tight her nails dug into her palms.

"Tell us everything, ma." Solange's voice was soft, but there was a sharp edge underneath.

Aaliyah sniffled, wiping her nose with the sleeve of the robe. Her voice cracked as she began.

"I was leaving the dance class... I was walking to the bus stop like always... Then this black car pulled up beside me." Her voice trembled, and her eyes filled with tears again. "Two guys jumped out... They grabbed me before I could scream."

Giselle felt her stomach drop.

"They took me to... I don't even know where... Somewhere in Compton. An old building. They tied me up... They—"

Her breath caught in her throat. She shut her eyes, like she was trying to push the memory out of her mind.

"I fought them... but they were too strong... They—"

She broke down into sobs, burying her face in her hands.

Giselle's heart shattered. Tears welled up in her eyes as she got up and wrapped her arms around Aaliyah, holding her tight.

"I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry, ma... This is all my fault."

"It's not your fault," Aaliyah mumbled into her shoulder, but Giselle couldn't believe that.

It was her fault. If she had never gotten involved with Michael, none of this would have happened.

Giselle's mind was spinning. She knew exactly who was behind this. Prince.

That bastard sent a message — loud and clear.

Later that night, when Michael came back from his office, Giselle pulled him into their bedroom and closed the door behind them.

He was lighting up a cigarette by the window when she finally gathered the courage to speak.

"I need to tell you something."

Michael glanced at her through the smoke, his sharp brown eyes narrowing.

"What is it?"

Giselle took a deep breath, her hands shaking.

"Aaliyah... she told us what happened." Her voice broke as she said it. "They... they raped her."

Michael froze. His whole body tensed. The cigarette burned between his fingers, forgotten. His face went cold — colder than she'd ever seen it before.

Giselle wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold back her tears. "It's my fault... They did it because of me."

Michael flicked the cigarette out the window, his jaw clenched so tight she could see the vein in his neck.

"Don't you ever say that again," he growled, stepping closer to her. His eyes were dark — that dangerous side of him rising to the surface. "This ain't your fault, Gigi... This is my world."

He grabbed her face gently, forcing her to look at him.

"I'm the one who brought you into this... I'm the one they tryna hurt."

Giselle's eyes brimmed with tears. "But—"

"I'll handle it." His voice was low and calm... but there was something deadly underneath.

Giselle swallowed hard, knowing exactly what that meant.

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Michael's POV

Later that night, Michael sat in the back of his black Cadillac with Cris and Eddie, the car crawling through the streets of Compton.

His gun rested heavy on his lap.

He had gotten the names out of Aaliyah without her even knowing — two low-level punks working under Prince's payroll. They thought they could touch what was his and walk away?

Michael's blood boiled just thinking about it.

"You sure you wanna do this yourself, Mike?" Cris asked from the front seat.

Michael leaned back against the leather, his face cold as stone.

"They touched my girl's friend... They gonna die by my hands."

Cris and Eddie didn't argue. They knew better.

The two men were hiding out in an abandoned crack house — high off their own supply, thinking they got away with it.

Michael walked in with his black gloves on, shutting the door behind him. The smell of piss and burnt rubber filled the room.

One of the guys looked up, eyes glazed.

"You lost, man?"

Michael pulled out his gun and shot him straight in the kneecap. The crack of the gun echoed through the room, mixing with the man's screams.

The other guy jumped up, reaching for his piece — but Eddie was quicker, pinning him to the wall with a knife to his throat.

Michael crouched down beside the one screaming on the floor.

"You know who I am?" he asked, voice low.

The man nodded frantically, blood pouring from his leg.

"You know who that girl was you touched?"

The man whimpered, sweat dripping down his face.

"That was my fiancée's best friend."

Michael pressed the gun against the man's forehead, his voice deadly calm.

"You think you can touch what's mine... and walk away?"

"N-no, man... We didn't know—"

BANG.

Blood splattered across the wall.

Michael stood up, wiping the gun clean with a handkerchief.

"Send Prince a message," he muttered to Eddie. "Nobody touches what's mine."

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Giselle's POV

Michael came home late that night, smelling like smoke and metal. He didn't say a word — just climbed into bed beside her and pulled her close.

Giselle could feel the tension in his body, the violence still lingering on his skin.

She didn't ask what he did.

She already knew.

Instead, she just laid her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"You don't have to protect me like this," she whispered into the dark.

Michael's hand slid up her back, gripping her waist.

"I made you mine... This is what comes with it."

Giselle's heart squeezed at his words — because deep down... she knew there was no turning back now.

This was her life.

His world.

And she had chosen to step into it — willingly.