ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡ ⅴ

Lisa sat in the back of a dimly lit bar, a half-empty glass of whiskey in front of her. The ice had long since melted, leaving the drink watered down—just like her power. She clenched her jaw, staring blankly at the peeling wallpaper, her fingers tapping anxiously against the table.

Her men had abandoned her. and the others had turned their backs, aligning themselves with Michael. The ones who stayed? Useless. Scared. Weak.

She had nothing left.

Lisa exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. No, no, no. There's still time.

She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. There had to be someone—anyone—who could help her. Someone who hated Michael just as much as she did.

Her thumb hovered over a name. Lorenzo Ortega.

A rival drug lord from Miami. Ruthless, unpredictable. The kind of man who would burn down a city just to prove a point. Lisa bit her lip. Was this really the move?

She hesitated for only a second before pressing the call button.

The line rang. Once. Twice.

Then a deep, amused voice answered. "Lisa Marie. Long time."

Lisa took a breath, steadying herself. "I need your help."

A short chuckle. "That so? I heard Michael shut you down. You must be desperate."

Lisa's nails dug into the table. "He got lucky. But if we work together, we can take everything from him."

Silence. Then Lorenzo sighed. "Michael Jackson is the king of L.A., sweetheart. I don't pick losing sides."

Lisa gritted her teeth. "I still have some people—"

"No, you don't," Lorenzo cut her off. "Your own men flipped on you. You're drowning, and you're reaching for a ghost."

Lisa's hands shook. "So you're just gonna let him win?"

Lorenzo chuckled again, this time colder. "He already won."

The line went dead.

Lisa stared at her phone, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her last hope had just hung up on her.

She was truly alone.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, followed by a deep, gut-wrenching scream of frustration. She grabbed the whiskey glass and hurled it across the room, watching it shatter into a million pieces—just like everything she had built.

Lisa had nothing left but rage.

And rage could be deadly.

-

Michael stood by the large bay window of their bedroom, sipping on a glass of wine as he watched Giselle fold tiny baby clothes on the bed.

She was eight months pregnant now, glowing more than ever. Her hair was tied up, her lips slightly pursed in focus as she sorted through the outfits.

Michael smirked. Damn, I love her.

"Are you just gonna stand there watching me, or are you gonna help?" Giselle teased without looking up.

Michael chuckled, setting his glass down before walking over. He picked up a tiny onesie and held it up. "I still can't believe we made this."

Giselle softened, placing a hand on her belly. "Me neither."

Michael leaned down, pressing a kiss to her stomach. "I'm gonna make sure you and this baby have everything you'll ever need. You hear me?"

She smiled, running a hand through his curls. "I know, Michael."

Outside, the world was chaotic. Lisa was falling apart, plotting something reckless.

But inside Neverland, it was just them.

And nothing was going to ruin that.

-

Giselle adjusted her sunglasses as she stepped out of the black SUV, her hand instinctively resting on her baby bump. Javon, her assigned security, opened the door for her and glanced around before giving her a small nod.

"All clear, Miss Giselle."

She nodded, gripping her purse a little tighter. Even though Michael had assured her that Lisa wouldn't dare make a move in broad daylight, Giselle wasn't taking any chances. Her instincts had been sharp ever since Lisa started leaving threats, and she wasn't about to let her guard down.

She walked through the glass doors of the private medical center, feeling the cool air hit her skin. The receptionist smiled at her.

"Good morning, Mrs. Jackson. Dr. Patel is ready for you."

Giselle thanked her and headed toward the examination room. Javon stayed outside the door, standing like a statue.

She had just taken a seat when her phone vibrated in her bag. She pulled it out and saw an unknown number.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She answered cautiously. "Hello?"

Silence.

Then, a low, familiar voice.

"Hope you're ready to say goodbye to that baby, bitch."

Giselle's blood turned ice cold.

Lisa.

Her grip tightened around the phone. "Try it, and you won't live to see the next sunrise."

Lisa laughed darkly. "We'll see about that."

The line cut.

Giselle immediately stood up, breathing heavily. She turned toward the door, her body tensing.

She's here.

She pulled the small gun Javon had gotten her from her purse, keeping it low by her side as she stepped toward the door.

Suddenly, the lights in the hallway flickered, and in the reflection of the glass cabinet beside her, she saw a figure approaching.

Lisa.

Dressed in all black, a knife glinting in her hand.

Giselle spun around just in time. Lisa lunged, aiming for her stomach—her baby.

But Giselle was faster.

She sidestepped, slamming Lisa's wrist against the wall, making the knife drop with a metallic clang. Lisa growled and threw a wild punch, but Giselle ducked, using every ounce of strength she had to shove Lisa back.

"You really thought I'd come here unprepared?" Giselle hissed, raising the gun.

Lisa's eyes darkened. "You won't shoot me."

"Try me."

Lisa lunged again, but this time, Giselle fired.

The bullet grazed Lisa's arm, making her stumble back with a scream.

The noise alerted Javon, who burst into the room, gun drawn. "Mrs. Jackson, are you okay?!"

Lisa clutched her bleeding arm, eyes burning with hatred. "This isn't over."

Before Javon could grab her, she took off, pushing past a nurse and disappearing into the emergency exit.

Giselle's body shook as she lowered the gun, adrenaline surging through her.

She had won this round.

But she knew Lisa wouldn't stop until one of them was dead.

-

Michael sat in his office at Neverland, reviewing shipments and transactions for the week, when his phone rang.

Javon.

Michael picked up instantly. "What is it?"

"Boss, Lisa just tried to attack Giselle at the clinic."

Michael's blood ran hot. His grip on the phone tightened as he slowly stood up. "What?"

"She came at her with a knife. Giselle handled it. Shot her in the arm. But Lisa got away."

Michael's chair scraped against the floor as he pushed it back. His mind raced, his vision blurring with rage. "Where is my wife now?"

"She's safe. I got her back home. She's shaken up, but she handled herself."

Michael let out a sharp breath. He was proud of her for standing her ground—but the fact that Lisa had gotten that close? That was unacceptable.

"Find her," he ordered, his voice deadly calm. "I want every man on this. I don't care if you have to tear this whole damn city apart—bring that bitch to me."

"Understood."

Michael hung up and slammed his fist against the desk.

Lisa had officially crossed the last line.

He grabbed his gun from the drawer, tucking it into his waistband before storming out.

-

Lisa sat in a dimly lit motel room, pressing a bloodied towel against her arm.

That bitch shot her.

Her jaw clenched as she hissed in pain, tying a piece of fabric around the wound to stop the bleeding. She had underestimated Giselle. She thought she'd be weak, scared—just another pretty little thing for Michael to protect.

But she wasn't.

Lisa's phone buzzed.

She reached for it with her good hand and saw her mother's name flashing across the screen.

Priscilla.

Lisa let it ring. Then, with a scoff, she answered.

"What do you want?"

"What do I want?" Priscilla's voice was sharp. "Lisa, what the hell are you doing?! I just saw the news—Michael's men are tearing the city apart looking for you! Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Lisa rolled her eyes, lighting a cigarette with shaking fingers. "I have it under control."

Priscilla sighed heavily. "No, you don't. You're spiraling. You think you can take down Michael? You're a damn fool."

Lisa's grip on the phone tightened. "He took everything from me."

"And you lost because you couldn't let it go," Priscilla snapped. "Michael always wins. Always. But if you run now, maybe you can still—"

Lisa hung up.

She wasn't running.

She was not going to let Michael win.

She just needed a new plan. Something smarter.

And this time, she would not fail.