𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 Ⅰ

𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅'𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗏

Michael kept his hands in his pockets as he walked the streets, the weight of his situation pressing down on him. He had no plan, no real direction, just the knowledge that he had failed to meet Priscilla's terms. No kids with Lisa meant no clean way out of this debt. And Priscilla didn't seem like the type to just let it go.

That's when he met them.

A group of men lingering near an alley off Long Beach, dealing discreetly to the Beach Boys and crackers who wandered in from the clubs and street corners. The scent of saltwater mixed with the bitter stench of chemicals, the unmistakable sign of cocaine cutting through the night air. One of the men, a sharp-dressed guy with gold chains and slicked-back hair, noticed Michael watching.

"You lookin' for somethin'?" the man asked, lighting a cigarette and exhaling lazily.

Michael hesitated for only a second before stepping closer. "Depends. You got something for me?"

A smirk stretched across the man's face. "That depends. You got what it takes?"

Within a week, Michael was running small deals, dropping off packages, and collecting cash from desperate hands. The money came quick, quicker than anything he'd ever known. But it also came with eyes watching him from every direction, waiting to see if he would slip up.

It wasn't long before he needed a place of his own.

The apartment in Compton was a mess—peeling paint, cockroaches that scattered when he flicked the lights on, and a mattress on the floor with springs poking through the fabric. But it was cheap, and more importantly, it kept him out of Priscilla's sight.

Sitting on the edge of his worn-out mattress, Michael picked up the phone, dialing home with careful fingers.

"Hello?" his mother's voice came through, warm and familiar.

"Hello,mother" he said, forcing a smile as if she could see him. "Just wanted to check in."

"Oh, baby, how's the city treatin' you? You eatin' good?"

Michael leaned back, staring at the cracked ceiling. "Yeah, Mother. Got a job, too. Nothin' big, just some warehouse work."

His mother sighed in relief. "That's good, baby. Stay outta trouble, you hear me?"

"Of course, Mother," he lied. "I'm doin' just fine."

After hanging up, he ran a hand down his face. He couldn't keep up the lie forever, but for now, it was easier than the truth.

The next call was to Marlon.

"Ayo, Mike! 'Bout time you called," Marlon's voice was light, but Michael could hear the concern under it.

"Yeah, man, been busy settlin' in," Michael said. "Listen... you should come see the place. I'll show you around."

"You serious?" Marlon asked. "Aight, bet. I'll catch a bus up this weekend."

Michael nodded to himself, even though Marlon couldn't see him. "Yeah... see you soon."

As he hung up, he stared out the window, the city lights flickering in the distance. Things were moving fast. Too fast. But there was no turning back now.

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Sometime passed since Marlon's visit, and he definitely wasn't pleased by the conditions his brother was in—and even worse, the whole drug business. He knew their mother would be petrified if she found out, and Joseph? Even worse. But Michael already had half of the money for Priscilla, and he was going to deliver it to her sooner rather than later.

Michael had reached the Presley house early in the morning with the money. "Come on, Mike, you can do this," I mutter to myself.

I knock on the door, and Lisa answers, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of me. "Hello, Lisa, is your mother home?" I ask.

"Yeah, she's in the living room. Come in," she says, moving aside to let me pass. I walk my way to the living room with confidence, gripping the envelope tightly in my hands.

Priscilla looks up from her cup of coffee as I step inside. She raises an eyebrow, setting the cup down slowly. "Michael," she greets, her voice cool but curious.

"Here's the half," I say, placing the envelope on the table between us. "I'll bring you the rest in at least two months."

Lisa watches from the doorway, arms crossed. There's something unreadable in her gaze, but I don't have time to figure it out. Priscilla picks up the envelope, flipping through the bills before nodding.

"You're making good on your word. That's respectable," she says, but there's an edge to her tone, like she's still waiting for me to fail.

"I always do," I reply, keeping my expression neutral. But deep down, I know that keeping that promise is only going to drag me deeper into the world I've started to build for myself.

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Time passed after I gave Priscilla the rest of the money. This time, Lisa was nowhere to be seen, but I didn't put any mind to her. Not until I saw that girl at the club. A beautiful, light-skinned girl with curls. She was with another girl who resembled her and a straight-haired girl. She seemed frightened to me, like she didn't belong.

Michael leaned back against the VIP section, a glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers as he surveyed the dance floor. The club was alive—neon lights flickered across bodies swaying to the heavy bass, laughter and conversation blending into a hypnotic hum. He'd seen plenty of women walk in and out of this place, but something about her made him pause.

The girl with the soft curls and light brown skin stood close to her friends, looking around the club with cautious eyes. She wasn't like the others—wasn't throwing herself into the chaos, wasn't trying to catch attention. But she had his.

Michael exhaled, taking a slow sip from his drink. She was out of place here. Too delicate. Too reserved.

"Who is she?" he wondered, his gaze lingering on the way her friend—the bolder one—whispered something in her ear, making her smile shyly.

"Yo, Mike, you good?" one of his guys asked, nudging him.

He didn't respond right away. He just watched.

Then, as if feeling his stare, she looked up. Their eyes met across the room, and for a second, time slowed. But instead of holding his gaze, she turned away, shifting uncomfortably, almost like she felt something she wasn't ready for.

That only made him more curious.

Michael put his glass down and leaned over to one of his workers, a young guy who handled small business inside the club. "Find out who she is," he said, voice low but firm.

The guy nodded and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Michael to sit back and smirk.

"Let's see who you are, sweetheart."

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𝗀𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗅l𝖾'𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗏

I stand in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. Why is it so hard for me to just be myself?

Shaking the thought away, I glance at the clock—damn, it's getting late. I quickly put on my sneakers, grab my duffel bag and keys, and rush out the door. Jumping into my car, I speed off to pick up Aaliyah for dance class.

When I pull up in front of her house, I honk the horn.

"Okay, Mom, whatever! I don't care!" Aaliyah yells from the doorstep. A second later, she storms toward my car, yanks the door open, and gets in, slamming it shut.

"My bad, Gigi. My mom's tripping. She's mad because I'm going out and no one's home to watch Jerry," she huffs.

"It's okay, girl. Don't stress," I say, though I can't shake the feeling that someone's watching me. I glance around but see nothing. "These classes are gonna help us let all this stress go."

I put the car in drive. "Let's get out of here. We don't wanna be late ".

I start the car again and drive toward Inglewood, heading to the entertainment center that guy Prince told me about.

When we pull up, I park and unbuckle my seatbelt. "Alright, we're here."

Aaliyah glances around, her eyebrows shooting up. "Damn, this place is bougie. Are you sure you saw this in the newspaper?"

I laugh. "I mean, yeah. Don't get me wrong, it looks amazing." I take a moment to look around, too, taking in the sleek building and glowing lights.

"Alright, let's get in," Aaliyah says, dashing inside.

At the reception desk, a woman sits chewing gum lazily, barely acknowledging us.

"Hi, we're here for the beginners' dance class," I say, glancing at the cut-out piece of newspaper in my hand.

She pops her gum and nods toward the hallway. "Oh yeah, just walk through this hallway, then turn left. Big door at the end." Her tone is flat, uninterested.

"Thank you so much! Have a nice day," I say, trying to be polite. Then I grab Aaliyah's hand. "Come on, we're late as hell."

We hurry down what feels like a never-ending hallway before finally pushing open the double doors. Inside, a massive ballroom-slash-studio stretches before us, filled with girls in bright leotards. In the center of the room, a large camera is set up.

"Well, well, who do we have here?" a blonde woman in a pink leotard says, eyeing us. "You girls must be new."

"Oh, yes! We're new. Nice to meet you," I say, stretching out my hand for a handshake. I nudge Aaliyah, silently urging her to say hi too.

"Hey," Giselle started, stepping closer. "Do you know where Prince is?"

The girl froze for a second , Her blue eyes flickered with something—hesitation, maybe even fear—before she shrugged.

"Nobody talks about Prince," she said flatly. "And nobody really sees him, either."

Giselle frowned. "What do you mean? He's the one who told me to come here."

The blonde just smirked like she knew something Giselle didn't. "Then I guess you're lucky."

Before Giselle could ask anything else, Aaliyah appeared beside her, already stretching her arms above her head. "Come on, girl, we gotta warm up before they start thinking we're amateurs."

Giselle let the weird feeling settle in her stomach but nodded, following Aaliyah to an open space by the mirrors. They moved through stretches, rolling their shoulders, loosening their hips, getting into the rhythm of the room.

But as they did, Giselle felt the weight of eyes on her.

A group of girls across the room were whispering, throwing quick glances their way. Aaliyah noticed too, rolling her eyes with a scoff.

"They act like we don't belong here," she muttered under her breath.

Giselle tried to shake off the feeling, but something about this place—about Prince, about the way people acted—made her skin prickle.

She just hoped she hadn't walked into something bigger than she'd bargained for.

While she and Aaliyah are stretching, one of the other dancers—a sharp-tongued girl who's been watching them—leans in. She lowers her voice like she's about to spill something juicy.

"You're new, huh?" she says, eyeing Giselle. "Let me give you some advice—stay out of Prince's way. Nobody sees him, nobody talks about him. But if he wants something, he takes it."

Giselle tenses, remembering her mother's warning. She exchanges a glance with Aaliyah, but before she can ask more, the girl smirks and walks off, leaving Giselle with a gnawing feeling in her stomach.

She wonders—Is this the man Mom was warning me about? The thought lingers, but for now, she pushes it aside. She's here to dance, not get caught up in rumors.

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ohhh my gusnessss when is michael gonna make a move or prince willlllll oop

will se next chapter, please vote and comment guys dont be shy. 🤕