chapter Ⅻ

𝖒𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖊𝖑'𝖘 𝖕𝖔𝖛

I had a call from Chris saying that things had calmed down with Prince and that it was safe to return to the city. I would have stayed from the beginning but I don't want to risk it with Giselle, These kinds of things are not safe for a girl like her, I must take care of her and I will not let anyone hurt her.

We started packing things in the car when we heard a commotion in the house.

𝓃𝑜𝒷𝑜𝒹𝓎'𝓈 𝓅𝑜𝓋

"I'm coming with y'all!" she declared, tossing her bags into the trunk without waiting for permission.

Michael groaned. "Janet, go back inside."

She folded her arms, tilting her head defiantly. "No. I'm tired of being stuck here. I need a change of scenery."

Before Michael could argue, Katherine stepped outside, looking between her children with mild concern. Joseph stood behind her, arms crossed.

"Michael, let her go," Katherine said gently. "She's a grown woman."

Michael ran a hand down his face. "Mother..."

Janet smirked. "See? Even Mother agrees."

Joseph, however, was less convinced. "Just don't come back cryin' when you realize L.A. ain't all fun and games," he muttered before going back inside.

Giselle watched as Michael clenched his jaw, already seeing the wheels turning in his head. She could tell he was trying to figure out how he was going to keep his business under wraps now that Janet—who loved getting into everybody's business—was tagging along.

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As they entered the house, Latoya quickly pulled Janet aside for an impromptu tour, and Marlon grabbed his keys before heading out to work.

That left Michael and Giselle alone.

They walked to their room, the familiarity of it wrapping around them like a warm blanket. Michael exhaled as he pulled off his shirt, tossing it onto a nearby chair.

Giselle, sitting on the bed, was about to say something when her eyes landed on his back. Her breath caught in her throat.

Right in the middle of his spine, near his shoulder blade, was a colorless patch of skin. It stood out starkly against the rest of his deep brown complexion.

"Michael," she called softly, furrowing her brows.

"Hm?" He turned slightly, pulling a fresh shirt from the dresser.

She stood up and reached out, her fingers gently tracing the spot. "What's this?"

Michael stiffened for a moment before pulling away and slipping the shirt over his head. "Nothing."

"Michael," she pressed, stepping in front of him. "That's not nothing."

His expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "It's just... something I've had for a while."

Giselle frowned. "It's a skin condition, isn't it?"

Michael sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand down his face. After a moment, he muttered, "It's called vitiligo."

Giselle's heart clenched at the vulnerability in his voice.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked softly, sitting beside him.

He shrugged. "Because it doesn't matter."

She studied his face, noticing the way his hands clenched together. "But it does to you, doesn't it?"

Michael was silent for a moment before he finally exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I just... I don't want people looking at me different."

Giselle reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. "It doesn't change how I see you, Michael."

His eyes met hers, searching for any sign of pity, but all he found was understanding.

After a moment, he nodded and gave her hand a squeeze. "Come on, let's go eat before Janet starts nosing around in things she shouldn't."

Giselle let out a soft laugh, knowing that their conversation wasn't over—but for now, it was enough.

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The evening settled into a quiet rhythm, but the weight of their earlier conversation still lingered between them. Giselle watched Michael as he focused on his food, his usual charm and playful nature a little dimmed. She wanted to bring him back to the present, to remind him that he didn't have to carry everything alone.

They were sitting at the long dining table in Havenhurst, the atmosphere lively with conversation as the family caught up. Janet was talking animatedly about her plans now that she was in L.A. Latoya was mostly not paying attention, throwing in a few sarcastic remarks every now and then.

Michael remained quiet, only speaking when necessary.

Giselle, sitting beside him, reached under the table and gave his knee a reassuring squeeze. He glanced at her, his expression softening.

Just as dinner was wrapping up, the doorbell rang.

Everyone paused. It was late—too late for guests.

Michael tensed immediately.

"I'll get it," Marlon said, pushing back his chair. But Michael was already up, moving toward the door before anyone could stop him.

Giselle's stomach twisted. Something about this felt off.

Michael opened the door, and the air in the room shifted.

Prince stood on the front steps, a smug grin on his face. He was dressed in all black, his gold chains catching the dim light of the porch. Behind him stood two of his men, their presence heavy with unspoken tension.

Giselle's breath hitched.

Michael's voice was low, controlled. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Prince chuckled, stepping inside without an invitation. "Relax, Mikey. Just came to talk." His eyes flickered to the dining room, landing on Giselle. His smirk widened. "Oh... am I interrupting family dinner?"

Michael's jaw clenched. "You got five seconds to say what you need to say before I have you dragged outta here."

Prince held up his hands in mock surrender. "Man, I just wanted to have a little chat. You know... about business."

Michael crossed his arms, blocking Prince's view of the dining table. "We don't have business."

Prince's expression darkened for a split second before his grin returned. He leaned in slightly. "See... that's where you're wrong. I warned you before, didn't I? You took something that belongs to me."

Giselle's blood ran cold. She knew exactly what he meant.

Michael, who had been tense before, was now absolutely still.

The room was silent. Even the rest of the family—who had stayed seated at the table—could feel the shift in energy.

Prince smiled, stepping back. "Just wanted to remind you... I don't like sharing."

And with that, he turned and strolled out of the house, his men following behind him.

Michael slammed the door shut so hard the walls shook.

Giselle swallowed hard, watching as he ran a hand down his face, his breathing heavy with barely contained rage.

janet stood from the table, concern written all over her face. "Michael... what was that about?"

Michael didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned to Giselle, his eyes scanning her as if making sure she was still there, still safe.

Then, without a word, he grabbed her wrist and led her upstairs.

The moment they were inside their bedroom, he locked the door.

Giselle turned to him, her heart pounding. "Michael... what did he mean?"

Michael exhaled sharply, pacing the room. "He's trying to get in my head."

"But—"

Michael stopped and turned to her, his expression serious. "You're not leaving this house without me. From now on, I don't care if it's to go to the damn store—you go with me, or you don't go at all."

Giselle's breath caught. "Michael..."

His hands found her waist, pulling her close. "I'm not losing you," he murmured, his forehead pressing against hers.

Giselle closed her eyes, feeling the weight of his words.

She knew this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.