𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 ⅩⅨ

Giselle's POV

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the walls of the bedroom. I sat on the edge of the bed, brushing Aaliyah's hair carefully, trying to be as gentle as I could. Her dark curls had lost their usual shine — the spark she always carried seemed dimmer now.

It had been three days since Michael's men found her. Three days of her barely eating, barely speaking. I could still hear her muffled cries at night when she thought nobody was listening.

"You want me to braid it, girl?" I asked softly, breaking the silence.

Aaliyah shrugged, staring down at the floor.

"You always liked when I did your hair."

"I don't care... do whatever." Her voice was hollow, a shell of the girl I used to know.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and started braiding, my fingers moving gently through her hair. I hated seeing her like this — so broken, so small.

I glanced over at Solange, who was sitting by the window, smoking a blunt with the window cracked open. Her face was tight, her eyes hard. I knew she wanted blood.

She hadn't stopped talking about how we needed to find the men who did this.

If she only knew...

Michael didn't tell me what he did — but I saw it in his eyes when he came back that night. The way he held me tighter than usual, the smell of gunpowder still clinging to his clothes... I knew those men were already in hell.

But that didn't erase what they did to Aaliyah.

Nothing ever would.

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By the afternoon, Michael called us all downstairs.

I helped Aaliyah get dressed in some of my clothes since she didn't want to wear anything of her own. I could tell she was trying to act normal — trying to force herself to get better — but I could see the fear still lingering in her eyes.

When we reached the living room, Michael was sitting on the couch with Cris and Eddie, smoking a cigar. He looked up when he saw us, his eyes immediately softening when they landed on me.

"Come here, baby."

I walked over, sitting beside him. His hand slipped onto my thigh, squeezing gently.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against my ear.

"You girls need a change of scenery," he whispered, making sure the others couldn't hear.

I looked at him, confused.

"You're all going to New York tomorrow."

My eyes widened.

"What?"

Michael leaned back, his dark brown eyes locked on mine.

"I already bought the tickets. You, Aaliyah, and Solange. Y'all deserve to get away from all this shit for a while."

My heart clenched.

"But what about you?"

Michael smirked, flicking the ashes from his cigar into the tray.

"I'll catch up later... I got some business to handle first."

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The rest of the day flew by in a blur.

Solange went back home to pack her things, and I stayed behind with Aaliyah, helping her get ready.

I tried to distract her — putting on music, letting her help me pick out outfits. Little by little, I could see the smallest pieces of her coming back.

"Remember when we used to talk about moving to New York?" I said, folding a pair of jeans into the suitcase.

Aaliyah sat on the bed, hugging her knees.

"Yeah... You wanted to open your own hair salon."

"And you wanted to dance on Broadway."

A faint smile flickered across her lips, but it disappeared just as quickly.

"That's never gonna happen now."

I dropped what I was doing and sat beside her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders.

"Don't you ever say that, Liyah... This doesn't define you."

She blinked hard, fighting back tears.

"You don't understand, Gigi... They ruined me."

I felt my heart crack wide open.

I grabbed her face gently, making her look at me.

"You hear me? They didn't ruin you... They could never ruin you."

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That night, Michael came into our room while I was tucking Aaliyah into bed.

He leaned against the doorframe, watching us quietly.

"You been takin' good care of her," he murmured when I finally stood up.

I walked over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. His cologne mixed with the faint scent of cigarettes.

"She's my girl... I'd do anything for her."

Michael kissed the top of my head, his hands sliding down to squeeze my ass.

"I know you would, baby... That's why I love you."

I tilted my head up to look at him.

"You really think going to New York is a good idea?"

He nodded, his face serious.

"You need to get outta here for a while. Ain't nothin' but bad memories in L.A. right now."

I sighed, resting my head against his chest.

"I don't wanna leave you."

Michael's arms tightened around me.

"You ain't leaving me, baby... I'm sending you away so I can keep you safe."

The next morning came faster than I wanted.

I packed up the last of my things, helping Aaliyah and Solange with their bags.

Michael stood by the front door with his hands in his pockets, watching me like he was trying to memorize every inch of me.

When it was finally time to leave, he pulled me aside, away from the others.

"I want you to promise me somethin', Gigi."

I looked up at him, heart pounding.

"Anything."

He cupped my face, his thumbs brushing along my cheekbones.

"Don't let this shit change who you are... You're still my sweet girl."

Tears welled up in my eyes.

"I love you, Michael."

His lips crashed down onto mine, kissing me slow and deep — like he was trying to make me feel every ounce of love he had for me.

When he finally pulled away, his voice was low and rough.

"I'm gonna marry you, Giselle... You hear me? Ain't nothin' in this world gonna stop me from making you mine."

I pressed my forehead against his, holding onto him like I never wanted to let go.

"I'm already yours."

We left for New York that afternoon — three girls with broken hearts trying to find a little peace in a city that never sleeps.

But I knew deep down... this war wasn't over.

Prince was still out there.

And no matter how far we ran...

He would always be watching.