( CHAPTER TWO: THE GIRL IS MINE )
May, 1994

❝ i thought you promised me a Harlem girl? ❞

◯

Who would've guessed that Devon Emmet would be here? On Michael Jackson's doorstep, banging furiously on his front door, desperate to receive any type of answer. Perhaps it wasn't the smartest decision to pay Michael a visit when he likely didn't want to see anyone. Lord knows in the past when Devon was at his lowest, the absolute last thing he craved was visitors. But who showed up at his door anyway? Janet. And she pulled him out of his depressive funk like a magnet. He needed that.

So, it only made sense that for Michael — he would do the same.

Which led him here, at the Neverland ranch, having been here a whopping three times already. It was still slightly jarring to actually be in the presence of such an infamous plot of land, but right now, Devon had more pressing matters to address.

"Mike!" Devon shouted, pounding his fist against the large wooden door, "C'mon now, don't leave a brother hangin'!"

No one answered. Not a bodyguard, a maid or even the damn chef. Now Devon's feelings were really starting to get hurt. He could've taken that as a sign to walk away and let Michael be, but the dancer was too damn stubborn to let that be the case.

"Mike, let me in," Devon whined, letting out an exasperated breath, "I have KFC..." He didn't, but he hoped that would be enough to entice Michael out of his house. Funnily enough, it was.

Shortly after Devon's words, he heard cautious footsteps echoing through the house. Then, the door gently craned open, revealing none other than the long awaited king of pop — or, in Devon's case, his dear friend, Michael Jackson. It had been a long time since Devon had seen Michael, nearly a whole year, in fact.

During that time, their only form of communication was sombre phone calls and Janet's word of mouth. And Devon had to say, it was much more rewarding to see the entertainer in the person. Michael shyly peaked through the door, his black curly locks slightly messy, and his dark eyes sullen and tired. He wore a purple dress shirt, grey sweats and white socks.

Even in his sweats, he still managed to be fashionable.

"Hey Mike," Devon grinned, looking at the fellow dancer with joy, "Can I come in?"

Michael didn't respond, he only opened the door more, allowing the dancer to enter. Devon gleefully walked in, welcoming himself into the grand, opulent interior of the house. Expensive artwork, Persian carpets and a crystal chandelier. It was exactly how he remembered.

"Where's the KFC?" Michael asked, his soft voice smothered in disappointment.

Devon gave him a sympathetic smile in response, "I lied."

Michael frowned some more, prompting Devon to speak further. "I needed to check in on you, Mike, I haven't seen you in a while," the dancer said, "Your sister and I are worried."

"I'm fine," Michael curtly replied, glancing down at his feet. Devon could easily tell that the entertainer wasn't telling the truth. Michael wasn't a very good liar — the two shared the same trait in that regard.

"You're fine?" Devon repeated, crossing his arms over his chest, "C'mon man, I ain't never seen you without your fedora, so that means you ain't fine."

Devon was hoping that Michael would crack a smile at his words. He hoped that he would laugh, chuckle — show any sign of joy. Unfortunately however, Michael's frown never budged, and it hurt Devon completely.

"You don't have to pretend, Mike," Devon quietly said, his words causing for Michael's saddened gaze to levitate up. There, looking into Michael's eyes — which normally shone with an innocent glow — Devon realised that maybe that's what Michael truly needed. To not pretend anymore.

"I feel helpless," Michael finally spoke, "My life is ruined, and the people that ruined me walked away without a scratch."

Devon could feel the frustration beaming through Michael's gentle voice, and he could understand it completely. Michael's reputation was tarnished. His genuine love for helping those kids has been twisted into something sick and wicked. Thinking about it now, Devon felt the rage himself. It was unfair.

"They'll get what's comin' to them, I promise," Devon seethed, meaning every word, "It's over now, and no matter what, I'm always gonna have your back."

"You will?" Michael gently asked, looking down.

"Of course," Devon vehemently replied, "That's what brothers are for."

That's when Michael's mouth creased into a small, yet heartwarming smile. It wasn't very noticeable, nor did it erase the remnants of his sadness, but it was something. Devon saw then, that there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

"Now get dressed," Devon announced, clapping his hands together to break up the silence.

Michael, startled, raised a confused brow at Devon's words, "Why?"

That's when the breakdancer smirked. Unbeknownst to Michael, Devon planned to uphold his part of a deal that both of them made in the midst of the year 1992. The entertainer may have forgotten about their little deal, but the dancer sure as hell didn't.

So, with a satisfied smile, Devon finally spoke, "We're going out tonight, homeboy."

◯

Maybe this was a stupid idea. Maybe Devon Emmet didn't necessarily think things through. Going to a club with the most famous person on the planet proved to be a bigger challenge than the dancer originally anticipated, which was puzzling, due to the fact that Devon foolishly forgot about Michael's outrageous fame level every time they interacted. Hell, he couldn't even walk out his front door without being noticed.

So, Devon made some proper arrangements, or in other words, a disguise.

Now he had to admit, the first time Michael wore a disguise when they went out together, it didn't necessarily end well. But, Devon was convinced that this time would be different.

In head to toe, Devon dressed Michael in a completely different outfit than what he usually wore. An oversized hoodie, black pants and some ordinary sneakers to match. That's right, the greatest entertainer on the planet was transformed into a regular, hip breakdancer. Not very original, but for the place that Devon was taking him, he would blend right in.

"Why are these clothes so baggy?" Michael said, hobbling out of his enormous ensuite bathroom with a slight frown.

Devon — who comfortably lounged on the sofa located at the end of Michael's bed — eagerly sat up to observe Michael's outfit. The clothes sat on his frame awkwardly, and Devon had to admit, it was unusual to see the pop star in such a drastic change of clothes, but thankfully, that was the point.

"That's the style, Mike," Devon shrugged, strolling up to the entertainer, "Or should I say, M-Dog."

Michael raised a brow at Devon's words, "M-Dog?"

"That's your breakdancin' name, now roll wit it," Devon replied, nudging the entertain playfully. However, Michael was still frowning, and at this point, Devon was willing to commit murder in order to see this man smile again.

"I look ridiculous," Michael grumbled.

"Not true, I'm wearin' the same shit as you," Devon replied.

"Yes, but you look good in it," Michael said, picking at the clothes with a distasteful scowl.

The entertainer walked over to the mirror standing in the corner of his room, examining his reflection closely. Devon knew that Michael was a man that took his fashion style seriously, but right now, his own personal thoughts had to be put on hold. The goal was to be unrecognisable, not fashionable.

"It's all 'bout the attitude, baby," Devon responded, shoving his hands in his pockets, "Think of it as you playin' a character, you're an actor, ain't ya?"

Michael's eyes flashed with a glimmer of joy at Devon's words. He could tell that the entertainer liked that thought. Devon's seen Michael's stint in The Wiz — he knew the man had some serious acting chops. This ought to be a piece of cake for him.

"Yes..." Michael hummed.

"Well there ya go, tonight you ain't Michael Jackson, you're M-Dog," Devon continued, causing for a glint to sparkle in Michael's eye.

Slowly, the frown on the singer's face began to dissipate, beginning to warm up to the idea. Devon stood back as Michael took one last tantalising glance in the mirror before he turned back around, looking more confident than before.

"Okay," Michael said, zipping up his hoodie, "I guess I am M-Dog, for tonight at least."

"That's right homie," Devon said, breaking out into a happy smile, "Now, let's bounce."

Oh, this will be fun. And so, Micheal and Devon left the sanctuary of Michael's Neverland mansion and headed off into the liveliness of the LA night. As expected, the city was bustling with activity, the early cusps of the nighttime bringing in all sorts of characters.

Admittedly, Devon feared for Michael's safety. If anyone recognises him tonight — it could turn into a bloodbath. And while Devon could adequately defend himself — he was no match for a mob of excited fans. Especially Michael's angry fans. Nevertheless, Michael's driver drove the pair deeper into the city, only stopping after a good forty minutes of traffic.

Once they stopped in the middle of an alleyway, Michael looked out the tinted windows, getting noticeably nervous.

"What is this place?" The entertainer asked.

"A new club me and Janet found recently," Devon explained, unbuckling his seatbelt, "Artists come here — upcoming dancers, singers, rappers, the crowd is dope. I think you'll like it."

Michael nodded, the apprehension in his face slowly dissipating. The crowd here was hip, young and cultured. Just being there was freeing, and at the moment, Michael needed to be somewhere that could make him feel free. "Come on Mike," Devon said, giving the man a reassuring smile.

With slight hesitation, Michael opened the door and followed Devon out the car. The breakdancer led the way, entering through the club's back door and confidently sauntering into the dark abyss. Michael tentatively followed, tilting down his cap so that it shielded his face.

Thankfully, the place was pretty dark, with some strobe lights bouncing around the building. The place was big, immersive and crowds of people gravitated towards the multi-coloured dance floor situated in the middle of the industrial room.

Devon kept on glancing behind his shoulder to make sure that Michael was still attached to his hip as he weaved through the crowds. Luckily he was, but the man looked nervous as hell. "Don't worry brother, everybody's high in here," Devon said, projecting his voice over the loud, booming rap music that pounded through the speakers, "Worst case scenario — they'll be so high they'll think they're trippin' when they see you."

Michael nodded, despite the fact that the loud music blared Devon's words out. He got the gist of it, anyway. When they found a booth in the corner of the room, a few paces away from the dance floor, Devon made sure to order them drinks.

"Here ya go," the dancer said, placing the first round of drinks on the table before he slid into the booth.

Michael eagerly reached forward, taking a much needed sip of the drink as he bobbed his head to the music. Devon stared at him from across the table, impressed with how well the b-boy-themed clothes shielded his very noticeable appearance. His curls were kept under his cap, and his frame was obscured by the bagginess of the outfit. Devon had to say, he did good.

"Feeling better now?" Devon inquired, looking at the fellow male in curiosity.

"Surprisingly... I do," Michael responded, blinking happily, "I feel like I haven't heard music is a long time."

Devon couldn't help but frown. He saw Michael tapping his foot and bobbing his head, the light returning to his sullen eyes. It made the dancer think, has he really been so upset that he hasn't even had time to listen to music? "Well what have you been doin' in that house of yours?" Devon questioned, more curious than ever.

Michael shrugged, his shoulders sinking at the thought, "I just... think, and get angry, everyday."

Shit, Devon thought, brows stitched with concern. That was fucking morbid, but in all honesty, Devon understood his feelings. If there was one emotion Devon Emmet knew — it was pent-up anger, and well, torment.

As a minute of silence passed, Michael looked up, his innocent brown eyes going wide at his brash comment, "That probably sounds sad, doesn't it?"

Devon gently shook his head in response. "No, it sounds familiar," he said, "I've been there Mike, plenty of times."

He offered Michael a sympathetic smile, knowing how hard it was to crawl out of the darkness sometimes. But, Michael had people who loved him, and with love, he could do anything. "But that's the good thing 'bout life, you're never in the same place forever," Devon continued, his dimpled lip quirking to the side.

This time, Michael smiled, and the sight was welcomed wholeheartedly. "True," the entertainer mused, "Two years ago, you said that you and my sister were just friends."

Devon chuckled, recalling the blatant lie that he told himself across that entire year. Ah, good times. "Man, six years ago, you and your sister didn't even know I existed," Devon added on, a phrase that made Michael laugh as well.

Perhaps it was the liquor, or Michael's great company, but as Devon twisted in his seat — his eyes on Michael's smile — he thought it was the perfect time to mention the little pact that they created between the two of them.

"Now," the breakdancer started, thankful that the music wasn't that loud at this area of the club, "What's ya type?"

Michael raised a brow in response, "My type?"

"Of woman, we're gettin' you a honey in here tonight," Devon said, sending him a wink.

Michael nearly choked on his drink at Devon's words, "What?"

"You didn't think I'd forget my promise, did ya?" Devon said, recalling back the memory of their playful pact in 1992. Devon admits his feelings to Janet — and Michael would get set-up in return. One thing was fulfilled, it was only natural that it was Devon's turn to return the favour.

"Dev, I don't have time for this," Michael grumbled, "Plus, you promised me a Harlem girl, not an LA girl."

Potato, potato, Devon thought, scoffing at Michael's remark. Either way, Michael Jackson was getting some loving tonight, and there was nothing he could do to stop that.

"What 'bout her?" Devon inquired, his eyes landing on a girl at the bar.

Michael followed Devon's line of sight, immediately shaking his head at the suggestion, "No," the entertainer bluntly said.

Devon's brows couldn't help but crinkle in confusion. "No?" The black male repeated. But then, Devon remembered Michael's own dating history, and boy, it set the bar high. "I forgot, you like your girl lookin' like a damn beauty queen — Diana Ross level." Michael's cheeks went pink at Devon's words. But honestly, the dancer didn't lie. A woman that was classically beautiful — that was Michael's type, and what the hell, when you're Michael Jackson, why wouldn't you want the most beautiful woman in the room?

He's been with Diana Ross before, and he sure as hell wasn't going to settle for anything less. So, fair play to him.

"Okay, what 'bout her?" Devon said, pointing to another girl, who sat a few tables across from them.

Michael looked at her intently, and Devon could tell he was somewhat impressed. "She is beautiful," Michael whistled, "But it's still a no."

The triumphant smile sitting on Devon's face was wiped clean in a matter of seconds. This wasn't going very well. "Why?" Devon asked, genuinely confused.

"I'm not looking for a woman tonight, Dev," Michael replied, offering the man an innocent smile. But, Devon wasn't pleased by his answer, finding it oddly frustrating that Michael wasn't open to meeting someone new. But, on the other hand, it was Michael's night, not his. So, as the curly-haired entertainer moved towards the edge of the booth and stood up, he didn't seem to mind his choice, "Now, let me get another drink—"

Before Michael could finish his sentence, he collided with a woman who was passing by the booth. Her drink — which was previously held in her hand — spilled all over her tight-fitting dress, causing for Michael — and Devon — to gasp in horror.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Michael exclaimed, his voice swelling with guilt. He reached forward, awkwardly attempting to clean the mess he just created. However, as the entertainer's brown eyes landed on the woman in front of him, his guilt-ridden face morphed into genuine surprise, "Dahlia?" Michael asked, "— I-I mean, Ms. Harris?"

The woman before him looked up, and this time, it was her turn to be taken aback. "Michael?" Dahlia exclaimed, "What are you doing in a club?"

"I could say the same thing about you," Michael said, looking quite puzzled.

The woman frowned in response, "It's my day-off."

"Really?" Michael scoffed.

"What do you mean really?" She repeated.

"When is it ever your day off?" Michael said, his question causing for her scowl to deepen bitterly.

Devon raised a brow, examining the two adults with interest. Michael knew this girl? Devon didn't know why, but something about their exchange felt amusing. They were slightly combative towards one another, and yet, he could see there was this underlying attraction fizzing in the mix. Interesting, the dancer thought, leaning forward curiously.

"Mike, who is this?" Devon announced, his voice breaking through the tension.

"Oh, Devon, this is Dahlia Harris, one of the music executives at my label," Michael said, half-heartedly introducing the two, "Dahlia, this is Devon, a good friend."

Devon reached forward, shaking the woman's hand pleasantly. From what Devon could make out in the dim lights, this woman was really pretty. Like model pretty. She had dark skin, long, silky black hair and a stunning face. She was also slender, and the same height as Michael, but to be fair, she was wearing heels. Something about her felt regal, poised and commanding. It wasn't hard to believe she was a head music executive.

"Nice to meet you," the woman replied, and just then, Devon realised that she had an accent. It sounded British.

"Aren't you Devon? The one dating Michael's sister?" Dahlia asked, recognising Devon immediately. The dancer nodded, confirming her suspicions.

"Wow, I'd love to meet her," Dahlia said, seeming impressed.

"You'll love her, she's amazing," Devon replied.

"Well, if she's nothing like her brother, then we'll get along fine," Dahlia replied, and her sarcastic jab made the entertainer shoot her a disgruntled scowl. Maybe these two disliked each other a little more than Devon thought.

"What?" Michael grunted, "What makes you think that my sister will even like you?"

"We'll bond over her irritating brother," Dahlia snapped back. Ouch, Devon thought, wincing slightly.

"Would it kill you to be nice sometimes?" Michael asked, squinting his eyes.

"Yes, it would," Dahlia snapped back, "Since you spilled my drink."

"It's not my fault you're clumsy," Michael quickly hissed.

The two were going back and forth in the middle of the club. They were fighting like cats and dogs. Devon was so immersed in their argument, that he forgot about drawing unwanted attention. They were fighting pretty loud, causing for others sitting nearby to look their way. Devon swivelled in his seat, catching the stares being thrown their way. What if they recognised Michael? The last thing he needed was to be ploughed over by an excited mob. He had to put a stop to this, now.

"Okay, okay, settle down y'all," Devon nervously said, diffusing the situation immediately. He got up from his seat, planting a reassuring hand on Michael's strained shoulder, attempting to calm the entertainer down.

Devon has never seen Michael be so bold before. Normally around other people, the entertainer was reclusive, introverted and quite shy. But around her — he actually wasn't afraid to voice his disdain, and the change was monumental.

"How 'bout I get us all another round of drinks?" Devon said, already plotting in his head on how to get the two of them to see eye to eye. There was nothing like a little bit of liquid courage.

"Mike, why don't you stay here with Dahlia? I'll be right back," Devon teasingly said, turning towards the pop star, who gave Devon a wide-eyed stare. It might've been cruel to leave the poor sucker there by himself, but the dancer had to admit, he enjoyed seeing Michael squirm.

So, with a suppressed smirk, Devon turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the two to stand there alone. He headed towards the bar, glancing over his shoulder to observe the pair. They both awkwardly sat down at the booth, avoiding each other's eyes. Devon swore, he's never seen two people resent each other more — and he loved it.

Meanwhile, across the club, Michael timidly sat at the table, staring down at his lap as he fidgeted nervously. The loud music was thankfully filling the silence, but Michael still felt just as awkward sitting there. For a moment, he dared to look up, eager to see if Dahlia felt just as agitated as he did. When he did look across the table, he saw that she was.

Arms crossed, jaw set, eyes flickering everywhere but him. She was uncomfortable alright, but somehow, even in the dimly set lights of the club, Michael couldn't help but notice that she looked quite pretty. Well, for an evil, convincing monster, that is. And to be fair, Michael has never seen her in anything but a pantsuit.

"You look ridiculous," Dahlia's voice brought Michael out of his thoughts. The entertainer's large eyes looked up at her, taken aback by her comment.

"Those clothes don't suit you at all," Dahlia continued, eyeing Michael's strange attire.

The entertainer frowned at her observation, clearly aware of how much he didn't suit these clothes. That was the whole point, anyway. "It was Devon's idea, it's meant to be a disguise," Michael explained, even though he shouldn't have bothered.

"Well, it still looks terrible on you—"

"—You don't have to sit here, y'know," Michael harshly said, already getting fed up with her negativity, "You can leave."

"Trust me, I'll leave as soon as your friend comes back with my drink," Dahlia replied, "Since you spilled mine."

Michael felt his blood boiling. Dahlia Harris — the woman that's been a thorn in his side for months now. Ever since she was hired by his record label as the newest music executive, she has made his life a living hell. Micromanaging his music, cutting short his studio time — you name it — Dahlia has done it.

Due to this, Michael developed a very deep resentment towards her. This resentment led to fights, arguments, and finally, a brewing feud. Dahlia was technically the boss, but Michael couldn't accept that. And now she was here, in this club, and Michael didn't know how to feel. He has never her outside her working hours, so this all felt very strange.

She was such a workaholic, Michael had forgotten that the girl actually had a social life.

With a clenched jaw, Michael turned his head sideways, searching the bar in hopes of finding Devon. He needed his friend to hurry up, he couldn't stand another second alone with this girl. However, once the pop star saw Devon waiting for the drinks, the dancer didn't appear to be in much of a hurry. Damn him.

"Shit," Dahlia's posh accent once again brought Michael back to reality.

"I know, Devon is taking a long time," Michael absently grumbled, still staring at Devon, who idled at the bar, "But give him a minute."

That's the one thing about Devon, he absolutely loved putting Michael in uncomfortable situations. Being his friend, the man had a cruel sense of humour, and it was not appreciated sometimes—

"I have to go," Dahlia's exclamation made Michael's head dart in her direction. His eyes widened with confusion, staring at the darker-skinned woman as she jumped up from her seat in a frazzled mess. Huh?

"What? What about your drink?" Michael blabbered on, watching as she scooped up her bag and awkwardly slid out of the booth. Michael was still noticeably flabbergasted, for some reason determined to make her stay. Perhaps it was the abruptness of her exit, or the fact that Michael didn't like to see her go — but something about her leaving made the entertainer go into fight or flight mode.

"Wait, where are you going?" Michael said, practically leaping up from his seat. He slid in front of her path, blocking the woman from walking any further.

Dahlia frowned in response, "Please move out of my way."

Please? The entertainer thought, shooting her a confused glare. Did she actually use the word please? What the hell? Was this opposite day? Michael never once recalled a time where the blunt, intimidating Dahlia Harris ever used that phrase. That only meant one thing, something was definitely up.

Just as Michael was about to address that small hiccup, he noticed that the woman's eyes wondered past him. Immediately, with sewn in browns, Michael turned around, following the woman's gaze. That's when all the pieces came together. A man dressed in a cheap black suit was stumbling around the club, checking every booth, table and bar stool. Clearly, Michael had an idea on who he was searching for.

"Are you on a... date?" Michael asked, his face unravelling in realisation. He turned around, watching as Dahlia's jaw locked, noticeably embarrassed. It was weird to think of this woman dating. Michael couldn't picture her possessing one ounce of warmth or tenderness.

"Yes, and it was terrible," she said, scowling intensely, "So let me sneak out of here in peace."

"On one condition," Michael said, blocking Dahlia's path yet again, "I get more studio time."

"Really?" Dahlia asked, shoulders dropping in exasperation

"Really," Michael replied, his voice firm.

Michael was playing his cards. It might've been dirty, but it was the only option here. And although the woman didn't appreciate his blackmail, for once, the proud Dahlia Harris was at Michael Jackson's mercy. So, with a defeated huff, Dahlia slowly nodded. That felt good.

With a triumphant smile, Michael then spoke, "Great, now follow my lead."

"What?" She asked, perplexed.

"Just do it," Michael pressed, and weirdly, she abided. Normally, she'd never follow anyone's lead, let alone Michael's — so this was all new for her. Maybe this night was just full of firsts.

Diligently, the entertainer grabbed Dahlia's hand and yanked her back in the booth. The both sat down, with Michael shrugging off his baggy jacket and gently throwing it over Dahlia's slim shoulders. She watched as Michael tilted his cap down, his arm snaking around the spine of her seat.

Classic, Dahlia thought, suppressing her smirk, pretend they're a couple. It was the ultimate distraction plan. However, Dahlia couldn't help but notice that this was the closest she's ever been to Michael. Sitting there, with Michael's arm protectively hovering across the seat; she was even wearing his jacket for goodness sake — all this felt weird. But, Dahlia never protested his idea. She just sat still, going along with Michael's plan.

"He's coming," the entertainer whispered, and his voice sounded much deeper than what Dahlia was used to. She didn't even know his voice could go that low.

Dahlia shifted closer to Michael's frame, keeping her head down so that her date wouldn't notice her presence. Little did she know, as she inched closer, Michael could caught a whiff of her perfume. And it smelled rather good. Like roses.

Surely enough, her drunken date stumbled past the pair, never sparing them a second glance, to Dahlia's relief. She exhaled, glancing over the booth to see the man disappearing into the crowd in order to continue his aimless pursuit. As Dahlia returned her gaze back to Michael, she was surprised to see that he was looking directly at her.

His face was unreadable — terribly so — but his eyes were hazy with... was it admiration? A hint of mesmerisation even? Before Dahlia could figure out what it was, Michael's eyes shyly snapped away, realising that he was staring for too long. That was strange.

"I'd never thought I'd say this, but thank you Michael Jackson," Dahlia announced, untucking herself from Michael's frame.

The entertainer's arm recoiled back, timidly staring at his lap as he flushed with embarrassment. "It's okay," he meekly said, "I've gotten good at hiding in public."

"I bet," Dahlia said, supple lips curving in amusement.

When Michael looked up again, he once again froze at the sight of her. Not a hint of hate or resentment was present in his expression, and it was a first for them both.

"Why are you staring at me?" Dahlia asked, bringing Michael out of his hypnotised state.

The entertainer blinked repetitively, once again, a harsh blush dusting across his cheeks, finding it incomparable the he couldn't control his staring problem around her. It wasn't normally like this? What was wrong with him?

"Your dress," Michael snakily replied, masking his sheepishness with a snide remark, "It looks ridiculous too."

Dahlia raised a brow, somehow finding his response comical. "Does it now?" She asked, slowly raising her brow. Michael swallowed hesitantly, brown eyes raking her up and down in a subtle fashion. No, it wasn't ridiculous. The dress hugged her figure perfectly, but Michael would never admit that.

So, as the silence stretched between the two of them, Dahlia suddenly got up from her seat, taking Michael by surprise.

"Come on," the woman said, offering him a pleased smile.

"Where are you going?" Michael said, absently following her lead as he inched his way out of the booth. She smiled again, and it was the first time he's seen a full-fledged smile from her. Teeth and all. It was a welcomed change.

"You helped me escape my date, so now I'm going to return the favour," Dahlia responded, shrugging.

Now, Michael Jackson did not know what that meant, nor did he understand where this would lead. The only thing he did understand, was that he had to follow her out of this club — now.

◯

"You don't have to rush, homie," Devon coyly said, idly watching as the bartender made two drinks in a leisurely fashion, "I ain't in so rush, trust me."

And truly, Devon wasn't. The dancer took his sweet ass time, extremely mindful of the fact that Michael Jackson was stuck with a woman that he claimed to hate — allegedly. But in Devon's opinion, that was nothing but bullshit.

Devon could sense the tension, the yearning looks. Michael didn't fool him. So, it wasn't a Harlem or LA girl that captured his attention. Rather, it was a British girl. Hey, I'll take it, Devon thought. Michael had great taste anyway, the girl was still stunning. Even if she was a little mean.

As Devon leaned on the bar, relaxed as can be, he felt his phone starting to buzz. The dancer immediately reached inside his pocket, hopeful that he could hear the call over the loud hip hop music blasting across the bar. "Hello?" Devon answered, pressing the phone to his ear.

"Hey baby, how's it going with my brother?" It was Janet, he could hear her soft tone through the receiver.

The dancer grinned at her question, "It's goin' good."

"Yeah?" Janet questioned.

"Yep, I took Mike to the club we usually go to," Devon replied, "He seems in high spirits already."

Janet exhaled in relief at his words, "That's such a relief, he needs this."

Devon nodded to himself, knowing how worried Janet's been over her brother. Their entire family's been worried, and he couldn't say that he blamed them.

"That ain't even the best part," Devon smirked, his stomach doing flips as he recalled the juicy encounter that occurred a few minutes prior, "We bumped into this woman that Mike works with, apparently she's one of the executives at his label, and lemme tell you, they were givin' each other eyes."

"Really?" Janet replied, and Devon could tell that she was taken aback by his news.

"Really, I ain't ever seen your brother act like this before," the dancer said, smiling from ear to ear, "He's been denyin' it, but Mike's got it bad, I can tell."

"You gotta tell me everything!" Janet exclaimed, "What does the girl look like?"

"Slim, quite tall, dark skin and oh— she British too? Ain't that somethin', huh?" Devon rambled on, "She has that regal shit to her, y'know? She carries herself well."

Perhaps it was slightly reckless that Devon was spilling Michael's business to his sister — of all people— but honestly, the dancer was filled with too much excitement to just keep it to himself. For the past two years that Devon has been acquainted with Michael, he's never seen the entertainer get hung up over a woman before. So, this was completely thrilling.

"This is great, I can't believe my brother likes someone," Janet giggled, "Where are they now?"

"I'm just gettin' them some drinks, ain't nothin' like a lil' liquid courage to get them goin', but I left 'em at the table," Devon replied, balancing the phone between his temple and his shoulder. The male retrieved the two drinks from the bartender, who finally managed to serve them — after much delay from Devon.

However, when the dancer turned around to head back to the booth, he stopped right in his tracks when he spotted their table — completely empty. And oh, Devon's heart sunk like a damn anchor at the sight.

What the fuck? Devon thought, panic flashing through his eyes. He swivelled around, his head craning and searching for any sign of the curly-haired pop star. He saw no one. No one at all.

"Devon? Helllooo?" Janet's voice was ringing through the phone. But, Devon's mind was already occupied.

"U-uh, um— I-I gotta call ya back!" the dancer quickly said.

"Wait, Dev!—"

Devon hung up before his girlfriend could get another word in. He'll surely get an earful about that later on. But honestly, he had bigger problems to worry about. The current, messy situation that was now unfolding made Devon's heart race, realising that right now, he had to think of a solution — fast.

Devon Emmet just lost Michael Jackson.

◯

a/n;

Hello everyone!
I just want to take a moment to pay tribute Tito Jackson —who just passed away recently. The news absolutely crushed me, and I can't help but feel for the entire Jackson family at this time. Without Tito Jackson picking up that guitar, the world would not have experienced the magic that is the Jackson family dynasty.

RIP POPPAT - I know he's up there in heaven reunited with his brother Michael. ❤️🙏🏾

This chapter is mainly focussed on Michael, and I loved it! Here we're introduced to Dahlia, and I just want to say... this will be JUICY. Tell me what y'all think of Dahlia's dynamic with Michael.

It's actually teasing my upcoming Michael book that's coming soon... I might release it in time for the biopic ;)

And FYI, Dahlia is played by the beautiful Jasmine Tookes.

But on that note, tell me your thoughts and predictions in the comments. This was a pretty fun chapter for me to write, so eager to know your thoughts. Thank you so much for reading, and I'll see y'all in the next part <3