Chapter Text
January 1989
It’s just after midnight when I arrive at the party. My driver pulls up to a beautiful mid-century modern mansion tucked away in the hills. Its sleek lines and golden glow make it look like something out of a dream.
I’d heard about this house before, about the way the city stretches out beyond the glass walls, glittering all the way to the sea. When the invitation came, I said yes without thinking. I just had to see it for myself.
I’m not planning to stay long. These parties always make me nervous. I never quite know what to say, and I tend to feel like an outsider in rooms full of industry people and artists who all seem to know each other. I tell myself I’ll wander through the house, admire the architecture and the view, say hello to anyone I recognize, and then quietly disappear.
I’m late, so no one notices me as I slip inside. The entryway is illuminated by soft golden light. I pause, taking in the floating staircase, the warm wood paneling, the low-slung furniture. This space feels curated and cinematic.
I follow the muffled sounds of music and voices down a wide hallway, my heels clicking quietly against the tile.
Then, I see him.
As the daughter of Michael Jackson’s recording engineer, I grew up alongside Michael. From our early teens into our twenties, we were inseparable, spending long nights in the studio, sharing secrets, laughter, and the kind of quiet understanding that only comes from years of knowing someone.
But then, life shifted. After the release and overwhelming aftermath of Thriller, Michael was catapulted into a level of fame no one could have prepared for. The pressure to outdo himself, to create something bigger and better, combined with the constant tabloid frenzy, began to close in. And as the noise around him grew louder, he quietly pulled away.
It’s been over two years since I last saw Michael. And now, standing across the room from him, I’m struck by how much he’s changed. His curls are now longer and looser, falling into his face in soft waves instead of tight curls. His face is more angular, more defined, and his features carry a quiet intensity that wasn’t there before. He’s dressed in black leather and silver buckles, unapologetically bold, like he just walked straight off the Bad album cover and into the room. There’s a new edge to him, something sharper, more magnetic.
Then, he sees me. We both can’t help but smile as we lock eyes. And in that moment, I see him, the same Michael I’ve known my entire life. Gentle, warm, unmistakably familiar. And suddenly, it feels like no time has passed at all.
He runs over and hugs me, spinning me around in an embrace until my feet lift slightly off the ground.
The words tumble out of my mouth and I don’t even know where to begin. “Oh my God, Michael, I didn’t know you would be here. When did you get back from your tour? How was Tokyo? I want to hear everything!”
“I just got back last week and I’ve been rehearsing for my last few shows here in LA. I didn’t know I was going to be here tonight but I finished my rehearsal early. That’s why I’m still dressed like this,” he laughs. “I’ve missed you so much. You have to tell me everything!”
I can’t stop smiling.
“I’m so happy to see you.”
“Me too. Let’s go outside and catch up,” he suggests.
He takes my hand and leads me outside.
As we wander through the garden, I ask him all about his new album, and he tells me stories about the countries he visited while on tour, the people he met, the music that moved him, his eyes lighting up as he speaks.
Between his stories, he asks about my life. Not just politely, but with genuine curiosity, like he really wants to know everything he’s missed. And so I tell him, piece by piece, about where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing, the things that have changed since I last saw him. There’s no pressure to impress, no need to pretend. It’s just us, slipping easily into our rhythm.
We laugh about old memories and fall quiet sometimes, letting the sounds of crickets and distant music fill the silence. I forgot how much I missed this, not just him, but the way I feel when I’m with him. Like I can finally breathe again.
As we turn a corner, the lights of Los Angeles stretch out in a glittering grid before us.
“I love this city,” I say. “And not just the beauty of it. It’s the people, the grit, the music, everything. There’s something about LA that just feels significant. Like the air is heavy with history. So much has happened here, you know?”
He nods, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I feel the same way. LA’s got this pulse, it’s alive, breathing with stories everywhere you turn. Sure, it’s messy and wild but it's also full of dreams. There’s magic here, something that pulls people in and keeps them searching.”
He pauses, looking out across the city lights flickering beneath the dark sky. “You can feel it too, don’t you?” he asks quietly, glancing at me. “That electricity?”
“Yes,” I say. “That’s the best way to describe it, an electricity.”
For a moment, we fall silent, the night wrapping around us like a soft blanket as we stroll slowly back toward the house.
“Do you think you would ever move out of LA?” I ask.
“Well actually, I just did.”
“What!?”
“Don’t worry, just a little bit out of LA,” he laughs. “I bought a ranch up north, it’s just about a two hour drive.”
“Michael, that’s amazing! I had no idea.”
“I would love for you to see it, I’ve named it Neverland Ranch, you know, after Peter Pan, the second star to the right,” he says. “It’s incredible, I found out the land was for sale and—”
He trails off, his eyes flicking toward the house. I notice movement on the terrace, a few members of his security team are stepping outside, checking their watches.
Michael glances down at his watch.
“I have to go,” he says reluctantly.
“Oh, okay,” I say, a little surprised and disappointed that our time has been cut so short.
“I’m sorry, I’m on such a strict schedule with the show tomorrow night,” he explains. “But I really want to see you again. What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Nothing,” I smile.
“Then come to the show! I’ll call you tomorrow morning, around ten, and give you all of the details. You can come backstage and we can keep talking before I go on at nine.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“See you tomorrow.”
He leans in, kisses me on the cheek, and walks away, throwing one last glance over his shoulder before he follows his security team back inside.