Michael Jackson Imagines (re-imagine)

He's my guardian

(A/N: This chapter includes a quick recap of my favorite MJ Fanfiction, last updated in 2021. Shoutout to MJ Cin - we're eagerly awaiting your return in writing!)

It's March 24th, my birthday, marking the tragic anniversary of my parents' passing in a car accident. Since that day, I've forsaken any celebration of my own birthday, as it only serves to dredge up painful memories of loss and remorse.

Upon losing my parents, I was swiftly taken under the wing of my father's closest friend, who had taken responsibility for my well-being until I could stand on my own

I was 19 that time.

My presence in his home is not without purpose; I repay his kindness by painting, I paint him and scenes from his cherished tales, as an exchange.

"Y/N, what did you do this time?" he chides, as predictable as ever.

He is Michael, a figure revered as a musical God by everyone, though I see him simply as a man burdened by his protective instincts, especially in his role as my guardian.

There isn't much of an age gap between us; he's quite young, at 28, while I'm 22, turning 23 this day.

Despite reaching adulthood, he insists on treating me as a child, a fucking nuisance.

For years, Michael has guided me, pushing me towards college despite my reluctance to pursue it further. My association with him remains a secret, hidden even from my closest friends, as exposure could only complicate his already tumultuous relationship with the media.

"I'm sorry; it won't happen again," I respond monotonously, meeting his gaze blankly.

"Remember, professionalism is a must, regardless of the client's behavior. You must maintain composure at all times," he advises, his tone measured as he follows me upstairs.

As he reaches out to me, I recoil, unwilling to engage further. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you," he insists calmly, frustration etched on his features.

"I'd rather not," I retort, meeting his gaze defiantly.

His brows knit in annoyance. "Tell me, what is your problem?" he asked, seeking an explanation.

But I offer none, extricating myself from his grasp without breaking a blank stare and retreating to my room, the door slamming shut behind me.

Why bother sharing my thoughts with someone who doesn't care about my feelings?

and for once I don't want to see that two-faced bitch here. I hope she doesn't step inside this house again. 

Brooke... 

her name lingers like a bitter taste. I'll never forget her deceit, manipulation to paint me as the bad person in Michael's eyes, all in a bid to assert her authority over him.

You're not together, you fool.


---------------------------

Hours later...

I'm reading this novel where this maid ends up falling for her boss. They have these cozy chats in his library, bonding over life stuff, family, and responsibilities.

Then, out of the blue, she gets accused of stealing some jewelries by another maid who's green with envy over her boss's attention. She's pretty crushed, figuring she's out of a job for sure.

So, she quietly bails on the mansion, feeling totally betrayed because the boss buys into the other maid's story hook, line, and sinker.

But after a week or two, it turns out she's innocent. The other maids team up to clear her name on the sly. The real thief gets the boot, and the boss eventually sees the light. After a bit of groveling, the boss later find himself at her doorstep, after several attempts of getting her back.

I closed the book, feeling my heart ache a bit.