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How It All Started

Chapter Seventeen

Prince's POV

It's surreal how life unfolds. Here I am, watching this beautiful angel sleep soundly on my chest, her face finally at peace despite the storm she's weathering. Bibi's soft, even breaths are the only sound in the room, a stark contrast to the chaos that has upended her life. The darkness of the room is broken only by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains, casting a silvery light over her peaceful form. The warmth of her body pressed against mine is comforting, but it's also a reminder of how fragile everything is right now.

I gently brush a stray curl from her face, careful not to wake her. She needs this rest more than anything. I want to stay like this, to hold her and shield her from everything outside these walls, but a sudden burst of inspiration pulls me away from the solace of her embrace. Music is my refuge, my way of making sense of the world when it doesn't make sense anymore.

Slipping out of bed without disturbing her, I grab a robe and quietly make my way down to the studio. The house is silent, save for the soft hum of the heating system as it kicks in to combat the Minnesota chill. Outside, the wind whispers through the trees, and a light snowfall dusts the grounds of Paisley Park, transforming it into a winter wonderland. The snow reflects the moonlight, creating an ethereal glow that bathes the entire estate in a serene light.

The studio is just as I left it, dimly lit, with my favorite guitar resting on its stand, ready to be played. I sit down at the soundboard, the familiar scent of wood and metal filling the air as I pick up the guitar. The weight of it in my hands is comforting, grounding me in the present moment. I adjust the microphone, and as I strum the first chord, my thoughts drift back to the night Bibi arrived with her siblings.

She was a wreck. They had really arrested her father right in front of her. The pain in her eyes when she walked through the door was something I'll never forget. I've never been a fan of Michael, but even I can't deny the bond between them. He might be one of the most eccentric men on the planet, but he did something right with her. She's got this grace about her, a strength that's rare. It's like she's been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders her whole life, and somehow, she still manages to smile through it all.

As I play, the chords seem to flow effortlessly, a melody forming that mirrors the emotional turbulence of the past few days. The notes are raw, reflective, and I pour everything into the music. The studio's acoustics are perfect, and the sound reverberates through the room, filling the space with a hauntingly beautiful melody. It's a song for Bibi, though I'm not sure she'll ever hear it.

My mind drifts back to our first meeting. She was a firecracker even then, all sass and spirit. I remember thinking she was too much trouble, a headache waiting to happen. But she had this way about her, this undeniable magnetism that drew me in despite myself. And then, as if by some cosmic joke, I found myself falling for her. Hard.

The first time we kissed, it was like a match had been struck in a room full of gasoline. There was no turning back after that. Even now, years later, I can't explain it. All I know is that she got under my skin in a way no one else ever has.

I'm so lost in the music that I almost don't hear the knock at the door. But then, there it is again, louder this time, and I know who it is before I even answer. Romeo. He's the only one who would dare interrupt me in the studio, except for Bibi, of course.

I set the guitar down gently and walk over to the door, the warmth of the studio giving way to the cool air of the hallway. Romeo stands there, the cordless phone in his hand, his expression unreadable.

"What is it, Rome?" I ask, already dreading the answer.

He hands me the phone, his voice low. "I'm sorry, boss, but Michael Jackson is on the line."