Wait For You - 'Look After You' Sequel - A Michael Jackson Fanfiction

Chapter 17

I stared at him, biting back a dozen things I wanted to say. But I saw the look in his eyes, the one that said there wasn't any point.

Luca nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll keep eyes on the alley and the east block."

Michael nodded once. "Good."

And just like that, he turned toward the door.

He paused for half a second before leaving, his voice even again. "You run your club, Evelyn. But don't mistake it for a shield. Dom doesn't care whose name is on the sign."

The door shut behind him, leaving only the low hum of the lights above.

Luca exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "You're really gonna keep letting him talk to you like that?"

I didn't answer. My gaze lingered on the photo in front of me, Dom's shadowed profile, blurred and grainy.

Finally, I said, "Let him talk. He's already told me everything I need to know."

——

Later that night, the door clicked once, soft and sharp, and I didn't have to look up to know it was him.

Michael didn't knock. He never did. He just walked in like silence belonged to him.

I was still at the desk, finishing a call, pretending not to notice the weight of his stare.

When I hung up, he was standing a few feet away, hands in his coat pockets, jaw set.

"Forget something?" I asked, tone even, eyes still on the papers.

"No."

He stayed quiet for a long moment too long. That was always how it started with him: silence first, storm second.

Then he said it, low, deliberate.
"You and Luca."

I kept writing. "What about us?"

"You seeing him?"

That made me smile, faintly. I leaned back in the chair and finally looked up. "That's what you came back up here for? Gossip?"

His eyes narrowed. "It's not gossip."

"Could've fooled me."

"Evelyn."

Just my name, flat, warning.

I tilted my head, letting the silence stretch until it hurt. "If I say yes, will it bother you?"

His jaw tightened. "Just answer the damn question."

I gave a little shrug. "Maybe I don't remember what the right answer's supposed to be."

He stared at me for a long moment with that quiet, unblinking stare that used to cut straight through me.

Now it just rolled off my shoulders.

"Careful," he said finally. "You're starting to sound like you're trying to piss me off."

"Maybe I am," I said lightly, flipping another page. "Old habits, right?"

He didn't say anything at first, but I could see the flicker behind his eyes, that mix of irritation and something else.

Something he didn't like showing.

"Luca's been here," I added, almost lazily. "He's been good for business. You should be thanking him."

"That what we're calling it?" he said.

I met his gaze, calm, steady. "You can call it whatever makes you feel better."

That shut him up. For a few seconds, neither of us said anything. The air between us was heavy, sharp.

He stood there looking down at me, locked in a stare that felt like it could set the whole place on fire. Neither of us moved. Neither of us would give in.

Then, he just pulled the chair beside mine, opened his  laptop, and started typing like nothing had happened.

Like the last five minutes hadn't been a slow-burn war between us.

For a while, neither of us spoke. The muted sound of the club below, the distant laughter, the clink of glasses, the beat of a song ending somewhere far away.

I kept flipping through reports, pretending to focus, but I could feel him next to me.

Every small movement, every inhale.

"You still running the north side shipments through the back?" he asked suddenly, eyes still on his screen.

"Sometimes."

"Change that. They've been watching the alley."

I nodded once, lips pressed together. "Noted."

He nodded back. And that was it.

No apology, no comfort. Just facts and orders, business as usual.

The rest of the night passed in silence, both of us buried in work.

Every now and then, I'd catch him looking, not long enough to call it staring, but enough to make me feel it.

That same tension from years ago, bleeding through all the noise.

When I finally shut the last folder, I rubbed the bridge of my nose.

Michael stood, rolling his sleeves back down, coat slung over his arm. "We're leaving."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He looked at me, flat and serious. "You heard me."

"I'm still working."

"I'm making sure you don't die," he said evenly. "Let's go."

"I'll tell Luca to close up," I muttered, grabbing my jacket.

"Already did," he said.

Of course he did.

I sighed, pushing out my chair and standing. "Still bossing everyone around, huh?"

"Come on," he said quietly. "We've got a long night."

I followed him out, every step a reminder that no matter how much I'd changed, no matter how much control I'd learned, he still had this one hold over me.

Not authority.
Not fear.

Just the kind of pull that's impossible to break.