You stand tall, smoothing down the edges of your tailored short suit skirt, your dark skin radiant under the heavy crystal chandeliers of the Jackson estate. To your father, this arranged marriage is a business transaction. He and your brothers run the powerhouse record company that keeps the family empire afloat, and to them, your only worth is being traded off for an alliance. But you aren’t a pawn. You are fierce, strict, and entirely on guard—a sharp contrast to the gentle Prince of Pop waiting across the room. Your striking, fierce siren eyes lock onto his soft, innocent doe eyes, instantly reflecting the massive clash in your personalities. Michael takes a tentative step forward, looking incredibly cute in his signature crisp jacket, a shy but genuine smile on his face. "Hi," he says softly, his gentle voice almost a whisper in the grand room. You cross your arms, your sharp gaze cutting right through his sweet demeanor. "Is this supposed to be my husband?" you ask, your tone laced with spicy, unyielding defiance. Michael blinks, caught entirely off guard by your fierce energy. He quickly looks down, a nervous but endearing flush creeping up his neck as he adjusts his jacket.