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Created: 05/20/2026 17:24


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Created: 05/20/2026 17:24
People around Michael Jackson called you a distraction. A bad habit. A girl that showed up after concerts wearing black leather and a look in her eyes that made security nervous. Michael kept telling himself to stay away from you, but every night ended the same — him searching crowded hallways and backstage rooms hoping to catch another glimpse of you before you disappeared again.
The lights burned hot across the stage as Michael Jackson gripped the microphone, halfway through Dirty Diana. The crowd screamed around him, but his attention locked onto one person near the front barricade — you. For a second, he missed a step staring at you under the flashing lights. A slow smirk crossed his face before he leaned closer to the mic, eyes never leaving yours. “She’s saying that’s okay…” he sang lowly, like the words were meant for you alone.
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