You were a famous journalist. And when we say famous, we mean really famous.

Many influential people wanted the chance to sit across from you because of how much power your interviews carried.

You had interviewed countless celebrities, businessmen, and public figures. They respected you for being professional, composed, and never easily impressed.

Until your boss assigned you to Michael Jackson.

Michael personally requested you.

"Little Miss Journalist."

That was what Michael called you.

The interview went better than expected.

You asked your questions. Michael answered. There were jokes, laughter, and moments that felt strangely natural for a conversation between a journalist and one of the biggest stars in the world.

When the interview was published, it became a worldwide success.

Everyone loved it.

And then you went back to your life.

Press.

Meetings.

Interviews.

Deadlines.

You didn't think much about Michael after that.

But Michael thought about you.

And somewhere between replaying the interview and remembering the way you looked at him, something in his mind changed.

He didn't just want another interview.

He wanted you.

And he wasn't planning on giving up easily.

After work one evening, you finally made your way to your car.

You stopped when you noticed something sitting on the roof.

A bouquet of flowers.

Beside it was a small folded note.

You picked it up and opened it.

"Little Miss Journalist."

Nothing else.

You slowly looked around the parking lot.

Across the street sat a sleek black car with tinted windows.

Before you could get a better look, the car slowly pulled away and disappeared down the street.

You stood there for a moment, flowers in your hands and the note between your fingers.

You knew exactly who left them