𝑺𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔

𝐼

Onika Maraj

The city sprawled beneath me—a labyrinth of skyscrapers and shimmering streets, mirroring the chaos of my own life. I stood at the window of our shared penthouse, staring out at the twinkling lights, feeling trapped under the weight of expectations. At thirty-four, I was the CEO of a flourishing tech company, but lately, my personal life had spiraled into an exhausting charade. I was caught in a fake relationship with none other than Beyoncé—her presence a constant reminder of the glittery, yet often ruthless, world we inhabited.

"Onika, we need to go!" Beyoncé's voice rang out from the kitchen, her tone sharp enough to cut through the haze of my thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm coming!" I responded, forcing the energy to sound enthusiastic, though irritation simmered beneath the surface. It seemed like every day lately was a balancing act of keeping my composure while navigating her unpredictable temperament. What had started as a calculated publicity stunt now felt more like a cruel game where I was often left as the target.

I hurried out to the kitchen, where she lounged with her usual effortless flair. Dressed to perfection, she seemed to command the space around her with an air of confidence that was both intoxicating and frustrating.

"Nice of you to finally join the party," she quipped, raising an eyebrow as she poured herself a cocktail. There was that sarcasm again, like a well-placed jab I was beginning to know all too well.

"Right, because timing is everything when it comes to playing pretend," I shot back, trying to match her energy, even though my heart sank a little at having to keep up this charade.

"Exactly! Speaking of, get your game face on. We've got to keep up appearances." She flashed that million-dollar smile, but I could see the glint of mischief in her eyes.

I faked a smile back at her. "You're right. We just need to prove that we're the hottest couple in town."

"Damn straight," she retorted, taking a sip from her drink. "Now hurry up unless you want me to steal all the attention at this event."

Our unspoken dynamic buzzed like electricity between us. She was the reigning queen, a pop icon whose talent couldn't be overstated, while I was left trying to carve out my own space within this fabricated narrative. There were moments when she could be bearable, even enjoyable; yet most of the time, I felt more like an accessory in her world than an equal partner.

---

As we arrived at the venue, a flurry of cameras greeted us, flashing like fireflies in the night. The press were hungry for more details about our "relationship," and I could feel the pressure mounting. Beyoncé was in her element, flashing smiles and waves like it was a scripted performance. I struggled to keep my smile intact, reminding myself that I, too, had a reputation to uphold.

"Remember the plan!" she called back to me as she walked away into the crowd, her voice laced with authority. "Just act natural!"

"Right, because that's easy when you're with Beyoncé," I muttered under my breath, forcing myself to keep a brave face. But inwardly, I felt that familiar twinge of resentment.

As I made my way through the room, I clutched my drink tightly, trying to navigate conversations with strangers who didn't know the truth behind the glitzy facade. I exchanged pleasantries while watching Beyoncé flit between admirers like a butterfly, charming everyone around her as she laughed and flirted without a care.

Great, another night of feeling invisible.

After about an hour, I caught a glimpse of her across the room, chatting with a woman whose striking looks rivaled even Beyoncé's. My stomach twisted in a strange mix of irritation and jealousy as I watched them interact. Was it just me, or did the way she leaned in ever so slightly over her shoulder look less like a friendly chat and more like an invitation?

"Nice to see my 'partner' is keeping it professional," I mumbled to myself as I took another sip of my drink.

Marley, my assistant, soon appeared at my side, her smile a welcome distraction amid the chaos. "You're doing great, Onika! Just keep your head up," she encouraged, noticing the scowl that creased my forehead.

"Thanks, Marley." I sighed, the frustration bubbling within me. "Can you believe this? I'm just here as a background character in Beyoncé's never-ending show."

"You know she can be a lot to handle," Marley said, giving me an understanding glance. "But you have every right to call her out if she's treating you poorly, fake relationship or not."

"Easier said than done," I replied, glancing over at Beyoncé, whose grin was plastered on her face as she chatted with the woman. "How do you confront the queen without losing your place in the court?"

"That's the thing," Marley insisted. "You're not just some pawn, Onika. You have power in your own right. Don't forget that."

"Yeah, well, it's hard to remember that when she's the one getting all the glory," I said, my voice laced with bitterness.

Marley nudged me gently. "Just think about it. Set some boundaries. You deserve that."

As if on cue, Beyoncé broke off from her conversation, striding over to me, radiating her usual charisma like a spotlight. She plastered on a smile. "Hey, babe! We need to stick together here," she said, her tone light and teasing.

Inside, I bristled. "Right. 'Together' as in you're the one stealing all the attention while I stand around doing nothing?"

"Cute," she laughed, completely unfazed. "Just remember, the cameras are always rolling. And so are the rumors!"

I wanted to roll my eyes but instead held my ground. "You seem to be doing just fine on your own there. You don't need my help to attract the headlines."

"Lighten up, Onika," she said, dismissing my comment with a wave of her hand. "We're both here to have a good time. Just play along."

"Right," I said, forcing myself to smile through gritted teeth as her laughter faded into the crowd.

As the night dragged on, I found myself watching Beyoncé from a distance. She had a magnetic quality that drew admirers, and I could see how she danced through conversations with effortless charm—something I envied but also found utterly exhausting.

What gnawed at me, though, was the very real connection she could have with those women around her. I couldn't shake the feeling of being outdone. The encounter I witnessed just moments ago had left me feeling hollow; she flitted from one gorgeous woman to another without a second thought, while I stood there feeling small and overlooked.

As the evening wore on, I steeled myself to confront this dynamic—this maddening ballet of discontent that threatened to unravel any semblance of self-worth I had left. Boundaries needed to be drawn.

Finally, as we headed back to the penthouse, I gathered my courage, my heart racing with the resolve that had been building throughout the night.

"Beyoncé," I said as we stepped inside, wrestling with the knot in my stomach. She turned to gaze at me, a question in her eyes.

"What's up?" she replied casually, heading to the bar to pour herself a drink.

"I need to talk to you about us," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady.

"Us?" she echoed, as she poured the drink too liberally.

"Yes!" I pressed, my frustration flaring. "I'm tired of how dismissive you've been. Not once tonight have you bothered to check in with me or even acknowledge that this relationship goes both ways!"

She poured herself a glass, the clinking of ice punctuating her silence. Then she shrugged, leaning back against the counter. "What do you want me to say? This is all part of the act. You know that."

"It's hard to play along when I feel like a sidekick instead of a partner," I snapped back, the words tumbling out. "I thought we were in this together. This isn't just about you and your latest fling!"

Her expression turned icy, those piercing eyes narrowing as I felt the tension rise between us. "You knew what this was when we agreed to it. I'm not going to pretend to be your significant other when we both know this is just a convenient arrangement."

"Convenient?" I fumed, the frustration boiling over. "I deserve respect, even in a charade like this. You treat me like I don't matter, and enough is enough."

Beyoncé straightened, folding her arms as a tight smile formed on her lips. "You want respect, Onika? Earn it. Show me that you can keep up with the game instead of sulking in the corner. If you can't, then maybe you're not cut out for this life."

With that, she walked away, leaving me shaking with a mix of disbelief and anger. My heart raced, the confrontation twisting in my chest. How could she dismiss my feelings so easily?

But deep down, I knew this wasn't just her being cruel. It was a call to action, and I realized I needed to stand my ground. I wouldn't let her have the final word in this unbalanced partnership. The truth was, I was more than capable of playing my part, and I wasn't going to shy away from that.

"Fine, Beyoncé," I said, my voice steadied by resolve. "But don't think for a second that I'll let you run this show without holding you accountable. This is where the boundary is drawn."

Taking a deep breath, I resolved to be true to myself in this tangled mess we'd created, regardless of her dismissals. I may not have her celebrity status, but I had my own strengths.

As I headed to my room to gather my thoughts, I knew I was only beginning to fight for respect—both from her and, more importantly, from myself. This was not just about managing a fake relationship anymore. From that moment forward, it was about understanding my worth and demanding it in a world that often bent toward the powerful.

I could meet her challenge and rise to the occasion. Let her charm her way through her life; I would carve out my own path, one that wouldn't allow anyone—Beyoncé included—to belittle me again.

And as I settled into bed that night, I realized the battle wasn't against her allure, but against my own fears. I was ready to step into the light, not as her shadow, but as a force in my own right. I had every intention of proving just how formidable I could be in this absurd narrative.

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