It's 2006 and Beyonce just released her newest album "B'Day." She's on the covers of Vogue, adding more Grammy's to her collection and soon becoming the next best thing. In the middle of her popularity, she travels back home to Louisiana for her mot...
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BEYONCE CONTINUED RESEARCHING ON her laptop, finding more information about Aaliyah's death. Her father was right, she was put to sleep and forced onto the plane, an action she didn't want to do. After hours of searching, she was able to find one article that questioned whether or not, her management—the same management of Beyonce—killed her. The article was posted just 3 months ago and there was nothing before that date.
They had gotten rid of all evidence.
She pried off her reading glasses and ran her hands over her face. She realized her management had no problems going to the lengths to kill an innocent person. She began to fear for herself but also fear for her loved ones. How long would it take before someone found Micheal's name and then he would succumb to the same fate as Aaliyah? It wasn't possible, right? But then again, she didn't even know who these people truly were.
Beyonce turned her head, glancing down at Micheal who slept next to her. A soft smile appeared on her lips, he was truly perfect. But she couldn't fathom a life where he was hurt, especially because of her. Her shoulders dropped, she was trapped.
It wasn't like she could run away, she was under contract with them. There was only one thing to do: obey her management's orders so chaos wouldn't occur. Besides, Shawn promised to loan her $10 million to start her company if she married him. She didn't know where else she could get those funds for her company.
She placed her laptop on the bedside table and situated herself comfortably on the bed. She faced Micheal and prayed quietly for his wellbeing.
Then she closed her eyes.
- ONE WEEK LATER -
If Micheal was good at anything other than horse-racing, it was overthinking. Over the last week, Beyonce had suddenly grown distant and emotionally unavailable. He would try to reach out to her but she would only shut him away. He continued watching her as she ate breakfast in the room, keeping her head low. Nothing but the sound of the cutlery clicking against the plates could be heard.
Was he losing her?
"How do you like the meal?"
"It's good." She responded, her voice barely audible. Micheal's Adam apple bobbed up and down, as he played with his fork. "What's good about it?"
She shrugged. "It has everything I like."
This was how their mornings went and each day, she seemed to say less and less. He knew she would like the breakfast because he knew what foods she loved. But he was hoping for a more detailed answer and maybe even one of her million-dollar smiles. But that never came.
