𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐦 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

“ Fractured Realities ”

Beyoncé lounged in her apartment, the soft hum of her phone conversation with her mother providing a semblance of normalcy. She was discussing the latest family news, her tone light and relaxed. The peace of the moment was abruptly shattered when another call came through, the screen displaying "White House."

“I’ll call you back later, Mom, okay?” Beyoncé said, trying to mask her frustration as she answered the call. “Hello?”

The urgency in the voice on the other end was palpable. “Miss Knowles, we need you here now. Madam President is demanding your presence.”

Beyoncé sighed, the calm she had managed to cultivate slipping away. “I’m in the middle of something. Can this wait?”

The response was curt. “No, it can’t. She insists. You need to come immediately.”

Reluctantly, Beyoncé hung up, her mind racing. She stood up and made her way to her closet, pulling out a sleek, nude pantsuit. The outfit exuded professionalism, contrasting sharply with the turmoil she felt inside. The white blouse and nude overcoat were meticulously chosen, her hair swept back into a sleek ponytail to match her determined demeanor.

Arriving at the White House, Beyoncé strode through the corridors with purpose. She reached the office and barged in without preamble, her gaze immediately falling on Onika and Michael.

“What’s going on?” Beyoncé demanded, her tone edged with irritation.

Onika, who had been standing close to Michael, stepped back, her expression a mix of tension and frustration. Michael, sensing the gravity of the situation, quickly excused himself, saying, “I’ll see you later, babe.”

As Michael exited, Beyoncé’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the scene. She clenched her jaw, her frustration evident. “What do you want, Onika?”

Onika’s gaze softened momentarily, but her voice remained firm. “Beyoncé, look at me.”

Beyoncé’s eyes locked onto Onika’s, her patience wearing thin. “What is it now? I’ve got better things to do than play this game.”

Onika’s voice raised, the tension between them palpable. “You think this is a game? I called you here because I need you—because I need us to talk.”

Beyoncé’s face hardened, her tone becoming more aggressive. “Talk? You’re the one who disregarded my feelings? I’m not exactly inclined to jump at your beck and call.”

Onika took a step closer, her eyes blazing. “That’s not fair, and you know it. I had to make a decision, and it wasn’t easy. But I need you here now.”

Beyoncé threw her hands up in exasperation. “You need me? You’ve made it clear how little you value my work. What’s changed?”

Onika’s frustration mirrored Beyoncé’s. “It’s not about valuing your work. It’s about the fact that we have a situation that requires both our skills. You’re the only one who can help me fix this.”

Beyoncé’s eyes flashed with anger. “Fix what? You’ve been running roughshod over everything, and now you want me to clean up the mess?”

Onika’s voice dropped, becoming more pleading. “Please, Beyoncé. Just look at the situation. I can’t do this alone, and I don’t want to. Not without you.”

Beyoncé stood still for a moment, absorbing Onika's plea. The intensity in Onika's voice sent shivers down her spine, but she quickly masked it with a scoff. “Please spare me the misery,” she snapped, turning on her heel to leave.