𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐦 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

“ Scandal ”

Beyoncé’s fingers trembled as she dialed Onika’s number, her heart pounding against her ribcage. The moment the call connected, she barely waited for Onika to speak before launching into a panicked rant.

“Onika, have you seen the news? How must I calm down? This is a disaster!”

Onika’s voice, though calm, held an undertone of urgency. “Beyoncé, please, baby, calm down. I’ve seen it, but we need to think rationally about this.”

Beyoncé couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Rationally? Onika, they have footage of us in the elevator! How did this even happen? I thought you said you’d take care of it!”

“I did,” Onika replied, her tone tight with frustration. “Someone must have overridden the deletion process or got their hands on it before I could secure it.”

Beyoncé’s mind raced as she paced around her living room. “It’s everywhere, Onika. Every news outlet is covering it. We’re not just trending; we’re the headline. What do we do?”

“We need to address this carefully,” Onika said, though she sounded far from composed herself. “We’ll make a statement. I’ll handle the political fallout—”

Beyoncé interrupted, her voice sharp. “This isn’t just about politics, Onika. It’s about us! We’re exposed to the entire world! Do you understand what this means?”

Onika inhaled deeply on the other end, trying to maintain her composure despite the chaos. “I do, Beyoncé. But we need to stay calm. We can’t let them see us break.”

Beyoncé stopped pacing, her hand covering her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “I didn’t sign up for this, Onika. I didn’t sign up to have our private moments plastered all over the internet.”

“I know, baby, I know,” Onika replied, her voice softening. “We’ll figure this out together. I promise you, we will.”

Onika’s voice softened, concern evident in her tone. “Beyoncé, are you still there?”

But there was no response from the other end. The silence was deafening.

“Beyoncé?” Onika repeated, her voice growing more urgent. “I’m coming over.”

“No, you can’t do that,” Beyoncé finally replied, her voice shaky. “Are you insane? The paparazzi are onto you. They’ll be watching every move you make.”

“I don’t care,” Onika insisted. “I’m coming over.”

“No!” Beyoncé nearly shouted, the desperation in her voice clear. “I don’t want you here, Onika. Please, just… don’t.”

Before Onika could respond, Beyoncé ended the call, her hands trembling as she set the phone down. She sank into the couch, staring blankly at the TV where news anchors dissected every detail of the leaked footage. Clips of their passionate moment in the elevator played over and over, with sensational headlines splashed across the screen.

As she watched, she saw live footage of Onika walking out of the White House, the camera zooming in as the paparazzi swarmed around her like vultures. They bombarded her with questions, their voices a cacophony of noise.

“President Maraj, is it true that Beyoncé Knowles is your mistress?”

“Is this the end of your political career?”

“Did you really think you could keep this a secret?”

Onika paused before getting into the car, her face stern, eyes flashing with defiance. “She’s not my mistress,” Onika declared, her voice cutting through the noise. “She’s so much more than that.”