𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐦 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲

“ Unmasking Betrayal ”

Beyoncé slipped into the bustling market, her face partially obscured by a pair of oversized black sunglasses. The black hoodie she wore was pulled up, casting a shadow over her face, while matching sweatpants and sneakers completed her low-key ensemble. She moved through the crowd with purpose, her eyes scanning the array of vibrant fruits displayed on the vendor stands.

The market was alive with the chatter of vendors and customers, the air filled with the scent of fresh produce, herbs, and spices. Beyoncé had managed to remain unnoticed by the public, her every step calculated to avoid any unnecessary attention. But beneath the surface, her thoughts were a storm, swirling with the tension of her current reality—an existence where every move was scrutinized, where secrets were no longer safe.

As she reached for a perfectly ripe mango, she heard a voice from behind, clear and unmistakable. “Beyoncé?”

Her body tensed, fingers freezing mid-air. Slowly, she turned around, her heart skipping a beat when her eyes locked onto the familiar figure standing a few feet away.

It was Victoria.

Victoria’s gaze raked over Beyoncé, a smirk playing on her lips. “I knew it was you,” she said, her tone dripping with playful mockery. “That ass is unmistakable.”

Beyoncé felt a surge of annoyance wash over her, the calm she had tried so hard to maintain threatening to slip. Her posture stiffened as she dropped the mango back onto the pile, facing Victoria fully. “What do you want, Victoria?” she asked, her voice cold, devoid of any warmth.

Victoria tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she took in the sight of Beyoncé’s guarded stance. “Why are you so mean to me, B? We used to be close, remember?”

Beyoncé’s lips pressed into a thin line, her patience wearing thin. She took a step closer, her voice low and sharp. “Close? We were never close, Victoria. You’ve always been a leech—feeding off whatever you could get, whether it’s attention, fame, or someone else’s life. So don’t stand here pretending like we were ever anything more than what you wanted us to be.”

Victoria’s smirk faltered, a flash of something—maybe hurt or maybe anger—flickering in her eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a haughty expression. “You’ve changed,” she said, her voice now laced with bitterness. “You used to be more fun. Now you’re just cold.”

Beyoncé’s eyes darkened behind her sunglasses, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She took another step forward, her presence towering over Victoria, the tension between them palpable. “Fun?” she echoed, her voice dripping with contempt. “Is that what you think this is, Victoria? A game? Let me tell you something—nothing about my life is a game. And I’m done letting people like you think they can play with me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp, slicing through the pretense that Victoria had tried to maintain. But before she could respond, another voice broke the tension.

“Ladies.”

Beyoncé’s blood ran cold. She didn’t need to turn around to recognize the voice that had haunted her thoughts for the past few days.

Drake.

Slowly, she turned to face him, her heart pounding in her chest. There he was, standing just a few feet away, his presence as imposing as ever. His dark eyes were locked on hers, and in that moment, she knew—she just knew.

They were the ones. The ones who had leaked the video. The ones who had shattered her world.

Drake’s lips curled into a smug smile as he approached, his gaze shifting between Beyoncé and Victoria. “It’s good to see you, B,” he said smoothly, his tone casual, but there was a coldness in his eyes that sent a shiver down Beyoncé’s spine.