𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐦 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐨𝐧𝐞

“ A Dangerous Game ”

Beyoncé stepped into her apartment, the door clicking shut behind her as she leaned against it, exhaling a shaky breath. The adrenaline that had carried her through the market was starting to wear off, leaving her exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Her cheek throbbed, the sting of Drake’s punch a constant reminder of the scene she had just orchestrated. But she had to admit, the plan had worked perfectly.

As she lifted her head, she spotted Onika pacing in the living room, her presidential suit a sharp contrast to the casual setting of the apartment. The fierce determination in Onika’s eyes softened the moment she saw Beyoncé, her steps faltering. But the tenderness was quickly replaced by worry and anger as she noticed the bruise already forming on Beyoncé’s face.

“What the hell happened to you?” Onika demanded, rushing to her side. Her hands reached out instinctively, fingers grazing Beyoncé’s face, but the touch made Beyoncé wince.

“Don’t press so hard,” Beyoncé hissed, her voice betraying the pain she was trying to hide.

Onika’s eyes narrowed, her grip on Beyoncé’s chin firm but not harsh as she inspected the damage. “Who did this? And don’t lie to me, Beyoncé.”

Beyoncé tried to pull away, but Onika held her firmly, her anger palpable. “You’re hurting me,” Beyoncé muttered, the sting in her cheek intensifying under Onika’s scrutiny.

Onika’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t let go. “Who did it?” she repeated, her voice low, dangerous.

Beyoncé sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to dodge the question. “It’s not what you think, really. Just calm down and let me explain everything.”

Onika’s eyes blazed with fury, her entire demeanor shifting as she processed what Beyoncé was saying. “Tell me, Beyoncé,” she demanded, her tone making it clear that she wasn’t going to ask again.

Beyoncé hesitated for a moment, weighing her words carefully. “It was Drake, but listen—”

Onika cut her off, her voice rising in anger. “A man hit you?”

Beyoncé could see the rage building behind Onika’s eyes, the way her breathing quickened, her hands curling into fists at her sides. The calm, collected President was slipping away, replaced by a woman on the edge of losing control. Beyoncé knew this side of Onika well—the one that would stop at nothing to protect what was hers.

“Onika, please, just calm down,” Beyoncé said softly, trying to defuse the situation before it escalated any further. “Let me tell you what happened.”

Onika’s eyes bore into hers, searching for any sign of dishonesty, but when she found none, she finally relented. “Fine,” she muttered, though the tension in her voice was still evident. “Let me clean this up first.”

Beyoncé nodded, grateful for the small victory, and followed Onika to the couch. She sank into the cushions, exhaustion weighing her down as Onika went to fetch a first aid kit from the bathroom. When Onika returned, she sat down beside Beyoncé, gently lifting her head to rest on her lap.

The touch was soft, tender, so at odds with the fury that still simmered beneath the surface. As Onika carefully cleaned the wound, Beyoncé felt a sense of calm wash over her, despite the chaos that had just unfolded.

“What happened in the store?” Onika asked, her voice quieter now, though the underlying anger was still there.

Beyoncé winced slightly as Onika dabbed at her cheek, but she forced herself to stay still. “I ran into Victoria and Drake,” she began, her voice steady. “Victoria was the one who leaked the video. She and Drake were in on it together.”