𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐦 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐨

“ The Cost Of Love ”

Beyoncé sat on the edge of the bed, her tears drying on her cheeks, though the sting in her chest still lingered. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. The room felt heavy, charged with the weight of their conversation, and the air between them was thick with tension.

Onika sat beside her, her posture rigid, her eyes distant. She had been bracing herself for the worst, expecting Beyoncé’s anger, her disgust, her rejection. Instead, what followed was an uncomfortable silence that stretched on, suffocating and dense.

Beyoncé cleared her throat, finally breaking the silence. "Why did you kill him, Onika?" she asked, her voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

Onika didn’t meet her gaze, her eyes fixed on the wall ahead. "He said something about you that pushed me over the edge," she replied coldly, her voice devoid of any emotion. She didn’t elaborate, didn’t offer any further explanation. It was as if she was speaking about a trivial matter, something that had no real significance.

Beyoncé felt a chill run down her spine at the coldness in Onika’s tone. This was a side of her that she rarely saw—a side that was detached, almost mechanical. She swallowed, the dryness in her throat making it hard to speak. "So you’re telling me that I got punched for nothing?" she asked, her voice rising slightly in frustration. "Now I can’t even be here to watch him fail slowly like he deserves? You gave him an easy death, Onika."

Onika’s head snapped towards her, her eyes narrowing in confusion. "You’re not mad?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. She had been prepared for Beyoncé’s anger, her horror at what she had done. But this reaction—this calm, almost indifferent response—caught her off guard.

Beyoncé shifted on the bed, moving closer to Onika until their knees touched. There was something dark in her eyes, a glimmer of something that made Onika’s heart skip a beat. "Mad?" Beyoncé repeated, a small, almost wicked smile curling on her lips. "It’s kind of hot that you killed for me."

Onika stared at her, her mind reeling. This wasn’t the reaction she had expected. She had braced herself for Beyoncé’s anger, her fear, her disgust. But this—this was something entirely different. She felt a strange mix of emotions—relief, confusion, and something else that she couldn’t quite place.

Beyoncé moved even closer, her hand reaching out to cup Onika’s face. "You’re so sexy, Onika," she murmured, her voice low and sultry. "I love how you’d do anything for me. How you’d kill for me."

Onika blinked, her mind struggling to process what was happening. "Bey… what are you saying?" she asked, her voice shaky.

Beyoncé leaned in, her lips brushing against Onika’s ear as she whispered, "You heard me. It turns me on knowing you’d do whatever it takes to protect me. Even if it means getting your hands dirty."

Onika’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening as Beyoncé’s words washed over her. There was a darkness in Beyoncé’s voice, a hunger that sent a shiver down her spine. She could feel the heat radiating off Beyoncé’s body, the tension between them crackling like electricity.

Beyoncé’s hand moved from Onika’s face to her chest, her fingers tracing a path down to the buttons of her shirt. "You don’t know how much I love you," she murmured, her voice a mix of affection and something more primal. "How much I need you."

Onika’s hands instinctively moved to Beyoncé’s hips, pulling her closer as she felt the heat between them intensify. "Beyoncé," she breathed, her voice a hushed whisper.