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Chris
Los Angeles (His House)
September 28th, 4:02 AM
I jolted awake to the relentless banging on the front door. My heart pounded as I fumbled for my phone to check the time. It was barely past 4 a.m., and the last thing I needed was a wake-up call like this. The banging didn't let up, so I groaned, dragging myself out of bed.
Stumbling through the house, I threw on a hoodie and made my way to the door. I yanked it open, and there she was—Karrueche, her face flushed with a mix of anger and hurt. Her eyes shot daggers at me, and I could see she was not here for a friendly chat.
"Seriously, Karrueche?" I grumbled, trying to hide my irritation. "What are you doing here this early?"
She stormed past me, not waiting for an invitation. "Cut the crap, Chris! You think you can just waltz around with Beyoncé while we're still... together?!"
I closed the door behind her and followed her into the living room, my patience wearing thin. "We're not together. I told you, we're not doing this anymore. And Beyoncé and I are working on things for our kid, not trying to reconcile or anything."
Her eyes widened, and she took a step toward me, her voice rising. "Don't play games with me. I know what's happening. You're out here trying to get back with her while pretending like you're not. It's pathetic."
I could feel my anger bubbling over. "You don't get to tell me what I'm doing or not doing. You think it's all about you, but it's not. It's about our child and making sure they have the best. Beyoncé and I are co-parenting, and that's it."
She threw her hands up in frustration. "Co-parenting? It's a joke, Chris. You're pretending like it's all business, but I see through it. It's just you playing games again, and I'm not having it."
I threw my hands up too, exasperated. "I'm not playing games! I'm trying to do what's right for our child. If you can't understand that, then maybe you should just stay out of it."
Karrueche's face turned red, and she paced back and forth, her voice dripping with venom. "You think you can just walk away from everything and not deal with the consequences? You're trying to have your cake and eat it too."
I slammed a fist on the arm of the couch. "This isn't about having my cake. This is about being a responsible parent. If you can't see that, then there's nothing more to say."
The argument dragged on, each of us trying to outshout the other, but it was clear we weren't getting anywhere. Karrueche's anger was fierce, and mine matched it. For the next 30 minutes, we went back and forth, neither of us willing to back down.
