Nobody's pov
It had been a week since the hotel room.
Beyoncé had spent every day turning their offer over in her mind, the decision looming over her like a shadow. She tried to push it away, to convince herself that this was insane. But every time she sat down to work out her finances, the reality of her situation pulled her back to the same conclusion.
This wasn't just about the money anymore. There was something about the way Rihanna and Nicki had looked at her, the way they had spoken to her, that lingered. She couldn't stop thinking about it—the idea of being chosen, of stepping into their lives. It made her feel both powerful and powerless all at once.
And then there was the curiosity. What would it be like to really be with them? To be part of their world, even if it was just behind closed doors? The unknown drew her in, like a dangerous but irresistible tide.
When she finally texted them back, her fingers had trembled over the keyboard.
"I'm in."
The response had been immediate.
"Dinner. Friday night. Private. We'll send a car."
Now, standing in front of the mirror in her small apartment, Beyoncé could feel the nervous energy buzzing through her veins. She had picked out her best dress—simple, elegant, but sexy enough to hold her own. It was a muted burgundy color that hugged her curves and made her skin glow under the low light.
She ran her hands over the fabric for what felt like the hundredth time, trying to calm her nerves. It wasn't just a date. It wasn't just dinner. She was about to step into the world of two women who could make or break anyone they chose. And she wasn't sure where she fit in yet.
A sharp knock on her door snapped her out of her thoughts. The car.
She grabbed her clutch and opened the door. A sleek, black SUV was parked outside, the driver waiting beside it, all business. He nodded at her in silence as he opened the door. She climbed in, the cool leather seats a contrast to the warmth building in her chest.
The ride was quiet, the city lights passing by in a blur. Beyoncé stared out the window, her mind swirling with questions. What would happen tonight? What did they expect from her? Was she really ready for this?
When the car finally stopped, her breath hitched. They had brought her to a private, upscale restaurant in the heart of the city. The kind of place where celebrities dined behind closed doors, away from prying eyes. The kind of place that screamed exclusivity.
The driver opened her door, and Beyoncé stepped out, smoothing her dress once more. Her heels clicked softly against the pavement as she walked toward the entrance, her heart racing.
Inside, the maître d' greeted her by name, as if she was expected. He led her down a dimly lit hallway toward a private dining room in the back. Her stomach tightened with every step, her nerves clawing at her insides. She was about to walk into something she couldn't predict.
He opened the door, and there they were.
Rihanna and Nicki sat at an elegantly set table, both dressed impeccably. Rihanna in a fitted black dress that shimmered under the soft lighting, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Nicki wore a deep red ensemble that accentuated her curves, her makeup flawless, her eyes watching Beyoncé with a quiet intensity.
They both looked up as she entered, smiles playing on their lips.
"Beyoncé," Rihanna said, her voice like velvet, smooth and welcoming. "Right on time."
