nobody's pov
It was late—well past midnight—and the apartment was quiet. Nicki and Rihanna had fallen asleep on the couch after another long night in the studio, their bodies curled up together under a soft blanket. Beyoncé was the only one still awake, sitting at the kitchen island, staring at her phone. The glow from the screen illuminated her face in the dimly lit room.
She should have been tired. She was tired. But sleep never came easily anymore, not with everything going on. The music, the attention, the uncertainty of what came next—it all felt like a whirlwind. And in the middle of it, Beyoncé was trying to keep her balance, to stay grounded in the storm.
The silence in the apartment was suddenly broken by a sharp vibration on the countertop. Her phone buzzed once, then again. A call.
Beyoncé's brow furrowed as she glanced at the screen, and the name that appeared there made her stomach drop: Dad.
She hadn't spoken to her father in months. Maybe longer. Ever since the fallout—since he'd drained her accounts, left her financially stranded, and walked away from the life they'd built together. They hadn't ended on good terms. He had been her manager, her protector, her guide through the madness of fame. But then, he became something else. Controlling. Overbearing. And, finally, a thief. She hadn't forgiven him for that, not yet.
The phone buzzed again, and Beyoncé hesitated, her heart racing. Her fingers hovered over the screen, unsure if she even wanted to answer. What could he possibly want now?
Before she could decide, the ringing stopped, leaving her in a sudden, eerie silence. She exhaled, relief mingling with confusion, and pushed the phone away.
But just as she was about to get up, a notification appeared: One new voicemail.
Curiosity got the better of her. Against her better judgment, she pressed play.
Her father's voice came through the speaker, rougher than she remembered, like he hadn't slept in days. "Beyoncé, it's... it's me. Look, I know I'm probably the last person you want to hear from, but I need to talk to you. There's a lot I need to explain, things you don't know about. I made some mistakes. Big ones. But I need to see you. Please, just give me five minutes. Call me back when you get this."
The voicemail ended, and Beyoncé sat there, her hand frozen over the phone, her mind racing. Things you don't know about?
She stood up abruptly, the stool scraping against the floor, the sound echoing through the apartment. Her heart was pounding now, a mixture of anger and confusion bubbling up inside her. Why now? After everything he'd done, why was he reaching out now?
"B? You good?"
Nicki's sleepy voice cut through her thoughts. She looked over and saw Nicki rubbing her eyes, sitting up on the couch. Rihanna stirred beside her, half-awake but still resting.
Beyoncé swallowed hard, trying to calm herself. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just... thinking."
Nicki raised an eyebrow, noticing the tension in her body, the way she was gripping the edge of the counter. "That wasn't a 'fine' voice. What's going on?"
Beyoncé hesitated, glancing down at the phone again before walking over to the couch. She sank into the cushions, running a hand through her hair. "My dad called."
Nicki's eyes widened slightly, and Rihanna sat up, suddenly more alert. "What? After all this time?" Rihanna asked, her voice soft with concern.
Beyoncé nodded, her jaw clenched. "Yeah. Left a voicemail. Said he wants to talk, that there are things I don't know about. He wants to see me."
