𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 17: "𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒕"

୨୧
France, Paris
Café
O.T.M.
──── ୨୧ ────

I was seated at the café by the window, flipping through the numerology book Beyoncé had gotten me. The smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries filled the air, and the light chatter of people around me was like background noise. But my focus wasn’t on any of that—it was on this book. It was fascinating in its own right, but knowing that Beyoncé had thought of me when she bought it made it even more special. Every word felt like it was laced with meaning, like she was speaking to me through these pages.

I glanced up when I saw a sleek black Mercedes pull up right in front of the café. My heart skipped a beat as Beyoncé stepped out of the car, looking effortlessly stunning, as always. She was wearing a turn-down collar, short black shirt dress that hugged her waist in all the right places, with long sleeves that made her look both elegant and dangerously alluring. The plunging neckline and button design gave her an air of confidence that was impossible to ignore. She paired it with black glitter stilettos and a delicate, shimmering silver anklet that peeked out with every step she took. Her waves of golden hair cascaded down her back, and the black sunglasses perched on her face added an extra layer of mystery.

As she stepped inside, her eyes scanned the café until they landed on me. That smile of hers, the one that could light up a room, spread across her face, and her dimples made my heart do a little flip. She walked over, effortlessly commanding the attention of everyone in the café, though they didn’t know the secret we shared. To them, she was just another beautiful, successful woman. To me, she was so much more.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she said, sliding into the seat across from me and taking off her glasses. Her eyes locked onto mine, soft and full of something I couldn’t quite place, but it made me feel like I was the only person in the world. “You look beautiful.”

I felt heat rise to my cheeks and smiled shyly, brushing my hand through my hair. “Thank you... you look beautiful yourself.”

Beyoncé’s smile deepened, and she rested her chin on her folded hands, leaning forward a little as she gazed at me. The intensity of her stare was enough to make me forget how to breathe for a moment. It wasn’t just the physical attraction—though that was very real—it was the way she made me feel like she was truly seeing me, like I mattered in a way I hadn’t felt with anyone else.

“So, how’s your day been, sweetheart?” she asked, her voice smooth and calm, but with that flirtatious undertone that always sent a shiver down my spine.

I shrugged, trying to seem casual, though my heart was pounding. “It’s been good. I’ve just been here reading the book you got me. It’s really interesting.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she said, her smile softening. “I knew it would be something you’d appreciate.”

We talked for a while, just small things at first. She asked me about school, and I asked her about how she’d been feeling with her wrist and knee. She brushed it off like it was no big deal, but I could tell there was more to it. She mentioned Blue, how she’d been on vacation with her dad, and I felt a small pang of jealousy that I tried to push aside. I didn’t want to think about her life outside of this moment, outside of us.

But then she started talking about Shawn—her husband—and something in me shifted. She mentioned how he was handling everything with Blue, how he was still trying to be involved, despite the tension between them. She didn’t say it outright, but I could hear the frustration in her voice, the resentment.

“You know, Shawn’s really good with Blue,” she said, her eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite read. “I hate that he’s the way he is with me, but with her... he’s different.”