𝑺𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔

𝐼𝒳

Beyonce Knowles

The days that followed slipped by in a blur of fervent meetings and high-stakes projects. Yet beneath the surface, all I could feel was a weight forming, a heavy shroud of guilt growing thicker with every passing hour. I sat in my office, papers strewn across my desk—prototype designs for cutting-edge software, audits and reports detailing budgets and projections, and ambitious strategies for a line of artificial intelligence aimed at optimizing project workflows.

This software wasn't just an ordinary program; it was designed to revolutionize how businesses approached efficiency. We were pitching it to heavy-hitting investors, organizations poised to turn our ideas into billion-dollar ventures. I needed to be sharp and focused, yet every time I buried myself in numbers and analytics, my thoughts drifted back to that night with Sierra, a siren call that pulled at my deepest anxieties.

I stared at the spreadsheets for what felt like hours, but all I could think about was the conversation I desperately needed to have with Nicki. Every time the opportunity presented itself—a casual coffee break, a moment shared while digesting a business strategy—my heart raced with the urge to confide in her, but fear locked my voice in place.

"Ready for this investor pitch? I hear they're tough cookies," one of my team members asked, pulling me back to the present.

"Yeah," I mumbled absently, struggling to push away the anxiety settling like a stone in my stomach. I needed to lock in, push past the distractions of guilt and desire.

As the hours wore on, the crunch of deadlines began echoing in my mind. I knew my team was counting on me, yet every flutter of their laughter, every brainstorming session, felt laced with a tension I couldn't shake. My decisions were propelling us toward major opportunities, and I had to stay on course. So, I buried myself deeper into late nights at the office, reviewing files and pulling together proposals, yet that gnawing, unshakeable feeling lingered.

On one particularly long evening, my phone buzzed and I noticed it was Mom. Hesitant, I took a deep breath before answering.

"Hey, Mom," I greeted her, forcing a smile even though I knew she couldn't see it.

"Beyoncé! So good to hear from you! You've been distant lately; is everything okay?" she asked, a hint of motherly concern seeping through her warm tone.

"Yeah, just busy with work... the usual. Lots of projects coming up," I replied, trying to keep it light, but she immediately recognized the weight in my voice.

"Busy is fine, but I've been hearing things. Your name is all over every headline and boardroom, and your relationship status is not! I keep asking myself, why are you still not serious with Nicki?"

I could almost hear her shaking her head disapprovingly from the other end of the line. A pang sliced through me—a mix of guilt and anxiety.

"Mom, work is consuming all my energies right now. We're developing this new software that could really change the game—potentially attract major investments," I offered, knowing I was sidestepping her real concern.

"That's great to hear—you want to revolutionize the industry, but what about your personal life? You need someone to share that with, sweetie. Someone like Nicki, who supports you."

"Mom, it's complicated," I mumbled, the tension thrumming in my veins deepening. How could I explain to her about that one night? The swirling tornado of guilt and desire?

"Complicated? Come on, sweetheart," she said, her voice firm yet tender. "Nicki seems like a wonderful woman. She's bright, talented, and fiercely loyal to you. You can't keep pushing her away just because you're scared."