Y/N Imagines

Beyonce (Love is Blind) part 8

Y/N POV

It had been six months since I walked out of that penthouse. Six months since I slammed a door on the only woman who ever made me feel like the world revolved and stood still at the same time.

I didn't take much—just a few bags, my dignity barely zipped inside it. I left behind the apartment she paid for, the life she built for both of us, the love that—depending on the day—felt like it either saved or suffocated me.

And now, Beyoncé was all over the damn news.

BEYONCÉ FILED FOR DIVORCE. CARTER EMPIRE FRACTURES. COWBOY RIDES ALONE.

I never thought she would actually do it. She always needed to put on a front to the world that everything was fine ... perfect. Never thought I would see the day she actually didn't care what the world thought anymore.

I didn't text. Didn't call. What would I even say? Sorry I left? Sorry I stayed so long? Sorry I loved you too much, or maybe not enough? No sentence felt like the right one.

Then Kelly texted me out of nowhere:

"We're going to the show tonight. No excuses."

And I went.

The VIP suite overlooked the stage like a goddamn confession booth—far enough to stay hidden, close enough to see every breath she took.

Kelly handed me a drink the second I walked in. Something dark and neat. "You okay?"

I nodded, swallowing even though my throat was dry. "Just a lot of people."

She gave me a look. One of those cut-the-bullshit looks only someone who'd known you too long could pull off. "People? Or Beyoncé?"

I sipped. Avoided eye contact.

Solange slid into the suite a moment later like a breeze wrapped in silk. She gave Kelly a hug, then turned to me with that cool smile of hers. "Didn't expect to see you tonight."

I smiled, shallow. "Didn't expect to come."

"But you did," she said, settling in next to me. "That means something."

Maybe. Maybe it meant I missed her. Or missed the version of myself that existed when she looked at me like I was a secret worth keeping.

I glanced sideways at Solange. There was no edge in her tone, but she watched me with eyes that had seen too much. Did she know? She'd never said anything. Never looked at me any differently. But Solange was sharp—quieter than her sister, but twice as intuitive.

I shifted in my seat, my knee bouncing.

Kelly leaned in again. "You haven't talked to her at all?"

"No."

"She's not doing great."

I stared at the drink in my hand. The amber light caught in the glass reminded me of her eyes. "Neither am I."