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It was wild watching the world finally catch up to what I already knew—that Destiny's Child was it.
July 14th, 1999, the day The Writing's on the Wall dropped, felt like some cosmic shift. Stores had lines wrapped around them. Girls were quoting lyrics they'd only just heard, and radio stations played Bills, Bills, Bills like it was the national anthem.
And me? I was right there. Not just watching from the sidelines—but in it.
Mathew had officially brought me on as his mentee, and if you've ever met that man, you know he doesn't half-step. This wasn't a favor or a front. I was running schedules, sitting in on label calls, even speaking up in meetings when I had ideas. And to top it off, he got me an internshipwith an A&R at Columbia Records. Real work. Real pressure. Real music.
But none of that compared to her.
Even with all the buzz, the fame, the nonstop motion—Beyoncé still looked at me like I was her peace. Like I was the only thing in the room that made sense. She made space for me no matter how packed her life got. Tour stops, hotel lobbies, early flights—if she was there, she wanted me there too.
I wasn't just her girlfriend anymore—I was her anchor. Her sounding board. Her person.
And yeah... being around her during this time? It was intoxicating. The way she carried herself in interviews, the way her voice took over a room, the way her eyes always searched for me in a crowd like a quiet "you see me?"
I always did.
And I'd just smile, fingers brushing hers under a table, behind a curtain, wherever we could get away with it. She had the world falling at her feet—but somehow, I was still the one she came home to at night, even if "home" was a hotel room two states away.
Yeah, the lights were bright. But us? We were still the best-kept secret in the industry.
It started like any other off day on tour—rare, precious, and long overdue. The girls wanted to hit up an amusement park, and I couldn't say no to Beyoncé's excitement. Seeing her like that—laughing, teasing, hair flying in the wind like she wasn't one of the most famous girls in the country—was magic. That was my girl, stripped down from all the lights and rehearsals and expectations. Just Bey.
I lived for days like this.
But that night was different.
When we got back to the hotel, everyone split off—Kelly went to grab food, Latoya and Latavia disappeared somewhere, and I figured I'd go rest too. But Beyoncé tugged my sleeve before I could.
"Stay," she said, voice low.
The room was dim and quiet, and once the door clicked behind us, the energy shifted. We weren't just two best friends or a singer and her assistant anymore. We were Beyoncé and YN. Private. Real.
