Third Person's Point of View

The house was quiet.

Not in the way Beyoncé preferred—where silence felt like peace, a momentary break from the demands of the world. No, this was different. This quiet carried weight, pressing against the walls, thick and suffocating. The kind of silence that filled spaces where words had been left unsaid.

She had spent the morning on autopilot. Answering emails, reviewing schedules, skimming through messages from her team—half of them she didn't even process. It was a distraction, a futile attempt to push away the gnawing ache in her chest. But distractions only worked for so long. Eventually, she ended up here, curled on the couch in the den, wrapped in a throw blanket that did nothing to warm her. The TV was on, playing some mindless reality show she hadn't paid attention to in the last hour. Her phone sat on the coffee table, screen down, as if ignoring it could erase the unread messages, the calls she hadn't returned.

Blue Ivy walked in without a sound, her small feet barely making an imprint on the plush carpet. She had inherited that from her mother—the ability to move through spaces without disturbing them. But unlike Beyoncé, she wasn't trying to disappear.

"Mommy?"

Beyoncé blinked, then turned her head, offering her daughter a soft, tired smile. "Yeah, baby?"

Blue hesitated for a second, studying her with eyes that saw too much for a child her age. Beyoncé knew she hadn't been herself these past few days, withdrawing little by little, the weight of betrayal making her retreat inward. And Blue, sharp as ever, had noticed.

"You okay?"

Beyoncé exhaled, shifting to make room for her daughter beside her. "Of course, baby. Just a little tired."

Blue didn't move immediately, as if deciding whether or not to believe her. Then, as if reaching a conclusion, she plopped down next to Beyoncé, resting her head against her mother's arm. They sat like that for a while, neither of them speaking. The only sound was the low murmur of the television and the occasional rustle of fabric as Blue adjusted herself.

Then, softly, Blue said, "You haven't been using the app of Dr. Pete."

Beyoncé stilled. A beat of silence stretched between them, heavy and charged.

Blue tilted her head up. "I just noticed. You used to check in a lot. But now, you don't."

Beyoncé pressed her lips together, swallowing against the sudden tightness in her throat. Trust Blue to say something so simple yet so piercing. She had abandoned the app the moment the truth came out, unable to even look at it without feeling sick. Every conversation, every moment of comfort, all of it had been a lie. Or at least, it felt that way now.

"I don't need it right now," she finally said, keeping her voice steady.

Blue frowned, small fingers playing with the hem of her own hoodie. "But it was helping, right?"

Beyoncé hesitated. It had been helping. Before she knew the truth, before everything crumbled around her. She had found solace in words that weren't real, in a presence that wasn't who she thought it was. And now, all that remained was the hollow ache of deception.

"Things change, baby," she murmured. "Sometimes we outgrow things."

Blue wasn't convinced. She didn't push, but she didn't let it go either. Instead, she shifted closer, wrapping her small arms around Beyoncé's waist in a quiet kind of understanding. Beyoncé closed her eyes and hugged her back, pressing a kiss into the crown of her daughter's head.

Maybe she was lying to herself, too.

∞∞∞

The silence in the house felt heavier than before. Even after Blue had gone to bed, the air remained thick with unspoken words, lingering in the dimly lit living room where Beyoncé sat curled up on the couch. The television was now turned off. Instead, she stared blankly at her phone screen, her fingers hovering over Megan's last message. The unread texts piled up, each notification another weight pressing down on her chest.

She hadn't cried. Not yet. The numbness took up too much space, blocking out everything else. But she wasn't fooling Blue.

Unbeknownst to Beyoncé, Blue had crept out of her room earlier that night and quietly called her grandmother. It wasn't something she did often, but the unease in her chest hadn't faded even after talking to her mother. And if anyone could do something about it, it was Tina.

It wasn't long before the front door opened, and the familiar click of heels echoed through the hall.

"Blue asleep?" Tina asked as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She didn't wait for an answer before setting her purse down and making her way to the couch. Beyoncé didn't look up.

Tina took a slow breath, her gaze sweeping over her daughter. "You look like hell, baby."

Beyoncé let out a humorless laugh. "Feel worse than that."

Tina lowered herself onto the couch beside her, not saying anything right away. She had raised Beyoncé long enough to know when to push and when to sit in the quiet with her. Tonight, she chose the latter, letting the stillness settle before speaking.

"Blue called me," she finally said, her voice gentle. "She's worried about you. And honestly, so am I."

Beyoncé exhaled through her nose, staring at her hands. "She shouldn't have."

"Well, she did," Tina replied. "Because she loves you. And because you ain't been yourself."

The words pressed into Beyoncé's chest, unraveling something tight and knotted inside her. She swallowed hard, but the lump in her throat refused to go away.

"I just... I don't know how to process this, Mama." Her voice wavered, the first real crack in her defenses. "It's like... I trusted something that was never real. And now I don't know what to believe."

Tina reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "People make mistakes, baby. The question is—was it out of malice or love?"

Beyoncé's breath caught. She hadn't let herself consider that. Hadn't let herself entertain the possibility that Megan's deception wasn't rooted in cruelty. But it didn't erase the betrayal, didn't soften the hurt that sat heavy in her chest.

"I don't know if it matters," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Tina brushed a strand of hair out of Beyoncé's face, her touch steady and reassuring. "It always matters, Bey. Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. But it matters."

They sat there in silence, the weight of Tina's words settling over them. Beyoncé didn't have an answer—not yet. But for the first time since the truth had shattered around her, she felt something shift. Something small but real.

And maybe, just maybe, that was a start.

∞∞∞

The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow over the quiet kitchen. The house was still, except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional chirp from outside. Beyoncé stood at the sink, rinsing her coffee mug, her movements slow and deliberate. Sleep had come in fragments, interrupted by restless thoughts that looped in her mind.

She had spent the previous day in a haze, navigating conversations with Blue and her mother without fully grasping where she stood. The betrayal still weighed heavily on her, but so did Tina's words, lingering in the back of her mind. Now, a full day later, she found herself in the company of the two people who understood her better than almost anyone—Kelly and Michelle.

It hadn't been her idea. Kelly had insisted, showing up unannounced with Michelle in tow, forcing Beyoncé out of her self-imposed isolation.

Now, they sat in her sunroom, surrounded by plush seating and the scent of fresh flowers, the windows open just enough to let in the late morning breeze. Kelly sipped on a matcha latte, legs crossed, her eyes sharp as she studied Beyoncé. Michelle, ever the softer presence, held a cup of tea, fingers curled around it like she was absorbing its warmth. Beyoncé had barely touched her drink.

"So, are we gonna talk about it, or are we just sitting here pretending everything's cute?" Kelly broke the silence, arching a brow. "'Cause you look like you've been through it."

Beyoncé exhaled, rolling her eyes. "Damn, Kel. You always gotta be straight to the point."

"Wouldn't be me if I wasn't," Kelly shot back, leaning forward. "You been avoiding our calls, disappearing like you ain't got best friends. That ain't normal, Bey. So spill."

Michelle gave Kelly a look before turning to Beyoncé with a softer approach. "We're just worried about you, B. Blue called us."

"She didn't say much, just that you were upset about something big. And that you weren't yourself," Michelle explained gently. "So we came."

Beyoncé sighed, setting her untouched drink on the table. She hated that Blue was telling on her, but at the same time, she knew her daughter had done it out of love. Just like Tina. Just like Kelly and Michelle now.

She hesitated, the weight of the truth pressing down on her chest. Then, finally, she spoke.

"It's about MindHaven. About... Megan."

Kelly narrowed her eyes. "What about it?"

Beyoncé took a shaky breath. "She's not who I thought she was."

Silence settled over the room, thick with anticipation. Kelly was the first to break it.

"She?" she echoed, picking up on the pronoun immediately. "Hold up. You telling me Megan is a real person?"

Beyoncé nodded, fingers curling into her lap. "And I know her."

Michelle's brows furrowed, confusion flickering across her face. "Wait, what do you mean?"

Beyoncé's throat tightened, the words almost impossible to say out loud. But she had to.

"It's Jovon."

The air shifted. Kelly sat up straighter, her expression unreadable, while Michelle's lips parted in shock. The weight of the revelation settled between them, pressing into the space like a storm about to break.

Kelly was the first to recover. "Hold on—Jovon, as in... Dr. Pete? The one you were trynna go out with?"

Beyoncé nodded slowly.

"And she's been pretending to be your therapist this whole time?" Kelly continued, her tone sharp with disbelief.

Beyoncé swallowed hard. "I don't know if 'pretending' is the right word, but... she was the one I was talking to all this time. And I had no idea."

Michelle covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes filled with something between sympathy and disbelief. "Oh, B..."

Kelly let out a slow breath, shaking her head. "That's a hell of a thing to find out. And she just told you this? Out of nowhere?"

Beyoncé nodded her head. "Well, not out of nowhere. She asked me to join her at a cafe and just blurted out the truth."

The words felt raw leaving her mouth. Saying them out loud made the betrayal feel fresher, sharper.

"Damn," Kelly muttered, leaning back against the cushions. "No wonder you been holed up in here. That's messy as hell."

Beyoncé closed her eyes, rubbing her temples. "Tell me about it."

Michelle placed a gentle hand on Beyoncé's knee. "How are you feeling?"

Beyoncé let out a humorless laugh. "Like I got played. Like everything I shared, everything I believed about her, wasn't real."

Kelly clicked her tongue. "That's the part that don't sit right with me. She had to know this was wrong, Bey. She had to know it was gonna come crashing down eventually."

"I think she did," Beyoncé admitted. "But that doesn't change the fact that she kept it up. And I don't know how to forgive that."

The three of them sat there in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing in. Then, Michelle spoke, her voice quiet but firm.

"Maybe you don't have to figure that out right now. Maybe you just need time."

Beyoncé let out a slow breath, nodding. Time. That was all she could hold onto for now.

And maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.

∞∞∞

Megan's Point of View

I can't escape it. The weight of what I've done presses down on me, heavier with every unanswered call, every ignored message. I stare at my phone, the screen dimming before I can convince myself to try again. But I know how this will go—I'll hesitate, my fingers hovering over her name, and then I'll talk myself out of it.

Beyoncé hasn't responded since the day I told her the truth. Not a single word. And why would she? I betrayed her trust, played with her emotions without even realizing how deep I was in until it was too late. The worst part? It wasn't calculated. It wasn't some twisted game. It was me, raw and unfiltered, losing myself in her like an addict chasing a high. And now, I'm paying for it.

I pace around my apartment, my mind a battlefield of guilt and longing. The space feels too small, suffocating. I haven't left in days, haven't had the energy to show up for my clients, my team—hell, even myself.

I run a hand down my face and drop onto the couch, staring at the ceiling like it might hold the answers I need. Every memory of our conversations replays in my head, torturing me. The way she laughed when she teased me, the softness in her voice when she shared her fears, the trust she placed in me—trust I shattered.

Another deep breath, another attempt. I grab my phone, scrolling through our last messages, the ones from me that remain unread. Each one a plea, a desperate reach into the void:

Beyoncé, please.

I know you hate me right now, but I need you to know I never meant to hurt you.

I'm so sorry.

I press call. It rings. Once, twice—voicemail. Again. And again. The rejection is a knife, twisting deeper each time.

I drop the phone onto the coffee table and lean forward, my hands gripping my hair. I don't know how to fix this. I don't even know if I can. But the thought of never hearing her voice again like I used to? It guts me. And I don't know how to live with that.

∞∞∞

I sat at my desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard, staring at the blinking cursor on my screen. The silence of my office felt heavier than usual, a stark contrast to the constant buzz that usually surrounded me. MindHaven had always been my pride, my vision brought to life. But now, it felt like a looming tower I had built too high, threatening to crumble under the weight of my mistakes.

I exhaled slowly, pressing my fingers to my temples. If the higher-profile collaborators found out about this—if they even got a hint of my personal involvement in the situation—what would that mean for MindHaven? For my career? For everything I had worked tirelessly to build? The board wouldn't just ask questions; they would demand answers. They would want accountability, and I wasn't sure I could give them one that wouldn't destroy me.

Still, a part of me knew I wasn't ready to let it all fall apart. I had dedicated my life to this project. It had helped so many people, made such a difference. And yet, all it took was one misstep—one breach of professional boundaries—to jeopardize everything. I clenched my jaw. I needed to fix this, to find a way to contain the damage before it spiraled out of control.

I grabbed my phone, scrolling through my recent messages. Every attempt to reach Beyoncé had gone unanswered. The weight of her silence pressed down on me harder than any professional consequence ever could. I had hurt someone I truly cared about, and no amount of damage control could erase that.

I set my phone down and leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. There had to be a way forward. I just had to find it before it was too late.

∞∞∞

Third Person's Point of View

The invitation had arrived weeks ago, buried under the usual pile of requests and appearances that she had learned to keep at arm's length. At first, Beyoncé had considered declining, still reeling from the emotional storm of the past few days. But this event wasn't about her. It was bigger than her pain, bigger than the walls she had been building around herself. And Ivy Park's work with orphanages and sustainable fashion initiatives had been too impactful to ignore.

The annual Global Wellness & Sustainability Gala was a prestigious event, honoring advancements in environmental protection, mental health initiatives, and philanthropic partnerships. Ivy Park had recently partnered with multiple foundations, funneling resources into orphanages and community outreach programs, ensuring that children in underserved areas had access to education, therapy, and basic necessities. It was the kind of work that made her feel like she was doing something beyond the music, beyond the fame. A tangible impact.

So she had said yes.

Now, seated in the back of the town car on her way to the venue, Beyoncé adjusted the fabric of her gown, fingers smoothing over the delicate embroidery as she exhaled. She had spent the past few days in near-isolation, ignoring messages, declining calls, allowing herself to sit with the revelation that had upended everything she thought she knew. But the world didn't stop moving just because hers had.

Kelly and Michelle had encouraged her to go, reminding her that her work mattered. That there was still so much good she could do. And as much as she had wanted to stay hidden, to avoid the flashing cameras and the small talk, she couldn't deny that they were right. This was important.

The car slowed, pulling up to the grand entrance of the venue, where photographers lined the carpet, lights flashing in bursts of white as attendees made their way inside. Beyoncé straightened her shoulders, placing her mask of composure firmly in place.

She had no idea that Megan would be in the same room tonight.

∞∞∞

The grand ballroom was filled with an air of elegance and quiet excitement as attendees settled into their seats. The venue, adorned with lush greenery and soft golden lighting, perfectly complemented the theme of sustainability and wellness. Murmurs of conversation buzzed through the room as guests exchanged pleasantries, sipped from crystal glasses, and awaited the evening's proceedings.

Beyoncé sat at her designated table near the front, positioned among other key contributors to the cause. Her nameplate gleamed subtly under the chandeliers, a reminder that her work with Ivy Park's outreach programs had brought her here tonight. She kept her posture poised, her gaze focused on the stage as the event's host, a renowned journalist and philanthropist, stepped up to the podium.

"Good evening, everyone," the host's warm voice echoed through the hall. "Tonight, we celebrate not only the achievements in environmental advocacy but also the incredible strides made in mental health and wellness. Each of you here has contributed to creating a better world, and for that, we thank you." A round of applause swept through the room.

Beyoncé nodded along, her expression unreadable. She was here for the work. For the impact. Not for distractions.

But then, the night shifted.

"We are honored to introduce a special guest host for the next segment," the speaker continued. "A name that has become synonymous with mental health innovation. Please welcome Dr. Pete, co-developer and lead therapist behind the revolutionary MindHaven app."

Beyoncé's breath caught in her throat.

The applause that followed felt distant, muffled, as her eyes locked onto the stage. And there she was. Megan, stepping into the light with an easy confidence, dressed in sleek, understated elegance. The same voice, the same presence. But everything was different now.

"As many of you know," Megan began, her voice steady, "mental health accessibility has been a growing concern in our world. At MindHaven, we aimed to bridge that gap, creating an AI-driven platform that provides therapy and guidance to those who need it most."

Beyoncé swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. The very thing that had connected them—now being honored, celebrated, as if nothing had unraveled in the background. As if Megan hadn't shattered the illusion she had built.

"And tonight," the host interjected, "we are proud to present the award for Best Mental Health Innovation to MindHaven, for its groundbreaking impact on mental wellness worldwide."

More applause. Megan stepped forward to accept the award, her expression poised but thoughtful. Beyoncé gripped the stem of her glass, her fingers tightening.

For the first time since learning the truth, she was seeing Megan again. And it was in a room full of people, with nowhere to hide.

Hey, sorry for the long wait. There you go. hope you enjoy the chapter. take care !! Don't hesitate to leave a comment and vote if you liked it of course.