Bodyguard (YN x Beyonce)

Part Six

It was like I didn't exist.

Beyoncé walked past me that morning with her sunglasses on, not even sparing me a glance. No greeting. No eye contact. Just the faint scent of her perfume trailing behind her like a ghost of last night.

The silence stung more than I wanted to admit.

We spent the day running around LA—errands, fittings, quick meetings—but this time, I wasn't just shadowing her. I was invisible. Like she'd flipped a switch and decided I was back to being just another security detail, someone meant to blend into the background and shut the hell up.

Her cousin Angie tagged along, chatting and joking as usual, but I noticed her glancing between us more than once. She was picking up on it. The energy was off. Different. Tense.

At one point, while Beyoncé was inside a building for a meeting, Angie leaned against the SUV and looked over at me with a smirk.

"You piss her off or something?" she asked casually, but her tone was loaded.

I shrugged, trying to keep my face neutral. "Not that I know of."

"Mhm." She sipped her iced coffee.

I didn't say anything else. I couldn't. Because if I opened my mouth, I'd either lie or tell her something I shouldn't. Angie just raised her eyebrows and let it go—for now.

The rest of the day dragged. Every look Beyoncé gave me was cold. Every word, if she spoke at all, was clipped and professional. She laughed with Angie. Smiled with staff. Put on her usual effortless charm. But when it came to me?

Nothing.

And all I could think about was that kiss—the softness of her lips, the way her hands had held me like I was something she wanted to keep.

Now it was like none of it ever happened. Like I'd made the whole damn thing up.

But I hadn't.
And maybe that's what hurt most.

It was a long day of being ignored and running errands. But now, the night had descended, and we were at one of Beyonce's celebrity friend's birthday party. The crowd buzzed with laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses. I stayed close, trying to keep a professional distance, though every glance at Beyoncé sent a jolt of electricity through me.

The girls were all there—Solange, Kelly, Michelle, and Angie. They were all smiles, teasing me in the most charming way, making me feel welcomed. But still, my focus was on Beyoncé. I had to keep it together, keep my eyes on her, keep doing my job. The night stretched on, with laughter and conversation. I couldn't shake the feeling of being pulled in her orbit.

I caught her laughing with her friends, her hair falling in soft waves, her smile as radiant as always. She looked stunning, and even though I'd seen her more times than I could count in the last week, tonight, it was like something shifted in the air.

A wealthy-looking man, built like a football player with broad shoulders and a confident stride, approached Beyoncé. He was dressed in designer everything, with an air of entitlement, a gleam in his eyes as he walked up to her.

"Queen B, looking as flawless as ever," he said, voice low but smooth.

Beyoncé laughed, her eyes lighting up, clearly enjoying his attention. "Always a charmer, huh?" she teased, tilting her head in that way she did when she was intrigued.

They began talking, and I could hear the flirtation in their words, the casual touches on her arm, the way they stood too close for my liking. My jaw clenched, but I tried to keep it together, reminding myself that this was Beyoncé, and she had every right to entertain whoever she wanted.

But as the minutes passed, the tension started to gnaw at me. His hand brushed against her back, lingering just a little too long. His gaze never left her face, though it occasionally drifted lower. I could feel the heat rising in my chest, a burning need to protect her, even if it wasn't my place to feel like that.

I took a deep breath, letting the seconds tick by as I watched him lean in too close. And that was when I snapped. My feet moved before my brain could process it.

"Excuse me," I said, my voice firm as I approached the man. "Please don't touch her."

Beyoncé's eyes shot up to me in a split second, and I saw the flash of surprise. The man frowned, his arrogance undeterred, but Beyoncé quickly put a hand on his arm and pulled him away slightly.

"I'm sorry," she said smoothly, the calm in her voice only slightly masking the tension. "Excuse us."

She turned to face me then, her gaze narrowing in a way that made my stomach flip. For a moment, I thought I saw something else there—something beyond the professional boundary we'd kept until now.

"Come with me," she said, her voice low, as she grabbed my arm and led me to a private corner of the venue.

The music and laughter faded into the background as we stepped away from the crowd, and for the first time that evening, we were alone.

The air between us was thick, the tension building with every breath. I stood there, trying not to react, trying to maintain some form of control. But Beyoncé—she always knew how to push my buttons. She always knew how to get under my skin.

"What was that?" she asked, eyes flashing. Her voice was low, but the heat behind it could've set the room on fire.

I swallowed, still trying to reel in the storm swirling in my chest. "He was doing too much," I said. "Too much touching."

Beyoncé arched a brow, stepping closer. "It was fine, YN."

I shook my head. "It wasn't fine for me."

The moment hung heavy between us. She blinked slowly, like she couldn't believe what she'd just heard. "Why?" she asked, almost curious now. "Why did it bother you so much?"

My throat tightened. My first instinct was to tell her the truth—that it drove me crazy to see him touching her, laughing with her like he had some right. But the words lodged in my throat like they were caught behind a locked door. So instead, I defaulted.

"I'm just doing my job."

Beyoncé laughed once humorless and sharp. She stepped even closer now, and I could feel the warmth radiating from her skin "That's your favorite line, huh?" she said bitterly

She tilted her head, her eyes never leaving mine. "Let me remind you—I'm the boss," she said. "You don't interrupt my conversations unless I tell you to."

I clenched my jaw, still holding my ground, but my silence gave me away.

Her voice softened then, but her words cut deeper. "This is what you wanted, right?" she said, her tone laced with challenge. "To be professional. So be professional."

She let her words hang in the air, heavy and sharp, like a slap that didn't touch skin but left a mark anyway.

"I owe you an apology," I pressed, stepping closer. "I wasn't fair to you after the kiss. I didn't mean to make you feel like—"

"Don't," she cut in sharply, finally turning to me with eyes that were glassy and sharp all at once. "Don't do that. You made yourself clear already."

"Beyoncé—"

"I'm just giving you what you asked for." she whispered.

Then, with a final glance—one that lingered for just a heartbeat longer than it should have—Beyoncé turned on her heel and walked out, back toward the crowd, back toward him.

And I stood there, rooted to the floor, watching her go—my hands curled into fists at my sides, my heart pounding against everything I wasn't allowed to say.