Bodyguard (YN x Beyonce)

Part Seven

I knew it the second I saw the headline.

"Queen Bey's Mystery Man?"
Photos of her smiling — not politely, but genuinely — with him. His hand pressed just a little too low on her back. Her laughing at something he said like he was the funniest man on earth.

I slammed the phone face down on the counter.

Jealousy burned in my chest, and I hated that I let it.
This wasn't supposed to be personal.

But the kiss...
It changed everything. At least for me.

And maybe that was the mistake — thinking it meant something to her too.

When I finally saw her that evening, she looked radiant. Hair done, dress hugging every curve, heels clicking like punctuation marks against the floor. She barely looked at me.

"I'm heading out," she said, grabbing her clutch off the table like it was nothing.

"Where to?" I asked, trying to keep my tone even.

"A date."

She didn't even flinch when she said it. Didn't look at me. Just adjusted her earrings in the hallway mirror.

"I should go with you."

She turned to me slowly, arching an eyebrow. "I don't need you tonight."

There was a pause. Long enough for the meaning to settle between us like fog.

I don't need you.

Not just professionally. Not personally. Not at all.

I swallowed hard, masking the sting with a nod. "Copy that."

She lingered for a beat longer, like she was daring me to say more, to break.

"Beyoncé," I said, stepping forward. "We need to talk."

She paused—slow, deliberate. Her hand still on the doorknob. She didn't even turn to look at me when she replied.

"About what?" she asked, voice feather-light, like this was casual. Like she didn't already know.

I swallowed hard. "About us. About the way things have been since..."

I didn't even need to say it. We both knew I was talking about the kiss.

She finally turned, her face cool, unreadable. "There is no 'us,' YN. And everything's been fine. I don't know what you're talking about."

I let out a breath and took a cautious step closer. "Come on. You're not even looking at me half the time. You've been distant. Cold. This—" I motioned vaguely between us. "This tension? It doesn't have to be like this."

She let out a quiet, mirthless laugh. "Tension? You said you wanted professional. I'm giving you professional. I thought that's what you wanted."

"I didn't want—" I started, then stopped myself. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"I'm not about to argue with you," she said, cutting me off, eyes narrowing. "You made your choice. Now let me make mine."

I searched her face, trying to find a crack in the armor. "Beyoncé..."

But she was already reaching for the door again.

"Have a good night, YN," she said coolly, almost like a challenge.

And before I could say anything else, she walked out and shut the door behind her.

I watched her leave — watched her walk out the door like the night was hers and she knew it.