Whitegirls Like You Ch 07

Chapter 7 - Conditioned Black

Millie sat on the plush interview couch under the bright, slightly blinding stage lights of

The Nightly Show

, her heart pounding with a mix of nerves and excitement. Across from her, Johnny Sullivan flashed his trademark mischievous grin―the kind that made his guests wonder if they were about to be completely embarrassed or have the best time of their lives.

The audience was still cheering wildly at her entrance, a mix of Millie's longtime fans and the show's regulars, as the applause sign blinked to mark the start of the show. When it finally quieted down, Johnny leaned forward, rubbing his hands together.

"Alright, let's get into it," he said, still grinning. "Millie freaking Lucas, everybody! Now, listen―I've been dying to get you on here for a while, and I gotta say, what I'm hearing is that you've been switching things up lately."

Millie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling coyly. "You could say that."

Johnny gestured at her outfit―sleek, modern, edgier than her usual bubblegum pop aesthetic, but absent of her more controversial rebranding ideas. Those would come later. Better to ease the public in slowly. No, instead of her usual pastel princess vibe, she wore a simple black leather corset top, loose cargo pants, and high-top sneakers, her jewelry minimal but striking―a slim, black velvet choker and diamond-studded hoop earrings. She'd worn them at Markus' request.

"I mean, look at you!" Johnny continued, giving her a once-over. "This isn't the Millie Lucas I first met five years ago. What happened to that girl next door vibe? Did you get tired of bedazzled jackets and retire them for crop tops?"

The audience chuckled, and Millie smirked. "Something like that. I guess I just... started re-evaluating who I am, who I want to be as a person. You do this long enough, you realize you don't have to keep playing the same role forever."

Johnny nodded knowingly. "Ahh, I get it. You're in your reinvention era. Like when I stopped doing dumb prank movies and decided I wanted to be taken seriously." He paused dramatically. "For, like, a week."

The audience laughed, and Millie relaxed a little.

Johnny leaned back, tapping his fingers on his desk. "But real talk―your fans here tonight have noticed the shift. Are they going to see it across the board―in your music, your style, your vibe? Or is this more than just about switching up your aesthetic?"

Millie exhaled, choosing her words carefully. "No, it's more than that. I think... as an artist, you have a responsibility to grow, to understand the world better. To give back. And to use your platform for something real."

A murmur of approval rippled through the audience.

Johnny raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like we're leading up to something big."

Millie grinned. "Oh, we definitely are."

Johnny slapped his desk. "Well, let's not make the people wait! Ladies and gentlemen, joining us now―one of the biggest, most talented names in hip-hop, my guy, the one and only―Markus Khan Kwaest!"

The crowd erupted in applause and cheers as the stage doors swung open and Markus strode out―ever confident, charismatic, and effortlessly cool. Dressed in a dark oversized hoodie, gold chains gleaming under the lights, he had the kind of presence that filled the entire room.

Millie felt her heart skip a beat as Markus walked straight up to her, flashing that signature half-smirk that made millions of fans weak. He reached for her hand, lifting it up to kiss her knuckle like her sweet, chocolate prince.

The energy in the studio skyrocketed. Millie fought own the butterflies in her stomach knowing that the world was finally learning who the new Millie Lucas was going to become.

"Ohhh, now this is a power move!" Johnny whistled as Millie and Markus settled on the guest couch together. "I don't think the music industry is going to know what to do with this!"

Millie laughed, her fingers still locked in Markus's firm grip.

"Man, the two of you here together," Johnny continued. "We need to talk. Because this?" He gestured between them. "This is a major adjustment to wrap my head around."

Markus finally let go of Millie's hand and shrugged, casually leaning back. "Yeah, man. We've been keeping this under wraps for a while, but it's time." He turned to Millie, nodding. "You wanna do the honors?"

Millie turned back to Johnny and the eager, electric crowd.

"We're making an album together," she announced, grinning wide.

The audience erupted again, the sound practically shaking the studio. Some of it was enthusiasm, sure, but Millie caught at least a few dissidents shouting in disbelief. She wasn't surprised―not everyone was open to this level of change.

Johnny threw his hands in the air. "Now that is what I'm talking about!" He turned to the audience. "I told y'all I get exclusives!"

The crowd finally began to settle after the big reveal, though an excited buzz still hummed in the studio. Johnny Sullivan leaned on his fist, eyes twinkling with curiosity.

"So spill. How did this whole thing come together?" He pointed between them. "Because I certainly didn't see this collab coming. You guys are both top tier performers, sure, but aesthetically... I'm just wondering what it's going to sound like."

Markus chuckled, exchanging a look with Millie. "Well, I guess we should thank one particular night in L.A."

Millie grinned, playing along. "Yeah, we ran into each other backstage after a show, started talking, and the energy was just there."

"Just like that?" Johnny asked, raising an eyebrow. "You two met up coincidentally and immediately said, 'Hey, let's make an album together'?"

Markus smirked. "Pretty much."

Millie nodded. It was better to keep the details simple. "I mean, we had a lot of mutual respect already. I loved what Markus was doing, and he thought I had something special too."

Johnny snorted, unconvinced. "So no drama at all? No label shenanigans, no heated debates, no 'creative differences'?"

Millie and Markus glanced at each other, then Markus said smoothly, "Nah, man. We're keeping it sweet and free of conflict."

Millie laughed. "Yeah, just good music and good vibes."

The audience chuckled, and Johnny held up his hands. "Alright, alright, I'll let y'all keep your secrets. But let's talk about the album. What can people expect?"

Millie's face lit up. "We're blending a lot of different influences. It's got some pop, some hip-hop, a little bit of R&B and soul―"

Markus cut in with a teasing smile. "Basically, Millie's pop sensibilities and my more, uh, raw, real approach to storytelling."

Millie playfully nudged him. "I do storytelling too, okay?"

Markus chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. "Of course, of course."

Johnny smirked at their banter. "And the lyrics? Who's writing what?"

Millie answered quickly, "Oh, we're splitting it evenly―"

"Mostly, yeah," Markus interjected, leaning in front of her. "I mean, I do come from a lyrical background, being a rapper and all, so naturally, I'm bringing a lot of the lyrical foundation. Millie's bringing her ear for melody and structure―the sound."

Millie blinked, her smile faltering for half a second. That wasn't exactly how she saw it, but she didn't want to argue on live television.

Johnny, ever the instigator, picked up on it immediately. "Ohhh, is that true, Millie? You're taking a backseat, lyrically?"

The audience laughed uncomfortably, and Millie forced a chuckle. "No, no, I mean... we're both very involved."

"Of course you are, I'd never count you out, you know that, Millie." He was needling her now, trying to get her to crack just a little. "Meanwhile Markus is over here like, 'Nah, I got this, shorty.'"

"Man, don't be like that, Johnny." Markus gave her a smooth, reassuring nod. "Of course Millie's writing is dope. But you know―rap is a different game when it comes to lyricism―a whole 'nother level."

Millie nodded, though inside, something about the comment nagged at her.

"Well, however y'all split it, I know it's gonna be mind-blowing," Johnny Sullivan was shifting gears again, ready for his next talking point. "So, Millie, tell us a bit of what it's like working with Markus in the studio? I mean, you two coming from different worlds, how does that dynamic play out when you're actually in the booth?"

Millie opened her mouth, ready to answer―except... she hesitated.

How was it? It was like a fuzzy spot in her mind. Pleasant and exciting, but when she wasn't there in the booth, the details just seemed to leave her.

She had considered a dozen ways to describe it, but somehow, none of them came out. Her mind felt like a record stuck on a loop, flipping through words that didn't quite fit. Energetic? Creative? Intense? Fun?

The silence stretched a beat too long.

Johnny raised an eyebrow, then smirked. "Uh-oh. Don't tell me you just go in there and stare at each other for three hours."

The audience laughed, and Millie's stomach twisted.

Before she could recover, Markus smoothly jumped in, flashing his trademark charming grin.

"Nah, nah," he said, placing a casual hand on Millie's shoulder. "It's fire in there. Every time we step in the booth―just magic." He turned toward the audience, his smirk deepening. "I mean, working with a performer like Millie? She's got so much energy, she's got style... and damn, when she gets into the music, it's a sight to see."

The audience whooped and whistled at the suggestive tone in his voice.

Johnny cackled. "Oh-ho-ho! Sounds like it's getting hot in the studio, folks!" He wiggled his eyebrows at Millie. "You sure this is just a musical partnership?"

More laughter. More whistles.

Millie's cheeks flamed, but she forced herself to laugh along, flashing a playful smile even as something about Markus' words rubbed her the wrong way.

She was used to being admired for her talent, her voice, her songwriting. But this? This was different.

She'd been in interviews a thousand times before, never once caught off guard―but tonight? Tonight, it was happening again and again.

She told herself to snap out of it.

Smile. Laugh. Play along.

So she did.

But deep inside, the unsettled feeling in her chest wouldn't go away. She didn't know why it was so hard to remember what she worked on during the recording sessions, but she would make an effort to focus on it next time.

The dim, ambient glow of the recording studio lights cast warm shadows on the walls, the air thick with anticipation as Millie adjusted her headphones. The beat pulsed through the speakers, a smooth, seductive rhythm that seemed to vibrate in her chest. Try as she might, now that she was back in the booth, all her pep talk about keeping focus was gone again.

She was buzzing―not just from the music, but from the fact that she was here, working side by side with Markus Khan Kwaest himself.

After the talk show, she'd felt a twinge of doubt, but all of that melted away now.

She had never felt sexier, more powerful, more in control.

Her outfit―meticulously chosen with input from Markus―left no question about her allegiance. A cropped, skintight

Black Lives Matter

tank top clung to her curves, the bold lettering stretching across her chest. High-waisted black leggings hugged her legs like a second skin, accented by a gold chain belt with a tiny

Black Power

fist charm dangling at her hip. The final touches were a small silver necklace with a black spade pendant, and matching spade earrings. She'd long since discovered what being a

Queen of Spades

meant, even if she hadn't quite yet taken the plunge herself.

She looked hot. She looked dedicated.

And Markus had noticed―which was all that really mattered to her anyway.

"Damn, Millie," he said, leaning back in his chair as he took her in, a slow grin spreading across his face. "You really dressed for the occasion this time, huh?"

She smirked, twirling a loose strand of her hair, "Just making sure my commitment is visible." Both she and Tytus had discussed her desire to do more for

Black

culture as part of the impetus for moving forward on their partnership.

He let out a low chuckle, nodding. "Respect. It's good to see you so... invested. You know... if you put a bit more color on your face, it would enhance the look even more."

"Oh really? You want me dolled up pretty for our fans now?"

"Maybe. Or maybe you could do it just for me―at least until you decide that you like it."

Their eyes locked, and she felt the warmth of his gaze travel down her body like a caress.

"I'll think about it." Millie smirked, knowing full well she would be practicing some new makeup techniques later at home.

They got to work, tossing lyrics back and forth, refining lines, building hooks. But as the session went on, Millie found herself inching closer and closer to Markus, letting her voice dip lower, her fingers occasionally brushing against his as they scribbled ideas down. She wanted him but also didn't want him to view her as just another whitegirl. Respect at a professional level was still important too.

At one point, she leaned in, her lips barely an inch from his ear as she murmured, "I think this verse needs a little more... passion. Don't you?"

Markus' eyes darkened with amusement, his grin widening. "Oh, I definitely think we can turn the heat up."

She giggled, biting her lip. "Then let's make it sizzle."

As they continued to work, Millie soaked up every ounce of attention Markus gave her, feeling powerful, wanted, and in her element. When they recorded the vocals, she put her all into the performance, letting that passion burn like a beacon, even as the lyrics flitted out of her mind as quickly as she sang them.

When they finally called for a break, Millie was quick to invite Markus out to lunch with her. Part of her did it just for the attention she knew they'd get on the street together. Part of it was to clear her head from all the songwriting and focus just on building something deeper with her partner.

The moment they stepped out of Markus' sleek black limo, the camera flashes erupted.

Millie had expected attention―hell, she had wanted it. She'd even gone so far as to throw on some brighter lipstick and blush before they'd left

White Hot Pop

just to see how Markus and the crowd would react to a more "mature" look on her. But now the sheer intensity of the paparazzi crowding the sidewalk was almost overwhelming. It had never been this bad before, even when she first gained fame.

But this wasn't just paparazzi. It was fans too, both hers and Markus'. Phones pointed at them from every direction. Fans and photographers alike called out, their voices blending into an incoherent roar of approval, disapproval, and outright spectacle.

"Millie! Over here!" A paparazzi called to her, trying to frame her in his shot. She intentionally turned so that the

Black Lives Matter

lettering on her chest would be fully captured in the image.

"Markus!" A

Black

man near the front of the crowd shouted. "You bagged yourself another top-tier whitegirl, huh?"

"Millie, don't you care about your reputation? About being a role model to young women everywhere?" A reporter tried to ask her.

It was better for Millie to ignore the question. That way, she wouldn't have to think about the answer. It was better just to let the fallout happen now until the album was done.

A young businesswoman in glasses held up a sign that read: "What happened to the Millie Lucas I loved and admired?"

Millie froze mid-step when she saw the sign.

At first, she had been buzzing from the excitement just like she had in the booth―this was what it meant to be a white ally, right? To be out here, living her truth, proving that she was fully committed to breaking barriers? But the sign struck a cord in her soul. Millie wondered―had she lost part of herself somewhere along the way?

Most of the comments from the crowd weren't encouraging at all.

And the ones directed specifically at her were... different.

"Millie! Don't throw your career away for a thug!"

"From America's sweetheart to a rapper's side chick? Pathetic."

"Look at her―flashing

Black Lives Matter

like an emblem. She's just another dumb white bitch now!"

Millie flinched.

Markus, on the other hand, seemed unbothered, flashing his signature cocky grin, throwing up a casual peace sign as they waded through the crowd toward the restaurant.

A group of guys hanging near the curb whistled, nudging each other.

"Damn, Kwaest, you're winning at life, bro."

"Man, she really out here ruining herself for you, huh?"

Millie's stomach knotted.

Ruining herself?

She had never thought about it that way.

Sure, she had been reinventing herself, reshaping her image, aligning with a more authentic version of who she wanted to be...

But what if people weren't seeing that?

What if they just saw her chasing after Markus―trading in her carefully crafted brand for something cheap and temporary?

Markus didn't seem to care about the noise. He placed a confident hand on the small of her back, guiding her inside the restaurant like he owned the world.

The restaurant was dimly lit, the perfect high-end spot where industry elites could have lunch without too much disruption. But even inside, they weren't alone.

Fans among the restaurant customers still angled phone cameras their way. Some were pretending to take selfies while obviously catching Millie and Markus in the frame. A few paparazzi had even snuck in, loitering near the bar, trying to act casual.

Millie could feel their eyes. She'd learned to handle paparazzi as part of the job, but never really felt comfortable with their predatory practices.

Markus, on the other hand, thrived on it.

He stretched lazily in his seat, draping an arm around Millie's shoulders as if she were some prized possession rather than his creative partner. He pulled her closer, his large hand trailing up her bare arm, fingers playing with the thin strap of her top.

"You really showed out today, huh? Handling that crowd like a champ..." Markus murmured against her ear. His voice had that smooth, teasing lilt that always sent shivers down her spine. "Damn, baby, I might have to write a whole song about you."

Millie giggled on instinct, still reveling in the thrill of being his focus.

But then―

"Yeah, but you gotta say something about being a fine-ass whitegirl riding with the king." He chuckled, tossing a glance toward the nearest camera. "Maybe a line or two about how I made you switch teams."

The way he said it―so casual, so public―made something in Millie stiffen.

The photographer near the bar perked up, clearly catching the interaction.

Markus just smirked, like he had done nothing wrong.

Millie forced a tight-lipped smile, leaning into his touch but feeling strangely... off.

She might not remember the exact words, but she knew they had been writing lyrics like this since they started working together, throwing in lines about her body, about how he was the one to "convert" her over to "

Black

men."

She had told herself it was just art. That Markus' rap songs were all about confidence, about flexing, about owning your story.

But why did it feel so different now, with him saying it out loud in front of strangers?

Why did it feel less like they were making music together and more like they were feeding into his bragging rights?

Her mind drifted back to their session earlier that day.

She had hesitated over one of his lines. Something about her being less than him... and a good bitch? Was that really the line? It was so misogynistic, why had she agreed to that?

Every time they were together in the booth though, she had just laughed it off, figuring it was just Markus being Markus. But now, out of the booth and thinking more clearly, she watched as he practically made a performance out of their relationship for the cameras, and it hit hard how it didn't seem so harmless to her anymore.