Page 120 of I See You

“Ouu, I gotta pee,” Sevyn suddenly groaned, shifting in her seat. “Where we going?”

“My house,” he replied, voice flat, sharp.

She groaned louder this time. “Can we go to mine instead? It’s closer and I really gotta go, Hassan, like… bad.”

He sighed, jaw still locked, but nodded. The last thing he needed tonight was Sevyn pissing on the seats of his Bentley. Still, as he took the next turn toward her place, her voice echoed in his head—sharp, annoyed, normal. And it grounded him just enough to keep the demons quiet… for now.

They finally pulled up to Sevyn’s building. The moment the car stopped, she was out, heels clicking across the pavement as she practically sprinted inside, mumbling something to the security guard who gave Hassan a double take before nodding him through. She was dancing on the elevator the whole ride up—not for fun, but because she was seconds from pissing herself. Hassan watched the way her ass moved beneath the clingy dress, no panties in sight, and every version of him took notice.

“Damn… I see why you weak behind her,” ten-year-old Hassan muttered from the corner of the elevator. “She fine, got a fat ass, and I know that pussy wet, creamy, and sweet. I can smell it.”

Hassan pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, fighting the grin that threatened to crack through. He couldn’t deny it—he was thinking the same shit.

The elevator dinged, doors gliding open to reveal Sevyn’s penthouse. And just like that, Hassan was in another world.

It was all soft light and warm tones—beige, white, deep brown. Candles burned slow. Clean lines. Floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in moonlight. The scent of vanilla and sandalwood drifted in the air like a memory he wanted to keep.

She took off toward the stairs, calling out behind her, “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

Hassan didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

He stepped deeper into her space, trailing his fingers across the marble kitchen island, the soft texture of the couch, until his eyes landed on the console table—lined with frames.

Photos of Sevyn’s life in color. Her as a little girl, gap-toothed and glowing. Her parents hugging her at graduation. Dorian and Harper draped around her at some party, red cups in hand, laughing like life had never touched them.

And then the degrees—Bachelor’s in Behavioral Science. Master’s in Psychology.

Smart. Sharp. Whole. She was all the things he wasn’t.

“Nigga… she’s perfect,” six-year-old Hassan mumbled from the far end of the room. “Too perfect for your damaged ass.”

Hassan didn’t turn. He just stood there, staring at the proof of everything Sevyn was. Her home wrapped around him like a blanket and a blade—comforting, but sharp enough to remind him of every part of himself that didn’t belong here. The blood on his hands. The ghosts that trailed behind him like shadows. The broken wiring in his brain he couldn’t fix.

Still, a part of him wanted to sit in that peace. To breathe in her world for just a little longer.

He was standing in a place that smelled like heaven, while hell whispered in his ear. And she had no idea what kind of storm just walked into her house.

Hassan didn’t want to be in her business too much, so he sank into the large beige sectional, letting the silence settle while he waited for her to come back down. But the quiet didn’t last long. His demons were already there—sitting across from him, bloodied and grinning, ready to talk shit like they always did.

“Why you come into her life?” six-year-old Hassan asked, legs dangling over the edge of the coffee table. “To fuck her shit up like yours?”

Hassan’s jaw tensed.

“Yeah,” ten-year-old Hassan chimed in, voice dripping with venom. “’Cause that’s all his ass is. A fuck up. He know it—and that fine bitch upstairs? She know it too.”

Their words hit harder than he wanted to admit. He tried to block them out, to focus on the sound of Sevyn moving upstairs, but the voices crawled into his head and rooted there.

They were right.

Shewasperfect—beautifulinwaysthatweren’tjustphysical, the kind of woman that brought light into every room. And here he was…snatching her out of clubs, storming into her peace to dump his damage in her lap.

“Fuck y’all,” he muttered, low and cold.

“Who you talking to?” Sevyn’s soft voice floated down the stairs, gentle yet grounding.

He looked up, and his breath stalled. She’d changed—now in a black silk pajama set, the button-down shirt slightly oversized, the matching shorts hugging her curves like they were made for her. Her long hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, her face fresh and bare except for those lash extensions.

She looked even better like this. Real. Comfortable. Beautiful without trying.

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