Page 197 of I See You

“Hassan…”

And then—blackness.

Chapter 24

Hassan sat in his car, eyes locked on the penthouse window like it was the only thing holding him together. He was supposed to be meeting Roman at Jules' gym—Jules claimed he had an update—but Hassan couldn’t move. Not without checking in first. Not without pulling up to the place he used to feel her warmth, her peace. He knew damn well she wasn’t up there. But telling his mind otherwise was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart.

His hands trembled, blood hot and violent beneath his skin. Every day without Sevyn was a war. And every day, he was losing.

He didn’t remember the last time he cried. Probably when he was six, watching the life slip from his mother’s eyes. But this—this was different. This pain dug deeper. It was guilt slicing through him like glass, reminding him with every breath that Sevyn was gone... and it was his fucking fault.

No matter which way he turned it, it all came back to him.

He’d sworn to himself—once he found her, once he saved her— he’d stay out of her life. Let her go. Let her breathe without the shadow of his demons dragging her down. He knew the day he met her that he didn’t belong anywhere near her light. But that didn’t stop his heart. That didn’t stop the pull of her voice, her mind, her softness.

He remembered it all—her office, the sharp grace of that black Dior pantsuit, the warm scent of her perfume that clung to his skin long after he left. The way she looked at him like he wasn’t broken, like he was still salvageable. Those memories haunted him more than any nightmare. And right now, they were eating him alive.

“You hurt me.”

The voice made him flinch.

He blinked, hard. And there she was, sitting beside him in the passenger seat—curls piled into a messy bun, white tank top clinging to her soft frame, bare legs crossed in those little shorts she loved to wear on Sundays. She was looking out the windshield like she wasn’t just a ghost.

He knew she wasn’t real. Knew she was another crack in his psyche.

But still, he looked at her like she was made of air and salvation. “I know, baby,” he said quietly, his voice raw. “I’m sorry.”

She turned to face him, and the hurt in her eyes gutted him. Her lashes were wet, cheeks streaked with tears that stabbed at his soul.

“This is all your fault!” she snapped, her voice laced with pain and betrayal. “They’re hurting me, Hassan. And it’s because of you!”

He closed his eyes, jaw tight, heart clenching so hard it felt like it might give out. He didn’t want to hear it—couldn’t take hearing her scream like that—but her voice didn’t fade.

“You did this to me!”

His hands shook. Then the rage took over. His fists slammed into the steering wheel again and again, metal creaking under the weight of his fury.

“FUCK!” he roared, his voice echoing through the car like thunder. But when the silence fell, she was still there. Her tear-soaked face. Herbrokeneyes.Andtheunbearablereminderthatshewasn’tsafe.

Not yet.

Not until every motherfucker responsible was buried six feet deep. “Ijustwantedtohealyou,”shewhispered,tearsstreakingher face. “But you ended up hurting me.”

Hassan dropped his head, eyes closed in defeat. Her voice broke him. Her presence shattered him.

“Hassan!”

His head shot up at her scream.

Blood poured from Sevyn’s stomach, soaking her tank top as she clutched herself in agony. “Nooo!” he cried, reaching out, desperate to hold her—but there was nothing there. His hands sliced through air. She wasn’t real. Just another twisted hallucination.

“You did this!” she screamed, face contorted in pain before vanishing completely.

“Fuck!” Hassan slammed his fist against the dash, his own chest caving under the weight of grief. But just when he thought he was alone again, something shifted in the seat beside him.

It was him. A bloodied version of himself now sat there—his same age, same build, same face—but drenched in crimson, his expression cold and merciless.

“Lift your head up, nigga,” the bloodied version growled. “Wipe them weak-ass tears.”

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