Page 46 of I See You

Sevyn rolled her eyes, mentally cursing the timing. "Okay, I'll be out in a few."

She pushed up from her chair, walking toward the private bathroom inside her office. Locking the door behind her, she quickly slid off her soaked lace panties, irritation flaring at just how soaked they were.

Damn him.

She tossed them to the side, staring at herself in the mirror.

How the hell was she supposed to get through the rest of the day when Hassan Gaines had already taken over every inch of her mind and body?

But she had to.

She smoothed her hands down her nude dress, the fabric hugging her curves perfectly, reminding herself who the fuck she was. A powerhouse. A professional. A woman focused on her career and nothing else.

After what Braxton did, she wasn’t in the space to entertain love or anything close to it.

So she pulled her walls back up, fixed her expression into the poised, professional mask she always wore, and walked out of her office to greet her next client.

And for the rest of the day, she stayed focused, unshaken, untouched—refusing to let Hassan Gaines get into her mind again.

Chapter 6

As Hassan sat behind his grand desk in his office at the casino, his mind was elsewhere. He had a meeting in less than an hour, numbers to go over, business to handle, but none of it mattered. None of it could keep his focus. Sevyn had consumed every inch of his mind, more than before, more than he wanted to admit.

After leaving her office earlier, he had rushed straight to the casino, hoping that work would drown her out, that the weight of business would push her out of his system. But it hadn’t. If anything, the more he tried to push her away, the stronger her presence became.

He hated this. Hated feeling like this.

No one had ever pulled this much from him, no one. Even when he masked it perfectly, even when he forced his face to remain cold and unreadable, he felt it. And just the feeling of emotion alone fueled his frustration.

His gaze flickered to the sword mounted on his office wall, a weapon so sharp it could slice flesh with the lightest touch. Without thinking, he stood and ran his hand down its spotless, gleaming surface. The cold steel felt familiar, a reminder of his control, his power.

But she had cut through him even deeper than this blade ever could.

Sevyn was sharp. Spotless. And most of all? She cut deep.

Buried in thought, his palm pressed against the edge of the sword, the steel biting into his skin, a small sting registering as blood immediately welled up from the wound. But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t even acknowledge the pain.

Because the only thing he could feel was her.

Sevynhadreadthroughhim.Thefirstperson—no,theonly person—who had ever been able to do that. And he didn’t know how. He was always steps ahead of everyone—his enemies, his business competitors,eventhepeopleinhisinnercircle.Butwhenitcameto her?

Hefeltdefenseless.Andthatmadehimangry.Buteveninhis anger,hecouldn’tdenyit.Shefascinatedhim.Andnomatterhow muchhe told himself otherwise, he wanted to stay close.

Hassan wiped his cut with an alcohol wipe, the sting barely registering before he grabbed another cloth and cleaned the sword, ensuring there wasn’t a single drop of blood left on its pristine surface. He placed it back in its glass case on the wall, his movements slow and deliberate. Once he sat back down, the sharp knock on his office door echoed through the room.

"Come in." His voice was low, calm, commanding.

The door opened, and a group of men in sharp suits, fresh cuts, and dangerously cold faces stepped inside, two armed guards standing at their flanks, watching his every move.

The Marino Family.

The most ruthless Italian mob internationally and in the city. Their name carried weight. Their power was undeniable. People feared them, respected them, and a partnership with them would elevate business—both legally and illegally.

Hassan stood, giving them a nod of respect, before shaking hands with each man. They all carried the same aura—silent, dangerous, calculated. Once the formalities were done, he motioned for them to sit, and they did.

Vittorio Marino, the king of the family business, leaned back in his chair, sparking a cigar between his thick fingers. His son, Luca, the enforcer, sat beside him, arms crossed, his cold gaze studying Hassan like he was waiting for a misstep.

"I have to admit, Ice, I was surprised when you requested this sit- down. The streets say you don’t play well with others." Vittorio’s voice was deep, rich with amusement as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke into the air.

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