Page 67 of I See You

"Nothing. Now, can you answer my question? I have a busy day." Sevyn kept her tone smooth, professional, trying to keep her emotions in check, but the way he was looking at her—like he was reading and admiring her at the same time—had her unraveling piece by piece.

"I want to try this shit out."

His voice was calm, empty, like he was talking about something as simple as a new restaurant and not therapy. His eyes flickered around the room before landing back on her, measuring her reaction.

She rolled her eyes, exasperated by his short, clipped answers. "Try what, Hassan?" Her patience was wearing thin.

His jaw tightened, clearly annoyed too.

"You know what the fuck I'm talking about. This. Whatever the fuck you do to people."

Sevyn couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at her lips. He was really doing this. He was opening up to therapy.

"Okay, but I’m booked up today, so you need to make an appoin—"

"I don’t do that appointment shit. I’ll hit you when I want to talk." And just like that, he stood up, like he was leaving.

Sherolledhereyesagain.Hoodniggas.Alwaysmovingontheir own damn time. Even though, deep down, something about his stubbornness made her want to smile. But she kept her face neutral.

"Shit stays between us. Don’t go telling my cousin shit." His voice held a command, but she only chuckled.

"First of all, that’s against the law. And secondly, I’m not one of your workers. You don’t talk to me like you own me."

His lips tugged slightly, like he was fighting a smirk, but instead of arguing, he nodded and opened the door. But before he walked out, he paused. Turned back. Their eyes met, like he already knew she was watching him.

"No nigga is worth your tears. Especially that goofy ass nigga."

Sevyn’s body froze. And before she could respond, before she could process what he had just said, he was gone. The door shut behind him, sealing her in the quiet.

She released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. His presence, his words, the way he had looked at her—everything about him stayed imprinted in her mind. Hassan had a way of seeing her in ways she didn’t want to be seen. And now that he was officially her client, she had to find a way to shut him out of her mind.

She was happy he was taking this step, but there was something else underneath that feeling—something she didn’t want to name. Because while she was working to heal him, she didn’t need him discovering parts of her that she had spent years keeping hidden.

This was going to be interesting. And maybe, just maybe—

A little terrifying.

Chapter 9

Hassan drove away from Sevyn’s office, gripping the wheel tighter than necessary, his mind tangled in thoughts he couldn’t shake. He couldn’t believe he had just agreed to therapy. Not because of Harper. Not because of his grandmother. Not even for himself. It was because ofher. And that scared him more than anything.

When he showed up at her office, it wasn’t to talk about therapy. He hadn’t even considered that shit. He just needed something— something to calm the rage burning in his chest, something to steady the storm that had been brewing since Braxton showed up at his casino, asking about legal matters. Hassan and Roman had spent years making sure no one could touch them, moving so far ahead of the game that no one even saw their moves coming. And now, a lawyer was sniffing around, digging in places he had no business. That alone was enough to make Hassan’s blood run hot, but what made it worse was the way Braxton looked at Sevyn, the way his eyes clung to her like she still belonged to him.

Hassan had seen the way she tensed, the way she gripped herself like she was bracing for impact. There was history there, a past thick with emotions she was trying to hide, but none of that mattered to Hassan. What mattered was the possessiveness that crept up his spine the moment Braxton said her name.Sevyn wasn’t his woman. He didn’t do attachments. He didn’t do emotions. He didn’t dothis. But something about her made him want to protect her, made him want to step between her and anything that tried to reach for her.

Seeing her in that office with tears in her eyes only fueled that need. He didn’t like that shit. Didn’t like the way it made him feel. Didn’t like the way it made him act. But he couldn’t ignore it. That’s why he agreed to therapy. Not to heal, not to work through the shit that haunted him, but to stay close. To have an excuse to see her. To watch over her without her knowing. To make sure no one—including Braxton—could ever hurt her again. Even if she never knew it.

Hassancouldn'tbelievethewayhewasfeeling.Thiswasn’thim, and the fact that he couldn't control it only fueled his frustration. Sevyn had crowded every inch of his mind, and nothing—not business, not killing, not smoking—could erase her. He needed an escape, something that had never failed him. So he went to the one place that had been his refuge since he was nine years old.

Pulling up to the martial arts gym, Hassan felt a rare sense of calm settle over him. The place wasn’t just a gym—it was home. The man inside had taught him everything he knew, had shaped him into the deadly force he had become, had given him a purpose when the world had tried to discard him. Jules.

The gym was empty except for the heavy bass of rap music pounding through the space. In the ring, Jules moved like a manhalf his age, shadowboxing with the same precision and power that had once made him the most feared name in the streets. Even in his late forties, he was still built like a warrior—tall, dark-skinned, his salt-and-pepper curls slightly damp with sweat, his grey beard only adding to his air of dominance. Jules had retired from the game, but his name still rang bells. His respect was eternal.

Hassan leaned against the ropes, watching him for a moment, almost hypnotized by the way nothing had changed. Jules was still the same ruthless, disciplined man, the kind of man others feared but Hassan had only ever respected. When Hassan had first run away from his foster home, Jules was the one who found him. People trembled at the sight of Jules, but not Hassan. Even at nine years old, he hadn’t known fear. Jules had seen something in him that day. Instead of running him off, he took him in, shaped him, raised him. Jules never legally adopted him, but everyone assumed he had, and he never corrected them.

Hassan finally spoke, his voice cutting through the music. “You getting old, mane.”

Jules smirked without stopping his movements. “Still fast enough to lay your ass out, boy.”

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