Chapter 4 #2
"I know my cousin, Sev." Harper’s voice was gentle but firm. "He was definitely checking you out. You just didn’t see it because you were caught up in your own emotions. I know you can be the one to get through to him."
Sevyn’s head snapped toward Dorian, searching for backup, but Dorian looked just as lost as she was.
"How exactly am I supposed to convince him to become my client?" Sevyn asked, her skepticism laced with genuine concern.
"Don’t worry, I’ll set everything up. We’ll blindside him into a session."
Both Sevyn and Dorian’s eyes went wide.
"Look, Harper, I love you like a sister, but you trying to get my cousin killed." Dorian said, shaking her head. "You can’t blindside a nigga like Hassan."
Dorian knew a little about Hassan’s reputation.
She might’ve grown up lavish, but she kept her ears to the streets .
Plenty of her clients talked about Hassan Gaines—how much they wanted to be near him, how dangerous he was, how untouchable he and Roman had become.
He wasn’t just a man. He was becoming a Memphis legend. "Hassan doesn’t have a weak spot," Harper admitted. "But he has one exception—me. I’ll convince him to bring you a package, and you go from there."
Her voice cracked slightly. That’s when Sevyn really felt it. This wasn’t just some favor Harper was asking for. This was desperation.
"Use those looks and that persuasiveness of yours, and get that man some help."
Sevyn inhaled deeply, the weight of it pressing against her chest. "And what if I can’t convince him?"
The moment she asked, Harper looked down at her shoes. For the first time, Sevyn and Dorian saw something unfamiliar in her— hesitation. Harper was always confident, always in control. But now? She looked defeated.
Like she’d already been carrying this weight for too long.
"Then I’ll just continue to watch my cousin die… along with the only mother I’ve ever known."
A tear slipped down Harper’s face, and she wiped it away quickly, like she hated letting them see her break.
And just like that—
Sevyn’s restraint crumbled.
She reached out, pulling Harper into a tight hug, holding onto her as if she could somehow lift the weight off her shoulders.
"I’ll at least try, Harp. For you."
Harper nodded against her chest, gripping the back of Sevyn like she needed to hold onto something solid.
"Aww, you got a real nigga crying now," Dorian sniffled, dramatically wiping a tear from her cheek, making them all laugh through the tension.
But even as the laughter faded, the truth remained. Sevyn had just agreed to something dangerous. Something she wasn’t sure she could even handle.
But for Harper?
She was willing to try.
They continued their workout, pushing through sets, beads of sweat forming on their skin, muscles burning from the intensity.
And for the first time in weeks, Sevyn wasn’t thinking about Braxton. She wasn’t thinking about Ariel. She wasn’t replaying the betrayal, wasn’t drowning in heartbreak. For that alone, she was grateful. But now, something else had taken over her mind.
Hassan .
How the hell was she supposed to convince a cold-blooded killer—a man who didn’t feel emotions, let alone talk about them—that he needed therapy?
Hassan didn’t know her. She didn’t know him. Yet somehow, she was supposed to make him believe that she—a complete stranger—had the answer to his demons?
It felt impossible. But she had given her word to Harper. And Sevyn never went back on her word.
After their workout, they hit up a local restaurant for food, but even as they ate, she couldn’t shake it.
The way he had looked at her that night in the club— The dark energy that radiated off him, almost suffocating. The weight of what she had just agreed to.
The risk.
Because let’s be real—
This wasn’t some man struggling with mild trauma. This was Hassan Gaines. A man whose name alone made people nervous. A man whose hands had sent people to early graves. And she had been tasked with breaking through to him?
Sevyn exhaled slowly, gripping her fork a little tighter. It felt too much.
But for Harper?
She would do it. She just prayed that when it was all said and done, she was still alive if things didn’t go as planned.
???
Sevyn sat in her office, staring at the clock, heart pounding against her ribs like a drum. Her palms were sweaty, and no matter how hard she tried to still her leg, it wouldn’t stop bouncing beneath her desk.
Harper’s text had come in ten minutes ago.
Harper: Plan worked. Hassan’s on the way with the package.
And now? Now, she felt like she was about to walk into a lion’s den. She didn’t know how she was going to convince a man like him to consider therapy, but she had told Harper she would try. She just hoped trying wouldn’t get her killed.
Her stomach twisted with nerves, her breaths coming out uneven. She had sat across from clients with severe PTSD, clients who had violent pasts, clients who had seen too much.
But none of them were Hassan Gaines.
None of them had snapped a man’s windpipe with one hit.
She swallowed hard, shifting in her seat. The sudden blare of her desk phone made her jump, her heart nearly lurching out of her chest. She exhaled sharply, picking up the receiver, her voice calm despite the way she felt inside.
"Ms. Love, there’s a man here to deliver a package. Do you need me to take it for you or—"
Micah’s soft voice echoed through the line, but Sevyn cut her off. "No need. You can send him to my office. Thanks, Micah."
She hung up and immediately took a deep breath. This was it. Minutes later, her office door opened.
And there he was. Hassan Gaines. Cold. Commanding. Lethal. But just as undeniably handsome as she had remembered.
Only now? In the light, she could see more.
The sharp cut of his jaw, the way his smooth, dark brown skin gleamed, the intensity in his blue eyes. His presence sucked all the air from the room.
He wore a fitted Gucci collared shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders, black designer jeans, and matching Gucci shoes. The diamonds hanging from his neck and wrapped around his wrist caught the glow of her office lights, gleaming as if they knew who they belonged to.
They stood there for a moment, just staring. Taking each other in. The silence between them thickened, heavy enough to press into her chest.
Finally, Sevyn forced herself to speak. "Hassan, right?"
Her voice was smooth, controlled—nothing like how she felt inside. She stood, walking around her desk, reaching for the box in his hand.
He didn’t respond. Didn’t say a single word. Just nodded. His silence sent a shiver down her spine.
She took the box from him, but not before catching the way his eyes scanned over her, dark and slow, taking in every inch of her body in the black Dior pantsuit she had chosen that morning.
His gaze lingered. Heat spiked through her before she quickly shook it off, offering him a small smile—
One he didn’t return. Of course not.
Hassan Gaines wasn’t the type of man who smiled.
And she was about to ask him to do something that would require him to feel.
God help me.
"Thank you." Sevyn said, placing the small box on her desk before turning back to him.
Hassan stood still, his face unreadable, but she caught it—the flicker of curiosity in his eyes, buried beneath that permanent layer of cold detachment.
She smiled, leaning back against her desk, crossing her arms .
"I could be mistaken, but it looks like you want to ask me something." Her tone was light, teasing—challenging.
For the first time, something shifted in his expression. A low chuckle left his lips, deep and quiet, the first sign of emotion that she didn’t have to search for, didn’t have to read through his energy.
"You're mistaken."
His voice was smooth, but distant, like the conversation already bored him.
His sharp eyes moved away from her, scanning the emerald green and white decor of her office, taking in every detail like he was committing it to memory.
Then, his gaze landed back on her.
Sevyn saw the slow flick of his tongue over his lips, the way his eyes dragged over her in quiet admiration. She didn’t react to it. Didn’t let it show that something about his stare sent a subtle shiver down her spine, tightening something in her chest that she couldn’t quite name.
Was it fear? Nervousness? Or was it something else entirely? Because Hassan Gaines had a presence.
One that drew people in—even when they knew better. "Well, thank you for delivering me the package, Hassan."
His name rolled off her tongue smoothly, effortlessly, like it belonged there. It must have been the way she said it—
Because she caught it.
The smallest, most fleeting smile ghosting across his lips before he masked it again.
A second later, he nodded, reaching for the door.
Sevyn exhaled, watching him. He was a man of few words, she could tell that already.
But she had a task. One that wouldn’t get done if she let him walk out.
"Hassan."
Her voice was softer this time, carrying just a hint of nerves.
He turned. His unreadable eyes met hers, freezing the air between them, making the room feel ten degrees colder.
Sevyn swallowed. This man radiated something dark. Something powerful. And yet, here she was—
Trying to reach inside of it.
"Umm… you mind if we talk for a little?"
Sevyn’s voice was soft, but the slight shake in it betrayed her nerves. She couldn’t believe she was really doing this—trying to convince a killer to take therapy.
Hassan mugged her, his expression cold and unreadable. For a second, she thought he was just going to walk out.
"I don’t do that talking shit." His voice was low, firm. "I just came to give you that."
His fingers gripped the door handle, ready to leave. "I figured."
That made him pause. His gaze flickered back to her.
"That you weren’t the talking type." She inhaled slowly, gathering her courage. "I just had something I wanted to tell you since seeing you at the club."
Hassan stayed silent, but his piercing eyes locked onto hers, waiting.
She swallowed, her heart slamming against her ribs. "You’re not broken."
She didn’t just say it—she meant it. Her voice carried no hesitation, no doubt. And that? That made him tense.
She felt it in the air. The shift. For the briefest second, his mask slipped—just enough for her to see something.
Something deeper.
But before she could process it, Hassan turned and walked out without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving a thick silence in his absence. Sevyn let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, sinking back into her chair.
Well… she tried.
She turned to her laptop, forcing herself to focus on work, but her mind wouldn’t let go of him.
Because what she had told him? It was true. Hassan wasn’t broken. He was tired. Exhausted from carrying so much for so long. She felt it the moment he stepped into her office.
The weight of everything he was hiding. The coldness, the distance, the way people probably feared him on sight.
But her? She wasn’t afraid. And that realization unnerved her.
How could a man who was feared—who had killed with his bare hands, who she had watched do it—
Not scare her? Why did he intrigue her instead?
Then there was the way he looked at her. Even through the walls he kept up, there had been something there. Harper had been right. Hassan had looked at her differently. With a sense of softness he probably didn’t even realize he had given her.
But why? This was their first conversation—if she could even call it that. So why did it feel like he could see past her walls, her struggles, her demons?
That scared her even more.
And for the first time since agreeing to take him on, regret crept into her chest.
Maybe it was good he didn’t fall for her words. Because if he did… He might see through her when she was supposed to be the one saving him.
Sevyn pulled out her phone, her fingers hovering over the screen before she finally typed out a message to Harper.
Sevyn: It didn’t work. I tried, but I couldn’t get through to him.
She hesitated, then added—
Sevyn: I think I got him to hear me, but not enough to even consider counseling.
Seconds later, her phone buzzed.
Harper: Thanks. ??
That sad emoji made something heavy settle in her chest.
She hated feeling like she let Harper down. But there was something about Hassan that made all of this feel… different.
And it wasn’t his street reputation. It wasn’t the whispers about the bodies he had buried. It was him.
The way his presence took up an entire room without him saying a word. The way his eyes held something dark, something she should be wary of—but instead, it pulled her in. The way one conversation, barely even that, had her thinking about him when she was supposed to be moving the hell on.
"Get it together, Sevyn," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head.
She had seen countless clients—damaged, dangerous, traumatized.
She had never let one linger in her mind like this.
No. She couldn’t make him a client. Something about this—about him—felt too personal. Too dangerous. Not for his healing. But for hers.
Sevyn exhaled sharply, pushing Hassan—and the strange, unexplainable pull she felt toward him—to the back of her mind.
A soft knock sounded at her door. Her next client.
Like always, she straightened her shoulders, adjusted her expression, and slipped effortlessly into her poised, professional therapist mode.
Hassan Gaines had no place in her thoughts. And she was going to keep it that way.