Chapter 6 #2
And the fact that she had been crowding every inch of his brain, throwing him off his game for days, pissed him off more than anything else.
???
(Two Weeks Later)
Hassan walked through his packed casino, Hustle & Flow alive with energy, buzzing with people of wealth, status, and power.
The atmosphere was different tonight, more elegant, more exclusive.
The masquerade theme had transformed the casino into something almost otherworldly—high rollers dressed in luxury, their faces concealed behind elaborate masks, adding an air of mystery to the night.
Tonight was special, Roman’s birthday, and just like him, the energy was electric.
But Hassan moved through it all poised, emotionless, unbothered by the grandiosity of the event.
His black Dior suit hugged his muscular frame perfectly, the crisp tailoring enhancing his already dominant presence.
His waves were freshly cut, spinning under the glow of the casino lights, his beard lined up sharp, defining the hard lines of his face.
A few high-profile guests acknowledged him as they played the slots and tables—politicians, celebrities, men who owned things. He returned their greetings with nothing more than a subtle nod, his mind always on watch mode.
"Aye, fool!"
Hassan didn’t even need to turn to know exactly who it was. Roman .
He approached wearing a red Brunello Cucinelli three-piece suit, his black dress shoes gleaming under the lights.
His long braids looked freshly done, his sharp edge-up looking so clean it could cut a man on sight.
A black diamond-embellished masquerade mask framed his face, only highlighting the glow of confidence radiating from him.
Roman looked like royalty, and it fit him—tonight was his night.
Hassan dapped him up, their grip firm.
"Happy birthday, nigga." Hassan’s voice was calm, steady, as always.
Roman grinned, shaking his head. "Nigga, you couldn’t follow rules for one day? Where your mask at, mane?" His tone was playful, but he already knew the answer.
Hassan’s eyes scanned the casino, ever-watchful. "You know I’m not a festive ass nigga."
Roman chuckled, unbothered, as they made their way upstairs to the overlook, a private VIP section that gave them a clear view of the casino floor.
Hassan leaned against the rail, watching as guests were patted down by security before being let inside.
This wasn’t just any party. This was invite-only.
The most powerful, untouchable, top-tier names in the business were here.
And Roman’s day ones—the ones who had been with him before the money, before the power—had also been invited. But none of that mattered to Hassan. Because even now, standing above it all, watching the night unfold—
His mind was still somewhere else. Or more accurately, on someone else.
Hassan spotted Vittorio Marino and his son Luca entering the casino, their presence immediately commanding attention as they walked through the space with the effortless confidence of men who owned every room they stepped into. He nudged Roman, subtly pointing them out.
"That’s the Marino family."
Roman’s gaze followed, locking onto the two Italian men as they moved through the casino, their eyes scanning the scene, taking in every detail. Hassan didn’t miss the nod of approval from Vittorio or the smirk playing at the corner of his lips—he was impressed.
"So you closed the deal?" Roman asked, casually sipping his whiskey, his tone knowing but still waiting for confirmation.
Hassan turned to him with a look that screamed nigga, do you know who you talking to?
Like the question itself was stupid. Like Roman had somehow forgotten who the fuck he was best friends with.
Roman caught the look and let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head .
"We about to change the game." His voice carried hype, his energy always the opposite of Hassan’s—loud, excitable, electric.
Hassan simply nodded, his expression calm, unreadable as always. "Nigga, yo ass don’t get excited for shit." Roman shook his head, looking at Hassan like he was a lost cause. "You could at least toast with a nigga."
Hassan didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Excitement wasn’t something he did. It wasn’t in him. He had never allowed himself the luxury of celebration, because everything good in his life always got taken away. His father. His mother. His childhood. And soon his grandmother.
Every time he allowed himself to feel something, to let his guard down, life snatched it away without hesitation. So he didn’t get excited. Didn’t show shit besides calmness.
Because in the back of his mind, he was always waiting for the moment it all got taken away again.
Still, for Roman’s sake, he lifted his glass of cognac, tapping it against Roman’s.
"Changing the game." His voice was firm, laced with conviction, but still emotionless.
Roman nodded, accepting it for what it was—Hassan’s best attempt at showing some type of excitement, even if it was buried beneath years of cold detachment.
It wasn’t much. But it was enough.
"I can’t wait to take all these niggas' money, mane. Like taking candy from a rich-ass baby." Roman leaned against the railing, surveying the floor below, his grin sharp and full of anticipation.
Hassan shook his head. He had tripled security tonight for this exact reason, knowing Roman was about to hurt a lot of feelings—and a lot of bank accounts.
Roman’s eyes drifted toward the entrance, his posture shifting as three women walked in, their presence instantly shifting the energy in the room. Elegantly dressed, their gowns flowing with every step, they commanded attention without even trying.
The first woman moved with effortless grace, her nude, diamond- embellished dress clinging to her frame in all the right places before cascading down like liquid gold.
Her white masquerade mask only added to the mystery, but Roman didn’t need to guess who she was— Harper.
He recognized her instantly. The deep waves in her long, dark hair framed her rich, chocolate skin perfectly, her natural beauty shining even beneath the mask.
Then, his gaze shifted to the second woman beside her. And that’s when his entire focus snapped into place.
His smirk deepened in approval, because God had to be real— shorty was wearing his color .
The exact same shade of red he had on.
Her satin tube-top dress was tight, hugging her thick, short frame like it was painted on, the long slit revealing a toned, chocolate leg that had no business looking that good. Gold heels adorned her feet, adding the perfect contrast to the deep red fabric that wrapped around her body.
And then?
There was her hair.
A short black bob, sleek and framing her face flawlessly, making her features even sharper. Even with her black masquerade mask concealing part of her identity, she was still the most beautiful woman in the entire casino.
"Goddamn." Roman murmured under his breath, his tone gritty with approval.
The reaction pulled Hassan’s attention, making him glance over to see what had his best friend so damn mesmerized.
And when his eyes landed on the third woman walking in behind them?
His entire body locked up.
Once his eyes landed on her, his heart did that thump he hated— the one that only happened for her.
No other woman, none, had ever pulled that reaction from him.
His heart didn’t move for anyone except Harper and his grandmother, but somehow, for her, it did too.
And that pissed him off, because it meant he couldn’t control it.
Hassan stood up slightly from the railing, his eyes locked on her from across the casino floor. She hadn’t spotted him yet, but that didn’t stop him from memorizing every inch of what he saw.
Sevyn was wrapped in a black velvet off-the-shoulder gown, the diamond-jeweled bodice catching the soft glow of the chandeliers, making her look untouchable. The way the dress hugged her curves, the way she moved—she didn’t just walk, she glided, like she was meant to be seen but never touched.
Her hair was slicked back into a long, straight ponytail, not a strand out of place, with subtle pearl designs weaved into her hair, adding to the effortless royalty she carried. She was grace. She was poise. And at the same time, she was the most dangerous distraction Hassan had ever come across.
His dick twitched at the sight of her.
Fucking ridiculous.
Even with the silver diamond masquerade mask obscuring part of her face, he could still see her. Still feel her presence.
Roman, noticing Hassan’s unnatural stillness, followed his gaze before letting out an amused chuckle.
"You just gon’ stand there and eye-fuck like a creep, or go say somethin’?" Roman teased, knocking back a sip of his drink.
Hassan’s jaw clenched. Nigga, shut up.
"Man, you know I ain’t that type of nigga," he muttered, eyes finally ripping away from her, though her image was already burned into his mind. He leaned back, reaching for his glass, taking a slow sip of cognac to mask the fire burning in his chest.
Roman laughed again, shaking his head. "Uh-huh. Well, I’m about to go take these niggas’ money, show my baby who just walked in what type of nigga she needs to be next to."
Hassan barely registered what he said. Because all he could think about was her.
Roman walked away, heading downstairs to celebrate his birthday the only way he knew how—by taking money, stealing attention, and making the night his. Hassan, however, remained rooted at the railing, his drink steady in his hand, his energy commanding the entire room without a single word.
"San!"
The smooth, soft voice behind him was instantly recognizable, but he still turned, slow and controlled, already knowing exactly who it belonged to.
"Wassgood, Harper." His tone was calm, effortless, as they embraced briefly, but his focus wasn’t on his cousin.
It was on the woman beside her.
Seeing her up close now, her presence hit him harder than he expected. Her silver diamond mask covered part of her face, but it didn’t hide her eyes—the same warm gaze that had always looked at him like she saw through him. But tonight? There was something different.
Distance. A subtle shift. Like she was guarding herself from him. As he pulled away from Harper, his gaze flickered between them, realizing something else—one of their friends was missing.
"You remember my friend Sevyn, right?" Harper asked, motioning toward her.
Sevyn stood poised, her silver clutch held close to her body, but Hassan could feel the nervous energy radiating from her.
"Yeah," he said smoothly, his voice void of emotion, even though his entire body reacted to her presence.
She was reading him again—he could tell. Her eyes had yet to leave his, searching for something, but he refused to give her anything. He looked back at Harper instead, ignoring the way Sevyn’s presence alone was shifting the air between them.
"I know you two haven’t officially met, but this is my cousin Hassan, Sev."
Harper’s introduction felt pointless—like they had already crossed an inv isible line long before this moment.
Then it happened. Sevyn smiled.
And Hassan felt something deep in his chest clench involuntarily. Her smile shined even under the dim casino lights, warm, soft, effortless—like she hadn’t just spent weeks inside his head, throwing him off his game.
"It’s nice to officially meet you." Her voice was calm, smooth as silk, as she extended her hand toward him.
Hassan’s mind flickered back—to her office, to the way he had shown up unannounced, demanding answers, pushing her, seeing how far he could test her. To how he had her panties soaked just from his energy alone. The memory brought a dark smirk to his lips.
Finally, he took her hand. He hadn’t been prepared for the softness of her touch, the way it instantly relaxed him without him wanting it to.
They pulled away, but the tension didn’t leave with their hands. It remained, thick, charged, something unspoken between them that neither of them addressed.
Harper, standing between them, looked back and forth, feeling it. She had no proof, no physical evidence to say something was going on between them. But she felt it.
And it was charged as hell.
"Where yo other friend?" Hassan finally spoke up, noticing the missing piece of their trio.
"Roman ass snatched her up before we could even get through the door," Harper rolled her eyes, making Hassan shake his head.
"How you hosting a masquerade party and not even dressed for the occasion?" Harper joked, nudging him playfully.
Sevyn chuckled softly beside her, and that one sound caught his attention immediately.
Hassan’s eyes flickered to her, locking onto her smile—the kind that made something warm and unfamiliar stir in his chest.
Fuck .
He had to snap out of it. He couldn’t let Sevyn—or anyone—make him feel things he had never allowed himself to feel.
"I am dressed for the occasion. I’m steppin’." His tone was cool, serious as he adjusted the sleeve of his Dior suit like the shit was second nature.
Harper chuckled, even though Hassan didn’t crack a smile.
But he caught it—out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sevyn nod in silent approval, her gaze subtly dragging over him, taking him in from head to toe.
She was checking him out. And she wasn’t even trying to hide it .
"Where yo mask at, nigga?" Harper pressed, raising a brow at him. "I ain’t wearing no damn mask, cuh," Hassan replied dryly.
Harper shook her head, laughing under her breath. "Hood niggas."
Sevyn chuckled again, even though she kept her thoughts to herself.
Hassan felt that laugh settle somewhere deep, and he hated that shit.
"Well, we about to go enjoy this bougie-ass party. Please don’t kill nobody tonight." Harper’s tone was half-joking, half-serious, and Hassan only nodded, brushing off the comment like it meant nothing.
Harper walked away first, and for a split second, Sevyn lingered.
She didn’t say anything. Didn’t do anything. But she looked at him. Held his gaze for a second too long before finally turning and following Harper down the stairs.
And just like that, she was gone. But fuck. Even after she left, she was still in his head. Still there. Something about this woman was powerful. Magnetic. Dangerous.
And Hassan knew danger. He lived it. It was his world. But she?
She was a force he couldn’t control.
And that? That frustrated the fuck out of him.