Chapter 7 #3
"That’s funny. You own a casino, but don’t gamble." She teased, waiting for a reaction.
But Hassan? He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t give her shit. Then—
"You a therapist, but hurting."
Her body froze. Her breath caught in her throat. Her head snapped toward him with a mug on her face, like she felt him hit a nerve.
Because he did. Hard.
And when his gaze met hers, that cold, unreadable stare boring into her, he smirked—just slightly—before turning away again, sipping his drink like he hadn’t just shaken her entire world with one senten ce.
"That shit don’t feel good, does it?"
Sevyn’s jaw tightened, her brows pulling together slightly. "What?" she asked, feigning confusion, feigning defense—but she knew exactly what he meant.
Hassan didn’t talk much. So when he did, you had to listen. Because he wasn’t the type of man to repeat himself. And she hadn’t been listening when she pressed him the first time.
Now?
It was her turn to be put under the microscope.
Her hands tightened around her silver clutch, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, feeling the tension in the space between them shift into something else entirely.
Now she needed a drink. It was like he knew. Like he could read her too. Because the second the thought crossed her mind, Hassan turned toward the bartender, his voice smooth, effortless, like he was completely in control of everything happening in this moment.
"Get the lady our best wine."
His words weren’t a suggestion—they were a command. "Red or white?" the bartender asked.
Hassan didn’t look away from Sevyn, didn’t need her to say shit. He wasn’t asking for an answer. He was confirming that he already knew.
"Red."
Sevyn’s body stiffened. Because he was right. And he knew it.
Hassan chuckled, low and knowing, before taking another slow sip of his drink.
Sevyn couldn’t let him get to her. No matter how hard it was fighting it.
She turned toward him just as the bartender placed the glass of red wine in front of her. She muttered a quick thank you, but her attention was already back on Hassan.
By then, he had shifted, facing her fully, his body turned toward hers, his piercing gaze locked in with the same intensity that made her pulse quick.
"What are you talking about?" she finally asked, her tone guarded, careful, because she had a feeling she already knew what he meant.
"I don’t explain myself." His voice was smooth, controlled, but low enough to feel like a warning. "You know what I’m talking about. You feel it."
Sevyn’s eyes drifted away, and that was all the confirmation he needed. She did know. She knew he was referring to the way she read him in her office the other day. To the way she uncovered something he never let anyone see .
Harper swore he let it go. But she knew better.
"Fucked up, ain’t it?" Hassan’s voice cut through her thoughts, his tone clipped, laced with something sharp. "Especially when I don’t know you, huh?"
Her eyes snapped back to his, and she didn’t back down.
"I was just being honest, Hassan." She rolled her eyes, her defenses fully up now.
"Me too." His voice remained even, but his jaw tightened, his fists subtly clenching at his sides. "But unlike you, I don’t give a fuck what you going through, ‘cause I’m not trying to fix you."
That hit hard.
But more than his words, she felt the anger behind them. The rage he carried beneath his skin like an untamed beast.
Instead of reacting, Sevyn took a slow sip of her wine, trying to calm herself, to brush it off, to stay poised.
Then, just as steady, just as sharp—
"I’m not trying to fix you. You’re not broken."
The conviction in her voice was cutting. Stronger than before. Hassan’s jaw flexed, his knuckles tightening, his body coiled with tension.
"You don’t fucking know me, mane." His voice was low, but the anger in it was undeniable.
"But I want to."
His head snapped toward hers, his cold eyes burning into hers.
But Sevyn’s voice was softer now, her energy different. Calmer.
"Not to fix you. Not even to please Harper or your grandmother."
She felt the tension in his muscles ease—just slightly. But it was still there.
"Then why?" His voice dropped even lower, his tone challenging, pushing her, testing her. "To say you got through to the coldest, most feared nigga in the city?"
Sevyn’s lips parted slightly, but instead of reacting, she just studied him.
"You don’t really talk much, but when you do, sometimes you say dumb shit."
Hassan’s brows lifted slightly. Not in anger. In surprise. She talked to him like that? Like she wasn’t standing in front of one of the most dangerous men in the city? Like she wasn’t scared?
His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes—something he immediately suppressed.
"I just want you to see the man I see."
Her voice was calm, steady, but it cut straight through him. Her eyes held nothing but truth. Nothing but conviction. And for the first time since he met her —
He didn’t have a single response.
Sevyn saw the way his jaw tightened, the way he looked away from her, swallowing whatever response he wanted to say.
She had gotten to him. Even if he didn’t want to admit it.
Even if the truth she spoke had unsettled something deep in him, something he didn’t know how to handle.
But despite how calm she seemed, her own heart was pounding.
Because for all his coldness, his control—Hassan felt everything.
He took a slow breath, his eyes snapping back to hers, and just as he opened his mouth to respond—
"Hassan Gaines?"
A deep, familiar voice cut through the space behind them.
Sevyn’s entire body tensed, and when she turned to see who it was—Braxton.
The air shifted. Hassan turned slowly, his gaze darting to Braxton, his jaw flexing as his posture remained still, but his presence became lethal.
Sevyn saw the way Braxton’s eyes lit up when he spotted her, the way his face softened like he couldn’t believe she was standing in front of him.
"Sevyn?"
His voice was soft, careful, like he was testing the waters. But Sevyn? She didn’t react. Didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t look at him twice. She picked up her glass, took a slow sip, and looked away like he was nobody. Like she didn’t even know him.
Braxton swallowed, his eyes darkening before shifting back to the tall, commanding man standing beside her. Hassan hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, but his energy was suffocating, heavy, like a storm about to hit.
"Mr. Gaines, you mind if we talk in your office? We have some legal matters to discuss." Braxton’s voice was controlled, his eyes flicking between Hassan and Sevyn, watching them.
Hassan’s cold gaze met his, his posture unshaken, unbothered.
Then, low, sharp, cutting—
"Nah. I know you not 12, so who the fuck are you?"
Hassan took a step closer, his presence towering, his voice calm— but deadly.
Sevyn saw the way Braxton’s confidence wavered, the slight flicker of fear in his eyes—but he stood his ground.
She could feel the heat radiating off Hassan’s body, knew the way this was about to go if she didn’t stop it.
Her hand moved on impulse, gently reaching out, her fingers grasping his forearm.
Hassan’s body instantly relaxed. Like muscle memory. Like she was the only person who could do that to him. But his gaze never left Braxton.
Braxton saw it. Saw the way Hassan didn’t react to people, didn’t let people touch him—but let her. And that? That pissed him off.
Jealousy flashed across his features, his fists tightening at his sides .
He wanted to speak, wanted to demand to know what was happening between them—but he wasn’t dumb.
Not in Hassan’s city. Not in Hassan’s casino.
Not standing in front of a man who could end his career, his life, and everything in between without lifting a single fucking finger.
"I am the lead prosecutor on a high-profile case, and it's just some loose ends I'm trying to tie up." Braxton’s tone was sharper now, laced with something defensive, and both Sevyn and Hassan caught it immediately.
Hassan didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t show a single reaction besides bringing his drink to his lips, taking a slow sip before finally speaking.
"If I’m not being arrested for shit, then you can leave.
I don’t talk to 12 or anyone affiliated close to them, and since you didn’t receive an invite to join this party, then you get the fuck out.
" His tone was calm, composed—so smooth it almost sounded like an invitation instead of a command.
But the underlying threat was loud as fuck.
Braxton shifted uncomfortably, the weight of Hassan’s words hitting him like a slow-burning realization.
No threat. Just a promise. Sevyn couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips at how effortlessly calm and commanding Hassan was.
He didn’t need to raise his voice. He didn’t need to make a scene. His presence alone was a warning.
Braxton’s eyes flicked back to her, his mind running a mile a minute, trying to figure out what the fuck she was doing here, in this environment, standing this close to him.
He had always known the type of man Hassan was.
Even though Hassan had never been in legal trouble, never made himself a target for law enforcement, Braxton knew the reputation he carried, the whispers that followed him like a shadow.
And yet, Sevyn was standing next to him.
Sevyn, his Sevyn. Sevyn, the woman who used to wake up beside him. Sevyn, the woman who wouldn’t even look at him now.
She finally met his gaze, her expression hidden behind the mask, but the sharpness in her eyes said everything she wasn’t saying out loud.
She was looking at him like she didn’t know him. Like he was just some nigga in her past. Like he was nothing.