Chapter 18 #2
This time, Hassan smirked. Not soft. Not amused. It was sharp. Deadly. Cold enough to drop the room a few degrees.
Once Braxton and Kevin left, Norman turned to both Roman and Hassan, eyes sharp.
“Why the fuck did I just find out about this last night? Jules had to be the one to tell me what’s going on.
” His voice was steady, but his tone was hard.
Hassan didn’t respond. He wasn’t even fully there.
His focus was locked on the bloodied versions of himself still seated across the room.
“This nigga so fucking weak,” ten-year-old Hassan spat, voice full of venom. “Ma looking down shaking her head at this soft-ass shit.”
“She didn’t raise no bitch,” six-year-old Hassan added, voice even colder. “Yet he became one.”
They shook their heads in unison, the disgust in their eyes slicing deeper than any enemy ever could. Hassan’s blood boiled. His jaw clenched. But he still didn’t speak. Roman noticed. He clocked the distant look in his brother’s eyes, the way his hands had started trembling.
“Hassan, you good?” Roman asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. The touch snapped him out of the fog, at least enough to ground him. Norman looked on, confused but quiet, sensing something was off but not knowing what it was.
“Yeah,” Hassan said quickly, brushing it off. “Look—yo ass know now. We need to be ahead of these niggas.”
Norman didn’t press. “Jules told me everything. I can get you out of the Desmond case, get the laws off your back. But Carlos? I can’t help there. You know I don’t get my hands dirty.”
Hassan nodded. Norman was the best for a reason—he played the game sharp and clean, and never left a trail.
“I know. Just get Braxton off our backs. We’ll handle Carlos.” Norman nodded, then gave a tight goodbye and walked out, leaving just Roman, Hassan, and his demons behind. The silence wasn’t peaceful—it was heavy, filled with judgment that only Hassan could hear.
“You do that favor for Jules?” Hassan asked, trying to shift the energy.
“Yeah, we in the works now,” Roman replied, but his eyes stayed locked on Hassan. He wasn’t fooled. Something wasn’t right.
“This nigga scared,” six-year-old Hassan said again, voice laced with disappointment.
Hassan turned his head sharply toward the hallucination. Roman caught it.
“You good, San?” he asked again, more serious this time.
“Yeah,” Hassan muttered, but it was dry, emotionless, like his mind was already somewhere else .
“Nigga, you kept looking off to space during that whole meeting. And—”
“I said I’m good!” Hassan snapped, his tone sharp, cutting through the room like a blade before he stormed out.
He was tired of being watched, talked to like he was losing control, like he was weak. Only one person didn’t look at him that way. Only one person made him feel like he wasn’t drowning.
But he couldn’t pull up to Sevyn’s spot at five in the morning, not after the night they had.
So he drove home.
The city passed in a blur, but in the backseat, his demons came with him—silent, bloodied, and whispering louder than ever.
???
Sevyn sat in her office, replaying last night over and over in her head.
No matter how good Hassan made her feel—how deep he fucked her, how he held her when she broke down in his arms—she couldn’t shake the anger sitting heavy in her chest. Waking up to an empty bed with no note, no text, no call, not even a simple “I’ll hit you later,” made her feel like just another pussy he conquered and left. That shit had her blood boiling.
But she was more pissed at herself than anything.
How did she let him get that close? How could she be so stupid?
She broke her own fucking rule—don’t fuck your clients—and now she couldn’t even look at herself without thinking about the way he moaned in her ear, the way he stroked her like he knew her body better than she did.
She blamed no one but herself for crossing that line.
She thought maybe he’d call, explain why he left in the middle of the night like a ghost, but no. Not a damn word.
And now she was sitting behind her desk after her first session of the day, pretending like she wasn’t still replaying how his tongue felt on her clit or how she damn near cried when he kissed her after.
Her mind was fucked, and her body was worse.
Every flashback made her wetter. Every thought of his voice, his laugh, his fucking smirk had her squirming in her chair.
She’d already dipped into her private bathroom three times to clean up because she couldn’t stop leaking for him. It got so bad, she finally ripped her panties off and tossed them. Now she was free-balling in her black slacks, no barrier between her and the ache between her thighs.
She sat there clenched, jaw tight, heart tight, pussy throbbing— and hated it.
Hated how her body still reacted to his touch. Hated that she gave in. Hated that she fucking missed him .
As she sat in her office, eyes skimming over case files and patient notes, her desk phone rang, flashing Micah on the caller ID.
Without looking up, Sevyn pressed speaker.
“Sevyn, you have a Harper Gaines here to see you,” Micah’s voice came through clear, and just like that, Sevyn’s stomach dropped.
She knew Harper was coming. Harper asked if they could eat lunch together in her office. But knowing didn’t stop the nerves from hitting hard, not after Sevyn spent the entire night before fucking her cousin. Her client. The same man Harper trusted her to help.
“You can send her in,” Sevyn said calmly before hanging up, taking a deep breath and pushing the guilt down like she had all morning. It was just lunch. As long as Harper didn’t bring up Hassan, she could make it through without giving herself away.
A knock came seconds later, then Harper walked in holding a bag of Chinese food and her usual fire.
“Hey, bitch!” Harper hyped, making Sevyn laugh. The tension in her chest lifted instantly just being in her presence.
“Hey, boo!” Sevyn smiled as they hugged, then made their way to the couch. Harper handed her a container of fried rice and orange chicken while she cracked open her own—lo mein noodles and the same chicken.
“You been busy today?” Harper asked, glancing around the soft- lit space.
“Not really. Just two sessions. Already knocked one out, and the other’s after lunch.”
Harper nodded. “You?”
“Nothing major. Just gotta train your new friend after this.” She rolled her eyes.
Sevyn smirked. “Still giving Xavier a hard time?”
“Ain’t nobody giving his ass a hard time,” Harper said, stabbing a piece of chicken. “If he spent more time lifting weights than flirting, we could wrap in ninety minutes instead of two hours.”
“Just go on one date with him. See if you like him or not. Clearly, he’s not taking no for an answer.”
“I’ll think about it,” Harper said, avoiding Sevyn’s eyes as she twirled her noodles.
Sevyn nodded, satisfied. At least she didn’t say no this time. She honestly thought it might do Harper some good to date—or hell, just entertain a man. Harper never talked about dudes. Not in passing, not in gossip, not even in a “he fine” kind of way. And that shit worried Sevyn sometimes.
She’d even considered the idea that Harper might like girls. But she didn’t give off that vibe either. She never talked about women romantically, never looked twice at anyone male or female. It was like Harper lived, breathed, and bled her gym, and left zero space for anything else.
And Sevyn couldn’t help but wonder why.
"I'm really tired of you trying to play matchmaker," Harper said with a chuckle, but the edge behind it wasn’t lost on Sevyn.
"I'm not trying to play matchmaker. I just want to see you happy and in love with someone. The only thing you're in love with is your gym," Sevyn teased, a soft grin on her face.
"My gym doesn’t hurt, cheat, or take advantage of me," Harper shot back—sharper than she meant. Sevyn’s smile faded, her eyes softening.
"Every man doesn’t do those things," Sevyn countered gently.
Harper rolled her eyes. "Well, when the first man to ever supposed to love you does it, you don't give other niggas a pass."
Sevyn knew exactly who she was talking about. She treaded lightly. "You know you can talk to me, right? You’ve been a little distant emotionally since you called about your father showing up at the hospital."
Harper let out a slow breath. She knew there was no escaping Sevyn. That’s the thing about her—she made you feel like spilling your guts was a relief instead of a burden.
"I been trying not to think about it," Harper admitted. "I don’t know what I’ll do the next time I see that nigga."
Her fork clattered softly onto her plate. Appetite gone. Sevyn pushed her own food aside, now fully tuned in.
"Where does this hurt come from?" she asked, voice gentle but firm. "I know you told me he abandoned you when you were younger, but this—this feels deeper. Like something you haven’t said out loud."
Tears welled in Harper’s eyes. She tried to blink them away but they clung stubbornly to her lashes.
"When I was seventeen, he came back into my life," she said slowly, voice breaking around the edges. "It was the longest he ever stayed. And for the first time, I thought maybe... just maybe, I’d finally get the dad I deserved."
She started picking at her nails, a nervous habit Sevyn had only seen once before—when Harper first told her he was back.
"This one day… he took me to get breakfast, we went skating. Since I loved music, he took me to a vinyl store, let me pick out whatever album I wanted. I thought he was really trying. Like, really trying to be a father."
A small, broken smile ghosted her lips. It made Sevyn’s heart clench. She already knew this story wasn’t going to end well.
"That night, everything changed. He cooked dinner. Made some Kool-Aid. I didn’t know until it was too late, but he put something in it. Dr ugs."