Chapter 19 #2
Hassan sat in his office, trying to focus on the only thing that ever brought him peace—numbers.
With Norman working to clear his name in the Braxton case, and Von, Jules, and Roman digging deeper into Carlos DeVille, all he could do now was lay low.
Keep shit tight. Handle the casino. Stay invisible.
But powerlessness? That wasn’t something he wore well.
The Marino family was still holding up their end—he had land, they had access, and business was still moving weight through his casino with no hiccups. But for the first time, even the comfort of clean calculations and financial reports didn’t register.
His mind was somewhere else. On someone else.
Sevyn.
He hadn’t wanted to leave her—not after the way she curled into him, soft and warm, tangled in those white sheets like she was made for him. But business called. And like always, he answered. He dipped in the middle of the night without a word, and now she wasn’t answering his calls. Not one.
She was pissed. He knew it. And she had every right to be.
He hated that she probably thought he used her—just took her body and bounced like she didn’t mean shit to him.
Like she was just another late-night craving.
But that couldn’t be further from the truth.
He missed her. Missed her voice. The way she looked at him like she saw something more than "Ice.
" The way her energy calmed the war inside his chest.
And now? Her silence was fucking him up.
Every time he got her voicemail, the fury bubbled up. He wanted to pull up. Wanted to force her to look him in the eye and say whatever she needed to say—even if it was just to cuss him out. He’d take it. Hell, he deserved it.
But Sevyn was stubborn. Proud. Soft in the middle but sharp as fuck when crossed. And he knew showing up unannounced wouldn’t change a damn thing—not if her mind was made up.
The part that fucked with him the most? She didn’t just give him her body that night. She gave him her trust. Her softness. Her guard. And he walked out on it like she was just another notch.
And now he couldn’t shake her.
He’d never wanted a woman like this before. Never needed someone’s presence like oxygen. But Sevyn? She wasn’t just under his skin—she was in his blood now. And he couldn’t go another day pretending like she wasn’t.
Because she wasn’t just his therapist anymore. She was everything he didn’t know he needed.
And now he had to figure out how to get her back.
The longer Hassan sat staring at the numbers, the more pissed off he got. Nothing was computing. Not the columns, not the math, not the bullshit reports in front of him. He was already on edge, and ignoring the urge to call Sevyn again was making it worse.
Finally, he grabbed his phone and dialed Harper.
She answered on the third ring. “How do you apologize to someone who you think is mad at you?” he asked without a greeting.
“Well, hello to you too, Hassan. I’m doing just fine, thanks for asking,” she shot back, full of sarcasm.
He sighed, frustrated. “You gone help me or not?”
“Hold on, who is this someone? And what did you do to think you piss her off?” Harper asked, amusement rising in her voice.
“Why the fuck does it matter who it is? And who said it’s a woman?” he snapped, already annoyed.
Harper laughed. “Because I know you not calling me for advice on how to apologize to a nigga. I’m just surprised you calling period. You don’t do apologies.”
“Harper,” he warned, voice tight. “You helping or not?”
“Aight, aight. First—figure out if she’s actually mad at you,” Harper started. “Ain’t no point in apologizing for shit if you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Hassan stayed quiet. He already knew Sevyn was mad. Her silence said it all. Sevyn never ignored his calls, not even when she was busy— and that was one of the things he appreciated most about her. But the fact that she’d been dodging him for days? Yeah, she was pissed.
“Next—be intentional,” Harper said, her tone firmer. “Ain’t no woman trying to hear a dry ass ‘I’m sorry’ with nothing behind it. You gotta say what you did, why it was wrong, and mean that shit. No bullshit, no ego. Just own that shit.”
Hassan nodded to himself, taking mental notes. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing—but for Sevyn, he was willing to learn .
“Flowers work. But not no corner store bullshit. You got money, nigga—use it. Better yet, give her something she said she liked. Something you picked up on in conversation. That lets her know you see her.”
“Mmhm,” he muttered.
“And whatever you do, be genuine. I don’t care if you drop five racks on an apology—if your words don’t mean shit, neither will the gift. Unless she just one of them basic hoes you be fucking, then—”
“She’s not,” Hassan cut her off, low and sharp. That shut Harper up.
“Damn,” she finally said. “She must be real special.” “Is that all?” he asked, already done with the convo. “Pretty much. Who is—”
He hung up before she could finish the sentence.
No way in hell he was about to admit he was calling to get advice on how to apologize to Sevyn. Her best friend. But now that he had what he needed, he grabbed his keys, left his office, and went to get the one thing that might make Sevyn talk to him again.
She was worth the risk. And he was about to prove it.
???
Sevyn sat in her office, trying to shake the exhaustion and the lingering effects of last night.
Her second client had just left, and she was more than a little hungover after drinking too much with Dorian.
What started as venting turned into a confessional about Hassan— how she let herself get vulnerable, how he made her feel, and how she felt stupid afterward when he left like she was just another body.
The alcohol was supposed to numb her. Instead, it made her miss him more.
His touch still lingered on her skin. His voice still echoed in her head. His absence screamed louder than anything else in the room.
She kicked off her heels, making her way to the couch. She had an hour before her next session and figured a quick nap might keep her from spiraling. Sleep was better than sitting in her thoughts, because when she sat still, it was always him she thought about.
But just as she got comfortable, just as her body started to relax, her office phone rang. She sat up with a sigh, preparing to ignore it— until the door burst open.
And there he was.
Hassan. Tall. Cold. Intense.
He stood there with a bouquet of deep emerald green roses in one hand and a Cartier bag in the other. And just like that, the air in the room changed.
"I'm sorry, Sev—" Micah started, her voice a little breathless, maybe even shaken.
Sevyn didn’t even look at Hassan. Her eyes went straight to Micah. “It’s fine, Micah. Did he make an appointment?”
Her voice was calm but clipped, her energy locked down. She refused to acknowledge him, refused to feed whatever this was.
“No, he—”
“I’m not making no fuckin’ appointment, Sevyn,” Hassan snapped, his voice low and laced with ice.
“Just give us the room,” Sevyn cut in, exhaling slowly. “Everything’s good.”
Micah nodded and slipped out quickly, relief washing over her face as she avoided the weight of Hassan’s presence and the thick tension swallowing the room.
Now it was just them. Her on edge. Him standing there in silence, holding apologies in the form of gifts she wasn’t ready to accept.
And she still wouldn’t look at him.
“What do you want, Hassan?” Sevyn said, standing and walking back to her desk.
She was trying to hold her ground, but seeing him in that black Moncler collar shirt, fitted jeans, and clean black shoes made her breath hitch. His presence always did this to her—set her on fire and froze her all in the same breath. And now, she hated that it still had that effect.
“Why you been ignoring me, Sevyn?” he asked, stepping forward.
Sevyn leaned against her desk, arms crossed tight over her chest, posture screaming defiance even as her pulse betrayed her.
His eyes drifted down the length of her body, lingering on the curve of her hips in the skin-tight purple maxi dress, then back up to her eyes as he licked his lips.
She felt the shiver crawl down her spine but didn’t let it show.
“If you didn’t make an appointment with Micah, then we have nothing to talk about,” she said flatly.
She pushed off the desk, headed toward her chair—only to stop cold when she felt him at her back. Close. Too close. His breath ghosted down her neck, and she hadn’t even heard him move. The chill of his presence had her frozen.
Stand your ground, Sevyn.
She turned slowly. He didn’t move. They were inches apart now, his eyes locked on hers, quiet intensity radiating off him.
“So, I have to make appointments now?” he asked, the scowl in his tone clashing with the softness in his gaze.
“Yes, you do,” she said, forcing her voice to stay steady. “And the random calls all through the night? They need to stop.”
He chuckled, slow and dark .
“Why?”
She mugged him. Like it wasn’t obvious.
“Look. I crossed a line with you. What we did was a mistake. I should’ve never let it happen.”
He didn’t say anything. Just smiled—tight, unreadable—and kept his grip on the emerald roses like he was holding something back.
Then he stepped closer. She stepped back. Another step. Another retreat.
Until her back hit the window with a soft groan, nowhere left to run. He hovered in front of her, body close enough to steal her breath, heat rolling off him and soaking straight into her skin.
“It was a mistake?” he asked, voice low and calm, eyes sharp and locked in on hers.
“Yes. I—I’m your therapist and I—”
He leaned in, cutting her off with just the weight of his presence. “You what, Sevyn?” he asked, tone so soft it made her knees weak.
Her body betrayed her instantly. The stutter in her breath, the flush creeping up her skin, the way her thighs subconsciously pressed together.
She was lying. And he knew it.