Chapter 20 #3
He smirked a little, not taking his eyes off the road.
“I called Dorian. She packed you a bag.” He glanced at her, and this time, the warmth in his gaze softened her a little.
“Just sit back and relax. I’m not ready to be away from you yet.
And I’ve still got one more thing I need to do to say I’m sorry. ”
“That sneaky ass hoe,” Sevyn muttered under her breath, realizing Dorian must’ve used her emergency contact status to finesse her way in her penthouse without security having to contact Sevyn first.
Sevyn tried to fight it, the flutter in her chest. The way her lips wanted to curl up into a smile despite her frustration. “What you did wasn’t that big of a deal for all this,” she mumbled, almost convincing herself.
Hassan glanced at her again, slower this time.
His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips, down her frame, then back up again.
“Not seeing that beautiful face... not hearing that smooth-ass voice... not feeling your body next to mine—even for a few days? That shit was torture, Sevyn,” he said.
“And I ain’t ever tryna feel that again.
So yeah... I’m doing the most to make sure you don’t stay mad at me. ”
She couldn’t help it this time—she laughed. “I’m not mad at you anymore.”
He didn’t respond right away. Just kept driving, one hand steady on the wheel, eyes ahead.
“Gotta make sure,” he finally said under his breath.
They pulled into a long, gated driveway that stretched like a private road. Hassan punched in the code and the gates slowly creaked open, revealing a property that looked like something out of a damn dream. Her shiny black Maserati was parked neatly behind a line-up of his cars.
Sevyn chuckled to herself. This man didn’t play fair.
Hassan got out first, came around to open her door like he always did. And as they stepped inside, the warm, rich scent of delicious food wrapped around her senses like a warm hug. Her stomach instantly growled, and her mouth watered on instinct.
She glanced at him out the corner of her eye, already knowing he heard it. He didn’t say a word.
Just smirked.
Hassan led her upstairs to his bedroom, quiet but intentional with every step. “Your bag’s right there,” he said, nodding toward the Louis Vuitton duffel in the corner chair.
Sevyn walked over, grabbing the handle, already turning toward the door.
“Where you going?” he asked, stepping in front of her with a knowing smirk.
“To the guest room,” she replied plainly, like it should’ve been obvious.
“Nah. You staying in here.” His voice was calm, but the way he looked at her—slow, intense, from her head to her toes—made her stomach flip.
“No I’m not,” she muttered, brushing past him. But before she could take another step, Hassan's hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her back in place.
“So I can sleep in your bed, but you can’t sleep in mine?” he asked, lowering his head to meet her eyes.
She chuckled nervously and looked away, but her body betrayed her. She didn’t move.
“You staying in here,” he said again, softer this time, almost like a promise. “Use my bathroom. You got everything you need in there. I’ll be downstairs when you done.”
He released her gently, the heat of his touch still lingering as he walked out, leaving her standing there with her thoughts spinning.
Sevyn made her way into the en suite bathroom—and her breath hitched. It was stunning.
Black and gold wrapped around the space like royalty.
A deep, freestanding tub sat center stage, surrounded by candlelit sconces and black walls that gleamed under the warm lights.
The walk-in glass shower looked like it could fit five people, with a rainfall shower head.
Black marble counters with gold inlays lined the double sinks, and the massive mirror reflected elegance back at her.
Even the floor sparkled, smooth and flawless beneath her feet.
She couldn’t stop herself from admiring it. Every corner screamed opulence—but more than that, it screamed him.
And right now, all she wanted was to slip into that tub and forget the tension in her body.
Stripping out of her dress, she stepped into the hot bubble bath, sinking down until the water hugged her tight. Ten minutes passed like nothing, her body melting into comfort before she finally moved into the shower, letting the warm rainfall cleanse her skin and center her thoughts.
Even in silence, he was still with her—in this space, in her chest, and in the way her heart beat just a little faster.
Minutes later, Sevyn padded down the stairs, her body loose and relax ed in a way it hadn’t been in days.
Hassan’s shower had worked wonders on her—so good, she stood directly under the rainfall head until her once bone-straight hair transformed back into its natural curls.
Now, twisted into a messy bun at the crown of her head, her curls dripped with the scent of coconut and vanilla, her skin dewy and glowing from her facial routine.
Thank God for Dorian, who packed everything she needed.
Toothbrush, skincare, perfume, and of course—two options for sleepwear.
One sexy as hell, clearly meant to tempt Hassan.
The other, more subtle: soft shorts and a loose tank.
Predictably, she skipped the lingerie. Even bolder than she knew, Dorian had clearly anticipated that.
Now freshly cleaned and barefaced, Sevyn walked into the living room and froze.
Hassan sat stretched out on the couch, shirtless, wearing nothing but grey shorts that hung low on his waist, showcasing abs that could’ve been carved from stone.
His beard still held drops of water, glistening under the dim light.
He was watching the game like it was just another night—but the second she stepped in, his head turned.
He didn’t say a word, just drank her in with those piercing blue eyes. Her presence always had an effect on him—but right now, he looked like a man starving.
"It smells good in here," Sevyn said, smiling and trying to keep her voice calm under the heat of his gaze. "What are we having?"
"Come see," Hassan said, rising to his feet with a lazy kind of power that made her breath catch. He walked toward the kitchen, and like always, she followed—drawn to him like gravity.
The moment they stepped inside, Sevyn’s jaw nearly hit the floor. A long, black marble dining table was covered in the kind of meal you’d only expect at a five-star restaurant. Standing proudly behind the spread was a tall, dark-skinned man in a chef’s uniform, his smile wide and welcoming.
“This is Rich,” Hassan said casually. “Best private chef in the city.”
“Nice to meet you,” Sevyn said, still in awe.
“Pleasure’s mine,” Rich replied with a nod. “Everything’s made fresh, just how Mr. Gaines requested."
“For the main course, we have Cajun butter-seared lamb chops,” Rich began, his deep voice smooth as silk as he unveiled the spread like art. “Tender, juicy, and seasoned to perfection—finished with a garlic-herb butter drizzle.”
Sevyn’s eyes lit up, her mouth already watering.
Lamb chops—her favorite—and the smell alone reminded her of home.
Her mother’s cooking. Richness. Love. That kind of love she hadn’t tasted in years.
“And to pair,” Rich continued, lifting the lid off the next dish like he was hosting a Michelin-star show, “truffle mac and cheese. Three- cheese blend with truffle oil, topped with panko crumbs and baked to a golden crust.”
Her eyes widened at the bubbling, creamy mac—cheese clinging to the spoon, steam dancing in the air. She hadn’t even taken a bite yet, and she already wanted seconds.
Hassan didn’t flinch, didn’t react, just sat calm and composed like meals like this were routine. For him, maybe they were. But Sevyn? She wasn’t used to luxury looking this personal. This intentional.
“And here—braised collard greens with crispy shallots,” Rich went on. “Simmered in a red wine vinegar base, with just a kiss of maple syrup.”
Sevyn blinked. A kiss of syrup? What was this, poetry?
“Roasted sweet potato purée—whipped smooth with cinnamon, brown butter, and a hint of cayenne. And finally,” he added with a grin, “hot water cornbread. So good, it’ll make you wanna slap your mama.”
That one pulled a full laugh from Sevyn. The kind that loosened her shoulders and made her forget the weight she carried all day.
“Rich,” she said with a soft smile, “you might be my new best friend.”
“Hey now,” Harper’s voice echoed in her head as if ready to fight for the title.
“It smells incredible,” she added sincerely. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Rich said, giving a respectful nod before turning to Hassan. “Payment received. Appreciate you, boss.”
“Good lookin’,” Hassan replied, still low and unreadable, but a nod of appreciation followed.
As Rich gathered his things and quietly exited, Sevyn stole a glance at Hassan. He didn’t do this for just anyone. That much was clear. And she couldn’t ignore the truth anymore—this wasn’t just about food. This was him saying I’m sorry, in his own language. And damn, it was working.
Sevyn sat beside Hassan at the long marble table, the low lights casting a soft glow over the spread.
The first bite of food sent a slow, involuntary moan slipping from her lips.
Rich didn’t just cook—he performed. Every forkful was seasoned to perfection, layered with flavor, and kissed with something deeper.
Love maybe. Or pride. Either way, it showed.
She wasn’t about to say it out loud, but these lamb chops? Might’ve just knocked her mama’s off the top spot.
Hassan didn’t say much while they ate, but she could feel him watching her—discreet glances while she tasted, chewed, swallowed. He was studying her face for approval. She could see it in the way his eyes f licked over her, waiting.
“This is really good,” she finally said, setting her fork down dramatically. “Okay, be honest—who told you lamb chops were my favorite?”