Chapter 21 #2
He paused his typing, lifting his eyes to hers. "Cute is for puppies, love," he said smoothly, his tone laced with confidence, but not cockiness.
Hassan, standing nearby, cut his eyes between them, his jaw already tightening. "Y’all done?"
"Relax," Harper said, waving him off. "Just being polite."
Still, her gaze lingered on Von like she couldn’t help it. "Thanks again, Avoni, " she said, voice low and sincere.
Von gave her a nod, smirk tugging at his lips. "Anytime."
He watched her as she walked out with Roman, her presence still lingering in the room like perfume.
Hassan shot him a look sharp enough to kill, but Von just turned back to the screens. Back to business. No words. No emotion. Just silence.
The house was spotless again. No trace. No evidence. No witnesses. Just like it never happened.
???
(ONE week later)
Sevyn sat at her desk, bathed in the soft glow of morning sunlight streaming through her office window.
Her skin glistened, her expression calm—but inside, her body still pulsed with the aftershocks of the morning.
Hassan had woken her up like she was his favorite meal, tongue deep between her thighs, devouring her like she was the only thing that mattered.
Then after fucking her senseless, he’d rubbed her down, slow and intentional, easing every knot in her back until her limbs melted into his sheets.
And when she tried to get dressed for work?
He made that feel like a sin. The way he tugged at her waist, pulled her back into the bed, kissing her skin like he couldn’t let go.
.. It took everything in her not to call in sick and stay buried in his world for just one more hour.
He was different now. Or maybe this was always who he was beneath the coldness, beneath the blood and scars and pain.
The same man who once stormed into her office all ice and fury, who she'd seen take a man’s life without blinking—he was now the man who kissed her shoulders in the morning, who whispered against her skin, who held her like she was something soft in his hard world.
And she missed him already.
She tried to shake him from her thoughts, focusing on her client’s file, but her mind drifted again—to the way he moaned her name, the way he looked at her like he saw her soul and wanted to protect it.
She’d been in love before—or thought she had.
Braxton had given her the illusion of safety.
But Hassan? Hassan made her feel wanted. Seen. Craved.
Her office phone rang, pulling her out of her daze. She clicked the receiver, adjusting her posture. Micah’s bubbly voice spilled through the speaker.
“Sevyn, your man is here to visit you!” Her brows furrowed. Your man?
Before Sevyn could correct her, Micah added, “I just sent him back,” then hung up with a cheerful click.
Sevyn’s stomach flipped.
Hassan would just walk in—not caring to check in with Micah.
Something was off.
Then came the knock. One that was too light. Too familiar.
Her eyes snapped to the door just as it opened—and her whole body tensed.
Braxton stepped inside like he owned the space, like months hadn’t passed since he broke her heart and betrayed her trust. The arrogance still lived in his eyes, that smug tilt of his lips acting like he had every right to be here.
And it hit her—Micah didn’t know they had broken up. To her, Braxton was still "the man.”
Sevyn leaned back slowly, her expression hardening, heart racing.
The warmth Hassan had poured into her that morning—the softness, the safety, the love—was quickly burning off in the presence of the man who once shattered her.
And for the first time since their breakup, Sevyn didn’t feel pain at the sight of Braxton.
She felt disgust. “Hey, Sevyn.”
Braxton’s voice was smooth, but the smirk tugging at his lips faltered the moment he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
His eyes roamed over her—slow and greedy—taking in the black slim-fit pantsuit that hugged her in all the right places.
The blazer dipped just low enough to tease cleavage, classy but commanding, paired with black Louboutins that gave her height and power.
Her curls were slicked into a tight bun, her cheekbones high, her skin glowing like peace itself had kissed her.
And it pissed him off.
He didn’t even have to guess why she was glowing—he knew. He’d been watching Hassan. Watching her. The photos he had burned in his back pocket: Sevyn laughing with Hassan at lunch, walking out of his car, the two of them looking... like something he’d never given her. Whole. Untouchable. Happy.
“What are you doing here, Braxton?” Sevyn’s voice cut clean through the silence. She stood now, leaning against her desk, arms folded with no warmth in her tone. “I’m working.”
He ignored her attitude and forced a calm into his voice. “How you b een, Sevyn?”
She didn’t answer, didn’t blink, just stared at him like he was a piece of lint she forgot to brush off. Braxton’s chest tightened. The woman in front of him looked like she had moved on—and that realization tasted like bile.
Sevyn reached for her phone. “You have five seconds to say what the fuck you want before I call security.”
Braxton scoffed, the bitterness in his throat finally spilling over. “Oh, that nigga you wit’ got you bold now.”
Her eyes narrowed, and the fire behind them made him regret every word.
“What nigga?” she shot back. “Matter fact, don’t answer that.
Because whoever I’m seen with, or fucking, is none of your goddamn business.
You lost that right the minute you fucked my best friend— and got her pregnant.
” Her words dropped like bricks, sharp and unforgiving.
“So like I said... say what you came to say, or get the fuck out. Or I will let security drag your bitter ass out of here.”
Braxton’s jaw clenched. His fists balled at his sides. She wasn’t just glowing—she was gone. And it was too damn late.
Braxton held out the thick folder, his expression smug and unbothered. Sevyn didn’t reach for it. She just stared, her glare cutting clean through him.
“What is this?” she asked flatly, her tone laced with suspicion.
Braxton’s grin widened, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “Go on. See for yourself. Your little boyfriend? Yeah, he ain’t who he claims to be. And you fucking him?” He let out a mocking chuckle. “I’m sure your father would have a lot to say once he sees these.”
The mention of her father made her jaw tighten. She didn’t flinch though. Her face remained unreadable as she slowly reached out and took the envelope from his hand.
Her fingers peeled it open. The first few photos made her still— shots of her and Hassan together. At the soccer game. Eating lunch. Her getting into his car just yesterday after work.
"You been stalking me?" Her voice came out low, sharp, venomous. Braxton shrugged, amused. “Nah. We’re watching him. Keep going—you’ll find out why. I guarantee, once you see what’s in there, you’ll never look at that nigga the same again.”
Sevyn said nothing. She turned to the next photo—and her breath caught.
The air in the room shifted.
It was a picture of Hassan’s parents—lifeless, drenched in blood, bullet wounds riddled through their chests and skulls.
The image was grainy, but nothing could soften the horror of it.
Sevyn’s stomach twisted. Her fingers trembled.
She couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away, even a s a sting built behind her eyes.
Her heart shattered.
She stared at his mother’s face—beautiful, even in death. And his father... God. Hassan was him all over again. Same deep brown skin. Same piercing blue eyes. But it wasn’t the resemblance that broke her—it was knowing that this was the moment that birthed everything Hassan tried so hard to bury.
The pain. The rage. The coldness.
She could feel six-year-old Hassan. Small. Terrified. Alone. Watching his entire world bleed out on the floor.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she flipped to the next photo— and instantly recoiled, her hand flying to her mouth.
“Oh my God,” she gasped, barely able to breathe.
It was gruesome. Inhuman. The mangled remains of a man—his neck snapped clean, skin torn apart like shredded meat, patches of it burned and blackened like scorched earth.
She didn’t need Braxton to explain who did it.
The signature of violence was all Hassan.
Precision. Pain. A message. A masterpiece of vengeance. .. born from the mind of a child.
Her chest rose and fell quickly as she shut the folder, bile clawing at the back of her throat. She didn’t know what stunned her more— that a ten-year-old boy could be capable of something so brutal, or that she could still feel so much love for him in the middle of it.
Braxton crossed his arms, watching her with sick satisfaction. “Still think that nigga innocent? Still feel safe wrapped up in his arms at night?”
Sevyn didn’t answer. Her hands were shaking, but her face slowly hardened. She wasn’t about to let Braxton see her crumble.
Because what Braxton didn’t understand was—Hassan wasn’t a monster. He was a boy who'd been failed. Over and over. Who’d learned to survive by becoming the very thing the world feared most.
And somehow, that broken boy had still found a way to love her. "You see, Sevyn,” Braxton hissed, voice dripping with bitterness, “the man you parading around with is a fucking murderer. And he’s gonna rot in hell for what he’s done.”
Sevyn calmly slid the folder back into the envelope, sealing the horror inside like it hadn’t shaken her to the core just moments ago. Her face didn’t flinch. Her eyes didn’t blink. She looked... composed. Unbothered.
Braxton narrowed his eyes, confused by her sudden calm. “That’s it?” he asked, incredulous.
“If he’s such a murderer,” she said smoothly, “why isn’t he locked up?”
He opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him the chance .