Chapter 21 #3
“Oh. Right. Because you don’t have proof.” Her tone was soft, but lethal. “You got photos, Braxton. That’s it. No confession. No weapon. No witness. No case.”
Her voice didn’t match the sickening images that had just flashed across her eyes, and that’s what unnerved him the most. He expected her to fall apart, to scream, to cry, to beg him to protect her. But Sevyn wasn’t scared. She was sharper. Colder. Clearer.
“And let’s be real,” she continued, “even if it’s true… that man killed the person who killed his parents. He was a child. Broken. Alone. That was his justice. His only peace. And unlike you, he never once lied to me or tried to hide who he was.”
“So you really sticking beside this sick bastard?” Braxton snapped. “You no better than his fucked-up ass.”
Sevyn laughed. Not nervously. Not out of discomfort. But loud and deliberate. Like she was genuinely amused by how pathetic he sounded.
“No, Braxton. The only sick man in this room is you. You’re sick that I left.
You’re sick that you're stuck with a spoiled, spineless baby mama who’s only got her daddy’s money and a uterus to her name.
You’re sick because you know Henry’s not gonna carry that baby— you are.
And once that little designer devil pops out, Ariel’s gonna bleed you dry like the broke, bitter puppet you are. ”
Braxton’s jaw locked tight. His fists clenched at his sides. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
“And as for these horror-movie photos? You don’t know anything.
Just like the rest of the feds. If you did, Hassan would be behind bars instead of inside me.
” She smirked, eyes narrowing. “What you thought would scare me, only made me understand him more. He’s lived through shit you couldn’t survive on your best day—and he still became the kind of man you couldn’t touch in your dreams.”
“You’re gonna regret fucking with that nigga,” Braxton seethed, fury bubbling in his throat.
Sevyn grinned as she stood tall and walked toward the door just as security appeared behind him.
“Oh, but my mind, my body, and this pussy?” She stepped in close, whispering with a deadly edge. “We don’t.”
Braxton turned crimson.
“And Braxton?” she called after him as security opened the door. “He fucks me better too.”
He snapped around, rage exploding behind his eyes—but the guards already had their hands on him, ushering him out before he could say another word.
“And don’t come back. You step foot in here again, I’m telling my father you’re stalking me. Let’s see how long you stay on this wild goose chase once he hears his daughter’s being harassed by a bitter ex with a law degree and a bruised ego.”
The door slammed shut behind him.
The second Braxton was gone, Sevyn let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
It escaped her like pressure from a shaken bottle, and she leaned against her desk to steady herself.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up the envelope and shoved it into the drawer, slamming it shut like she could lock the memories inside.
But the images lingered.
Hassan’s parents—bloody, lifeless, frozen in the last tragic moments of their lives. The eerie stillness of the murder scene. The body of the man Hassan killed, twisted and dismantled like vengeance had taken human form and unleashed hell.
And somehow, through it all, she didn’t judge him.
She couldn’t. Not after what she knew. Not after what he’d been through. But she was concerned.
Did he know Braxton was watching him? Did he know they were collecting dirt, snapping photos, following his every move—their every move?
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she picked up her phone and pulled up Hassan’s contact. Her thumb hovered for a moment, then hit call.
But before the ring could sound, the door burst open with a force that sent the breath straight back out of her lungs.
Hassan.
He stepped inside like a storm. No knock. No warning. Just fury wrapped in black-on-black designer, jaw tight, and eyes filled with ice and fire. Cold rage radiated off his body like a furnace frozen over.
Sevyn stood up fast.
His eyes scanned the room like he was ready to kill whoever touched her—whoever dared step foot near what was his.
But the moment his gaze landed on her… everything shifted.
That fury… melted. His shoulders dropped slightly. His jaw loosened. And for a second, the cold was gone. His eyes softened— not weak, but vulnerable in a way that only she could pull from him.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. And Hassan? He didn’t say a thing either.
Not yet. Because right now, the only thing keeping him from going back out that door to hunt down Braxton… was her.
???
(LATER that day)
Hassan sat on the balcony, a slow-burning blunt in one hand, a half- empty glass of Henny in the other.
His jaw clenched, his muscles tight, rage simmering just beneath his skin.
The skyline did nothing to calm him. He didn’t see the lights.
Didn’t feel the breeze. All he felt was the fire in his chest.
Von’s call came out of nowhere—Braxton was at Sevyn’s clinic.
Hassan had dropped everything. Didn’t think.
Didn’t blink. Just moved. The thought of that snake being anywhere near her had his blood boiling.
But it wasn’t just about proximity—it was Braxton’s obsession with trying to take him down, no matter who got caught in the crossfire.
And now Sevyn was being dragged into a world she didn’t ask for.
He never tried to hide who he was. From the start, he laid it all out for her—cold, raw, unfiltered. Every part of him. But this? This wasn’t just his past creeping back in. This was war. And Braxton wasn’t playing fair.
He was breaking rules, bending the truth, withholding evidence. He wasn’t trying to solve the case he was assigned. He was trying to bury Hassan. Personally. Ruthlessly. And Hassan couldn’t tell if it was out of fear or hate.
Carlos DeVille wasn’t someone you failed. He was the kind of man who made people disappear for far less than incompetence. Maybe Braxton felt the pressure. Maybe he was trying to save his own life. But if that meant putting Sevyn in the line of fire, Hassan couldn’t let that shit slide.
He exhaled a heavy cloud of smoke, his eyes low, teeth grinding.
He was always a step ahead—always. But lately Braxton was matching him move for move, like he had the playbook before the game started.
Visiting Sevyn? Hassan didn’t see that coming.
And when he showed up too late, and saw the panic in her eyes, the way her body tensed like she’d been shaken—he knew Braxton showed her everything.
Every secret. Every scar. Every sin.
And Hassan hated that more than anything.
Not because he was afraid of losing Sevyn. But because she didn’t deserve to carry his demons. And now she had them—right in her lap.
He took another long drag, the blunt burning low. Something had to be done. Before Braxton made another move. Before someone else he loved got hurt.
Before Sevyn walked away for good.
His eyes locked on her the moment he burst into his office, and for a second, his breath caught in his chest. She was okay—physically.
But the fear behind her concern cut deeper than any bullet ever could.
It was subtle, buried beneath her composure, but he saw it.
Felt it. And it broke something inside him .
For the first time since he met Sevyn… she was afraid of him.
The words spilling from her mouth didn’t register. He couldn’t hear them—couldn’t feel anything but the silence crashing over him as he stood frozen, paralyzed in his own skin.
“She finally see your damaged ass for what you is. A killer,” the six-year-old version of himself said, perched on the balcony rail, swinging his legs like he was watching a movie.
Hassan gritted his teeth, trying to ignore it, but the voice only grew louder.
“You don’t deserve love, nigga. When you gone realize that?” Ten- year-old Hassan added, seated right beside the younger version, both of them staring with amused cruelty.
“You scared her,” six-year-old Hassan hissed. “You fucking scared her, nigga!”
“Shut the fuck up!” Hassan snapped, the words bursting from his chest, echoing into the night like a crack of thunder.
But they didn’t stop.
“Don’t be mad at us,” the older one said calmly. “Why your weak ass keep pretending you not broken?”
“Or that you deserve a woman like her,” the younger one added with a laugh that pierced straight through him.
Something in Hassan snapped. He grabbed the shot glass from the table and hurled it across the balcony. It shattered against the wall, Henny splattering like blood on concrete, and for a moment, all he heard was glass raining down around him.
Then—his phone rang.
Reality came rushing back, but the voices didn’t leave. Not really.
They never did.
He looked down at the screen—security.
“Boss, there’s a Sevyn Love at the gate,” the voice said, calm and professional.
Hassan’s jaw locked, voice sharp like a blade. “Nigga, you know who the fuck she is. Let her in.”
He hung up and headed downstairs. His demons followed. Quiet this time, but still there, their presence heavy on his back as he approached the door, already knowing who stood on the other side.
And somehow, already knowing she’d see every piece of the man he tried so hard to bury.
He pulled the door open and there she was—still in her work clothes, heels clicking lightly against the porch. She hadn’t even changed. Which meant the moment her last session ended, she drove straight here.
Like always, Sevyn came when he called.
He stepped aside without a word, and she walked in, wrapping her a rms around him the second the door shut behind her. His body tensed on instinct, but her scent, her touch—everything about her— grounded him in place. Like she always did.