Page 119 of I See You

“So we ignoring each other now?” she snapped, attitude thick in her voice, her girls lingering behind her like backup dancers. She was half-dressed, tits practically spilling out, lips glossy and pouting—but she didn’t move him. Not one bit.

Hassan’s eyes stayed locked on Sevyn.

“Move,” he said, voice like ice—flat, sharp, lethal.

Nova scoffed, turning to follow his gaze. And there she saw it—her. Sevyn, the woman who had Hassan’s full attention. Sevyn, dancing with another man—oblivious toHassan watching her like a hawk.

“Oh, that’s why you been ghostin’ me? That your new bitch now?” Nova snapped, voice rising, but Hassan still didn’t acknowledge her— as he brushed past her without another word.

He didn’t have time. Because the sight of Sevyn in another man’s hands was driving his fury up his throat like bile.

And behind him, the two versions of himself were laughing.

“You got bitches talking to you crazy now,” ten-year-old Hassan said, smirking. “yo ass weak as fuck.”

The section was packed, bodies shoulder to shoulder, neon lights flickering over sweat-slicked skin, drinks clinking, bass rattling through the floor. But in the middle of it all, Hassan’s eyes zeroed in on her. Sevyn. Skin tight dress hugging every curve, long jet-black waves cascading down her back, gold heels adding an extra level of danger to the way she moved. She was dancing. Laughing. Letting another man’s hands rest too comfortably on her waist while her body rocked against his like she belonged there.

She didn’t see him yet. But the man did.

Theireyeslocked.Hassandidn’tblink.Didn’tspeak.Didn’tslow his pace. The guy turned pale, lips parting in shock as his hands immediately left Sevyn’s body like he’d just been caught stealing from death itself.

“I-Ice…” he stammered, the name barely making it out his throat.

Sevyn turned, confused by the sudden shift, but before she could get the words out, Hassan was behind her. Close. His presence swallowed the air between them as he wrapped one strong arm around her waist, low, secure, final. His lips brushed her ear, and his voice came out low and lethal, the kind of calm that came before a massacre.

“Let’s go, Sevyn.”

Her body tensed, her breath caught. The tone alone sent a shiver straightdownherspine,andwhensheturnedtofacehim,her eyes locked onto something that stopped her words cold. His stare was colder than usual, yes—but there was something else buried underneath. Desperation. Pain. A silent storm trying to keep itself contained.

The guy still hadn’t moved. Still frozen. Hassan’s eyes flicked to him once more, unimpressed and deadly.

“Still here?”

That was all it took. The man backed away so fast he nearly fell, disappearing into the crowd without a word.

“Hassan, you can’t just—” Sevyn started, but she stopped when his grip tightened. Not rough, not aggressive—just enough to remind her that he wasn’t asking.

She searched his face again, and it was there—barely restrained chaos sitting just beneath his calm surface. His jaw was clenched, lips tight, but his eyes were screaming.

He was unraveling. And the only reason he hadn’t come completely undone… was her.

He didn’t need to say it. She could feel it in the way his fingers refused to let her go, the way he didn’t bother with explanations or pleasantries. This wasn’t about control or jealousy. This was survival.

So she didn’t argue. Didn’t ask questions.

“Okay, let me tell my girls I’m leaving,” Sevyn said, her voice softer than she meant it to be.

Hassan nodded once and stepped back, watching her walk over to Dorian and Harper. He saw their faces twist in confusion, hands gesturing, lips moving fast—but whatever Sevyn told them was enough. Neither followed her, neither asked more. She grabbed her black clutch and made her way back toward him, a fresh scowl painted across her face.

She didn’t want to leave. He knew it. But she did—for him.

Theridetothecarwassilent.Heopenedthedoorlikealways, and she slid in, eyes forward, jaw clenched. Once he got in, the engine roared to life and he sped out of the club’s lot, tires screeching as they hit the main road.

“You and timing have a fucked-up relationship,” she muttered, arms folded, attitude dripping.

“Ah! That ain’t the only thing fucked up 'bout his ass!” Six-year- old Hassan’s voice echoed from the backseat like a bad memory that wouldn’t stay buried.

Hassan’s grip on the wheel tightened, knuckles white, jaw locked so hard his teeth ached. He didn’t respond. Couldn’t. He was too close to the edge.

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