Page 127 of I See You

But joy, for Hassan, never stayed long.

Just as he leaned back, the rare comfort of the moment sinking into his bones, a knock sounded at the door. It creaked open slowly— and in stepped the one man Harper resented with every fiber of her being… and the same man Hassan had promised himself he’d kill if he ever saw again.

Hendrix.

And just like that, the peace shattered.

Hendrix stepped into the room with a bouquet of flowers in hand and a shadow of tension trailing behind him. The moment he crossed the threshold, Harper’s eyes darkened, and Hassan’s went cold.

Hassan had Von tracking him—always—so seeing Hendrix here, unannounced,madehisbloodboil.He’dhavewordsforVonlater.

Harsh ones.

“Hey, Mama,” Hendrix said, voice soft as he approached the bed. Helen managed a nervous smile, her eyes bouncing between herson,hergrandson,andhergranddaughter.Thesilenceintheroom was brutal. Heavy. No one moved. No one breathed.

“Hey, son,” she finally replied as Hendrix leaned down to kiss her forehead.

That was all it took for Harper to snap. She jumped up without a word, storming toward the door, her body radiating pain.

“Hazel, wait—” Helen called out, her voice strained just before it broke into a cough.

Harper froze mid-step. But it was too late.

The tears were already falling, angry and silent, streaking down her face. Seeing her like that only made Hassan’s rage burn hotter. His eyes still hadn’t moved off Hendrix.

“You not gon’ speak to your Pops?” Hendrix asked, his tone edged with offense, like he had a right to be wounded.

Harper turned, mugging him like he was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. They looked alike—same deep brown skin, same curl pattern now cut low and graying with age. Their eye colors didn’t match, but the shape was the same. People often said Harper was the woman version of her father.

She hated hearing that.

“Nigga, fuck you,” she said coldly, her voice sharp as a blade, and walked out without another word.

Helen called after her again, but she was gone.

Now, only Hassan, Helen, and Hendrix remained in the room— and the air turned suffocating.

Hendrix turned to Hassan. “Wassup, nephew,” he greeted, like everything was cool.

Hassan said nothing. He stood slowly, towering just slightly over his uncle as he stepped forward, eyes locked like a sniper on target.

Hendrix mugged him back, his pride too damn big to back down. “The fuck you gon’ do?”

Hassan grinned. Wide. That grin that came right before he lost control. Helen had seen it too many times before. Her eyes widened as his fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening. That grin wasn’t just rage—it was bloodlust.

“Hassan… please,” Helen said, her voice shaking. “This is not the place. Not the time.”

Hendrix stepped closer, unfazed. “You ain’t gone do shit.”

That low, dark chuckle escaped Hassan’s throat—one Helen knew too well. It made her heart race.

“San. Please. Go check on Harper,” she begged, her voice cracking with panic.

HassanstaredatHendrixforonemorebeat.Then,finally,he turned.

“You called his ass here, didn’t you?” Hassan asked, his voice low but laced with heat as he looked back at Helen.

She didn’t say a word. But the guilt on her face said everything he needed to know.

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