Page 177 of I See You

The rage in his tone made her flinch—not because she was afraid, but because she’d never heard him yell like that before. It cracked through the air like a whip, and it made the voice in his head louder.

“See that? She jumped. She know what you are. Broken. Just like everybody else said.”

He tried to breathe, to think, but it was too much. Everything was spinning. The case. The photos. Braxton. His past. Sevyn. Her eyes… Her eyes weren’t soft anymore. They couldn’t be. He felt it in his bones— she was slipping from him.

But then she moved in front of him, close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin.

“I know who you are,” she said gently, her hand finding his chest, feeling his heartbeat slamming against his ribs. “I know what Braxton’s trying to do, and I know it’s not who you are. You’re not what he’s painting you to be. You’re not your past. You’re the man I love.”

Hassan’s body trembled as he dropped his head, letting her touch center him. Her fingers moved in slow, grounding circles against his chest, and for a second, he felt like he could breathe again.

Then a cold, guttural voice shattered it all. “What I tell you about that crybaby shit, nigga!” Hassan’s head snapped up. Sevyn was gone.

Standing in front of him now was his father—his ghost—his monster. Bullet holes still fresh in his chest, that same white, wrinkled button- down soaked with blood, and that familiar sneer twisting his face. The way he looked that night. Drunk. Grimy. Laughing about another man’s money lost at the poker table. Ready to shower. Ready to forget he had a family. Until the door burst open. Until death silenced his voice.

Now he stood again. Still laughing. Still tormenting him.

And Hassan stood frozen, staring at the ghost of a man who never loved him—while the woman who did was right there, trying to pull him back.

HassanandHassanSr.lockedeyes,bothsilent,bothsimmering.

Hassan's jaw clenched so tight it felt like it might snap.

“You bein’ a weak ass nigga right now,” his father said, his voice cold, taunting.

Hassan’s eyes darkened, the rage bubbling in his chest. “You the only weak nigga in this bitch. You got your wife killed—and you offered her up like she wasn’t worth a damn thing.”

He stepped forward, fists clenched, eyes locked on the ghost of the man he hated most.

“Hassan… it’s me!” Sevyn’s voice cut through the air, desperate, trembling—but Hassan didn’t hear her. He didn’t see her. His bipolar disorder was consuming him, blurring the lines of reality. His stare burned through her, not at her. Every step he took, she took one back, but she refused to leave. Even now, scared and unsure, she stood her ground, trying to bring him back.

His father’s laugh echoed like a loaded gun. “Didn’t need no therapy, though, nigga. I took all my demons on the chin. You over here actin’ like a bitch—fuckin’ this therapist and catchin’ feelings.”

Hassan’s eyes turned to steel at the mention of Sevyn.

“She bad,” his father smirked. “Remind me of your mama. Sweet, soft. Looked at me like I was God once—until she didn’t. Until shesaw the truth. Your mother loved me, sure. But I saw it in her eyes— resentment. Regret. She knew I was fucked up. And so does that girl. You think you healed ‘cause she lets you in her bed? Nah. She see you for what you really are. Broken. Dangerous. Just like me.”

The mention of his mother cut deeper than a blade, and Hassan’s muscles tensed. Ten-year-old Hassan appeared beside his father, chuckling, feeding the fire. “She think it too. She just scared to say it.”

His father’s words sliced through him. “And just like your mother, she’s gonna love you while lookin’ over her shoulder. You’ll ruin her too, son. Just like I did your mama.”

That was it. Hassan snapped. He lunged, grabbing his father by the neck—only, it wasn’t his father.

It was Sevyn.

Her breath caught. “Hassan,” she gasped, barely a whisper. “It’s me…”

But his grip didn’t loosen. And for the first time… her fear wasn’t imagined. It was real.

His father’s voice. The younger versions of himself. They weren’t real. They were his fears—his trauma given form, speaking back at him, clawing at the darkest corners of his mind.

But Sevyn… Sevyn was real.

She was the only person who ever truly saw him. Loved him—not in spite of his demons, but through them. Before she even knew him as a client, her eyes held the same look his mother once did—understanding, softness, peace. The kind of love his father never deserved… but maybe he did. The thought of hurting her—of becoming his father—made him tremble.

But he couldn’t stop.

The voices screamed louder, drowning out reason. His grip around Sevyn’s neck tightened, and she clawed at his wrists, panic in her eyes.

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