Page 76 of I See You

But it was too late. His walls were back up, locked and sealed.

"I can’t talk to hypocrite-ass people." His voice was cold, slicing straight through her, leaving a sting.

Sevyn’s face twisted, anger flaring. "Hypocrite?" she repeated, her disbelief laced with attitude.

"Yeah." His gaze was unreadable, distant. "Bye, Sevyn."

Her chest tightened, guilt weighing heavy on her, but before she could swallow her pride, he was already walking toward the door.

"You forgot your jacket," she said, holding it out, hoping— praying—it would make him stop, turn around, say something.

But he didn’t. He didn’t even glance back. The door shut behind him, and Sevyn let out a loud, frustrated sigh before plopping onto the couch in defeat.

She had finally cracked through his walls, had him considering therapy, opening up in a way he never had before. And she ruined it. Her own emotions, her own wounds—her own inability to handle her shit—had pushed him away just as quickly as she had pulled him in.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she was a hypocrite.

How could she heal someone else when she wasn’t even healed herself?

Chapter 10

Hassan was back in his element. The failed night of opening up to Sevyn a week ago was a mistake he wouldn’t be repeating. He had let his guard slip—just once—and it blew up in his face. Therapy, vulnerability, all that soft shit? He was done with it.

Still, Sevyn lingered in his mind like a stubborn shadow. He knew she was dealing with something, could see it in the way her body tensed when she saw Braxton, in the silent weight behind her eyes every time she looked at him. He didn’t know why it mattered, and that pissed him off even more. He wasn’t supposed to care. But he did. And when she shut him down, it cut deeper than it should have.

So he did what he always did—locked the fuck in, focused on business, and buried any emotions under numbers and calculated moves.

A knock on the door broke through his thoughts. Without looking up, he exhaled, already irritated by the interruption.

“Boss, you got a visitor,” Bully, one of his top security guards, announced before stepping aside.

Seconds later, Braxton strolled in, dressed in a black suit, a briefcase in hand, looking every bit the corporate motherfucker he was. Hassan leaned back in his chair, amused. Of all the niggas Sevyn could’ve been with, how the hell did she end up with this clown?

He didn’t speak, just let his cold gaze settle on Braxton, watching him squirm under the weight of his silence. After a beat, he lifted his hand, flicking his fingers in a lazy motion, signaling Bully to leave.

Hassan just smirked, taking his time, letting the tension stretch. "You got about two minutes to explain why the fuck you in my office." Braxtonsetthebriefcaseonhislap,adjustinghissuitlikehe wasn’t sitting in front of one of the most dangerous men in the city. "Iappreciateyoutakingthetimetomeetwithme,Mr.Gaines,"he started, his tone professional, smooth—too smooth.

Hassan remained silent, his lips twitching slightly at the formal shit.Hehatedlawyers,hatedthewaytheydancedaroundwords, trying to sound smart instead of just saying what the fuck they wanted. He let the silence stretch, let Braxton fidget under his gaze, until the prosecutor cleared his throat and continued.

"I’m here because your name has been circling in an ongoing case involving Desmond Blackwood," Braxton stated, his eyes steady but not as confident as before. He was trying to read Hassan, but Hassan was a different breed—he gave nothing. "Now, I know men like you don’t like to be involved in legal matters, but considering your, uh... businesses, I figured you’d want to be ahead of anything that might come back to bite you."

Hassan smirked, leaning forward, placing his elbows on the desk as he met Braxton’s gaze with a calmness that made men nervous. "Men like me?" he repeated, his voice smooth, deep, controlled.

Braxton swallowed, catching his slip-up. "I meant businessmen of your caliber."

Hassan took another slow pull from his blunt, exhaling the smoke in thick, deliberate clouds, watching as Braxton shifted in his seat. He wasn’t stupid—he could smell the fear radiating off him, masked beneath his forced bravado. That alone made Hassan smirk.

He let the silence stretch, making Braxton sweat, waiting for him to speak first. And when he finally did, his voice was laced with forced confidence.

“Desmond Blackwood. Ring a bell?” Braxton asked, gripping the briefcase on his lap like it was his lifeline.

Hassan didn’t answer. He simply blew another cloud of smoke in Braxton’s direction, his blue eyes dark with amusement. The more Braxton talked, the deeper he was digging his own grave.

Braxton cleared his throat, realizing he wasn’t going to get a response. “He’s under federal investigation for laundering millions through offshore accounts—shell corporations, dummy businesses, the whole operation. And you? You’ve done business with him before.” His tone sharpened, but it still wavered slightly.

Hassan stayed unbothered, his face unreadable. Another long pause dragged between them before he finally spoke, his voice calm, cold, and cutting.

“What the fuck that got to do with me?” He inhaled deeply from the blunt again, exhaling smoke slow and steady, his gaze never leaving Braxton.

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