His Private Hell - Chapter 100: Chapter 100

The walls of Garrison’s penthouse dripped silence.
Not even the rain dared tap against the windows now. The world outside was mute—like it was holding its breath. Inside, Garrison stood alone, soaked to the bone, hair plastered to his forehead, fists clenched and jaw taut. His mind was a thunderstorm with no lightning—just endless, roaring static.
She was gone.
Again.
And this time, she hadn’t looked back.
But it wasn’t the rage that boiled under his skin. It wasn’t even the fear.
It was something deeper. Something darker.
He had been weaponized. And he let it happen.
Darcie.
The name tasted like rust now. Familiar and bitter. And still, she lingered in the air like perfume left behind after a murder.
He moved slowly to the bar, pouring scotch with a hand that trembled for the first time in years. His control wasn’t just slipping—it was shattering. Piece by piece.
Because Eella wasn’t just walking away.
She was carrying his child.
And Darcie knew.
That changed everything.
He picked up his phone. Called the only number he wasn’t supposed to.
The line clicked.
“Find her,” he said. No greeting. No hesitation. “Now.”
“Where?” the voice on the other end asked.
“Anywhere she’s breathing.”
The call ended. The glass in his hand cracked.
She couldn’t disappear. Not now. Not when she was the only thing that made him feel human—and inhuman all at once.
⸻
Across the city, Eella sat in the back of a cab that smelled like stale cigars and bleach.
Her fingers pressed against her stomach.
It couldn’t be true.
It couldn’t be.
She hadn’t planned it. Hadn’t wanted it. Her whole world was built on survival, not softness. But the nausea that rose in her gut now wasn’t just from fear—it was from knowing.
Darcie had seen it before she had.
She gave the driver an address. Not hers. Not anywhere Garrison might find her.
Instead, she went to the one place that had always been untouched by him.
Her sister’s apartment.
Natalia opened the door in silk pajamas, eyes wide at the sight of her soaked and shaking.
“Jesus, Eella—what the hell happened?”
“I need a bed.”
Natalia stepped aside without asking another question.
Inside, the apartment smelled like lavender and cinnamon toast. Warm. Normal.
Two things Eella hadn’t known in months.
She collapsed on the couch, every limb heavy with secrets.
Natalia handed her a towel. “Did he hit you?”
“No.”
“But he broke something.”
Eella looked up, eyes bloodshot. “Everything.”
Natalia sat beside her, arms folded. “Tell me.”
Eella did.
Not everything.
But enough.
About Darcie. The obsession. The contract. The threat.
The child.
By the time she finished, Natalia was silent. Her knuckles white.
“You can’t go back,” she said.
“I don’t want to.”
“You can’t, Eella. That man’s not safe.”
“I know.”
Natalia hesitated. “Do you want the baby?”
Eella stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know.”
Silence.
Then Natalia whispered, “Then figure it out fast—because once he knows, you won’t have a choice.”
⸻
But he already did.
Garrison sat in a dark room, screen glowing. Security footage flickering like ghost stories.
Every second that passed without her made him less of a man and more of a beast.
He couldn’t breathe right.
Couldn’t think right.
Darcie’s voice echoed in his mind.
You didn’t bring her in because you hated me. You brought her in because I told you to.
He wanted to kill her for that.
But also wanted to kiss her for saying it.
Because it was true.
Darcie had suggested Eella as a weapon. Something fragile. A doll he could twist and discard. A distraction.
But what neither of them had expected… was that the doll would fight back.
That she’d become something else.
Not soft. Not fragile.
But dangerous.
His obsession with her hadn’t bloomed like a rose—it had detonated like a bomb.
And now, the fallout was crawling beneath his skin.
He called her again. Straight to voicemail.
He clenched his jaw and grabbed his coat.
Time for diplomacy had ended.
He would find her.
And this time, there would be no walking away.
⸻
Darcie stood on the 33rd floor again.
Alone.
No one else knew about the room. Garrison had made sure of that. But she did.
She always had.
It had been theirs, once.
The soundproof walls. The red leather. The mirrors that watched everything.
It had been their playground.
Their war zone.
And now it was a tomb.
Darcie lit a cigarette and stared at the painting on the far wall—the only piece of art that had survived their destruction.
It wasn’t love that had ruined them.
It was power.
She smiled.
Because Eella thought she was winning.
But Eella didn’t know what had happened in this room.
Didn’t know that this room remembered.
Darcie walked to the far corner. Pulled the hidden latch. The wall slid open, revealing a second door.
One even Garrison had forgotten.
She stepped inside.
And flicked on the lights.
The room pulsed.
Photographs lined the walls. Of Eella.
Sleeping. Showering. Smiling. Crying.
From months ago.
Before Garrison ever touched her.
Before he knew her name.
Darcie ran a finger over one photo. Eella laughing with Natalia in a café.
Her voice was a whisper:
“I told you. He was mine.”
And what Eella would soon learn?
Was that she’d been under surveillance since the beginning.
Because Darcie didn’t just control the obsession.
She curated it.
⸻
That night, Eella dreamed of blood.
Not pain. Just blood.
Everywhere.
And a lullaby she didn’t remember learning.
She woke up gasping.
A phone buzzed beside her.
Unknown number.
She almost ignored it.
But something made her answer.
“Hello?”
A silence that stretched.
Then a voice she didn’t know whispered, “They’re watching you.”
The line went dead.
Her body froze.
She ran to the window.
Nothing.
But she could feel it now.
A cold that didn’t belong.
Natalia came out of the bathroom, towel in her hair.
“You okay?”
Eella nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Lie.
She wasn’t okay.
She was hunted.
Not just by Garrison.
But by something darker.
Something older.
Something that had always known her name.
And as she slid to the floor, clutching her stomach…
She realized something else:
She would keep the baby.
Not because of Garrison.
But because it was the only piece of her that wasn’t touched by them.
Yet.