His Private Hell - Chapter 101: Chapter 101
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She heard the sound before she saw him.
Not the typical echo of his footsteps—those were always deliberate, controlled, dripping with power. No, this was something raw. Heavy breathing. A slow drag of something along the glass outside her door. Like claws. Or bone.
Eella’s pulse hiccupped.
It was two in the morning. The lights in her apartment were low. She had been curled up in her robe, half-drunk on the wine she’d opened hours ago to forget what she’d seen at Ally’s Inc. What she had unearthed.
The 33rd floor.
Darcie’s blood.
The video.
Garrison’s voice.
“You don’t scream unless I allow it.”
She’d played the recording fifty-seven times. Fifty-seven. The number etched itself into her like a brand. Not because of what he said—but because of how Darcie responded. No horror. No plea. Just… whimpers. Like she wanted it.
Now, something was outside her door, and it wasn’t fear pulsing through her veins. It was him. She knew. She felt it.
When the handle turned, Eella didn’t move.
The door creaked open slowly—so slowly it might’ve been scripted. Garrison stepped into her apartment, soaked in rain, hair slicked back, black suit clinging to him like a second skin.
“You watched it,” he said.
Her lips parted. She didn’t deny it. “Yes.”
He closed the door behind him. Locked it. “And?”
She stood, robe falling slightly off her shoulder. “I couldn’t stop.”
His eyes burned. “Say it.”
“I couldn’t stop,” she whispered.
In an instant, he was on her. Hands grabbing her face, mouth crashing to hers with so much force it knocked her against the wall. The picture frames rattled. His hands didn’t just touch—they claimed. He kissed like he needed to erase what she saw, but also… mark it. Confirm it. Yes, I’m that man. Yes, you saw it. And now you want it too.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he hissed into her mouth.
“Then teach me.”
That was all it took.
He dragged her to the floor like an animal—no gentle moves, no tender prelude. Just raw need. His fingers found the sash of her robe and yanked it open, exposing her body to the air and his gaze.
Eella gasped as he trailed his tongue from her collarbone to the dip between her breasts. “I can’t stop thinking about you in that room,” she breathed. “With her.”
His teeth grazed her nipple. “You shouldn’t.”
“Why did you lock that footage away?”
He didn’t answer. Not with words.
He shoved two fingers inside her without warning, curling them with brutal precision. She arched, a broken cry tearing from her lips. He smirked.
“Because it wasn’t punishment,” he said darkly. “It was desire. It was surrender. She begged for it. I gave it to her. But she wasn’t you.”
The room spun.
She clawed at his shirt, dragging it off, revealing the sharp lines of his chest, the jagged scar slashing down his ribs like a secret no one was supposed to see. She kissed it. Licked it. Bit it.
His groan was low and lethal.
Garrison pinned her wrists above her head with one hand and slid his belt free with the other. The sound alone made her thighs tremble.
“You want my hell?” he rasped. “You get the rules.”
“Then break me.”
He did.
Every thrust, every slap of skin, every choked command—open for me, don’t run, don’t you fucking hide—set fire to her sanity. She didn’t know where her body ended and his began. The line between pain and pleasure blurred until all that existed was his voice, his touch, the pressure building inside her like a scream.
When she finally shattered, it was his name on her lips like a prayer and a curse.
Garrison collapsed over her, breathing ragged, chest heaving. For a long minute, neither of them moved. Rain hammered against the windows.
Then she whispered, “What happened to her, Garrison?”
Silence.
His fingers curled tighter around her hip. “Darcie signed a contract.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“She broke it.”
“And?”
His eyes met hers—cold, deadly. “And I kept her.”
The air froze.
“You kept her?” Eella whispered, heart slamming into her ribs.
“She lives,” he said softly. “But not like you. She stays in the building. Below the 33rd. Where the cameras don’t go.”
Terror mingled with arousal in her blood. “You’re keeping her prisoner?”
“No. She wants to stay. And she’ll never walk out because she can’t live without it now.” He ran his fingers down Eella’s throat. “Just like you won’t.”
Her lips trembled. “I’m not like her.”
His smirk was cruel. “Aren’t you? Then why are your legs still open for the man who broke her?”
She slapped him.
Hard.
The silence after was suffocating.
Garrison’s cheek reddened, but he didn’t retaliate. He leaned in close, brushing his lips to her ear. “That’s the first taste of the monster, baby. Hope you’re hungry for more.”
He stood and left without another word.
Eella lay on the floor, her body aching, her soul screaming.
Because the truth was, he was right.
She was hungry. And this hell? She wanted seconds.
Eella didn’t sleep.
Her body was wrecked in all the ways that meant satisfaction, but her mind couldn’t stop spiraling.
He kept her.
Darcie. In the building. Below the 33rd.
And the worst part wasn’t the shock.
It was the envy.
Every breath Eella took tasted like madness. She showered twice, scrubbing until her skin bloomed red, but she couldn’t wash him off. Couldn’t erase the image of him on top of her, owning her, whispering filth that wrapped around her ribs like barbed wire.
By noon the next day, she was at Ally’s Inc. again.
Her keycard buzzed red at the elevator to the 33rd floor. Denied. Just like before.
But Eella didn’t back down.
She took the stairs.
Floor by floor, she descended into silence. Past the locked media division, past the server storage where everything always felt three degrees too cold. At the landing between the 32nd and 33rd, she found it—a keypad. New. Hidden behind an unmarked metal panel. Slick. Sophisticated.
She pressed her hand to it.
Nothing.
No way in.
Then—footsteps behind her.
Her heart kicked.
“Looking for something?” a voice purred.
Astrid.
Wearing all black, her platinum hair in a braid, sunglasses still on despite the dim lights.
Eella straightened. “You knew, didn’t you?”
Astrid didn’t flinch. “Knew what, darling?”
“About Darcie.”
“Everyone knows about Darcie,” she said coolly. “Some of us just know when to shut up about it.”
“She’s alive,” Eella said. “Here. Somewhere.”
Astrid smiled. “And you want to see her, don’t you?”
Her silence was the answer.
Astrid leaned in, her breath warm. “Careful, baby. Curiosity in this place? It isn’t cute. It’s suicidal.”
“I can handle Garrison.”
Astrid let out a soft, venomous laugh. “Handle him? You think this is about handling? You’re still in the foreplay stage, Eella. You think you’re special because he made you come? Darling… he made Darcie scream.”
The slap came fast.
Eella’s hand cracked against Astrid’s cheek so hard, the sunglasses fell.
They stared at each other. No words.
Then Astrid smirked, rubbed her jaw, and leaned in closer. “You hit like her too.”
She turned and left, boots echoing.
And all Eella could do was stand there, vibrating with fury and the sickest, darkest kind of desire. Because now, it wasn’t just about knowing. It was about seeing.
She had to see Darcie. Had to know what it was that broke her and made her stay.
Had to know what she was becoming.
—
That night, she didn’t wait for Garrison.
She broke into his penthouse.
Used the code he once let slip when he was too deep inside her to notice he was whispering his secrets. A four-digit combination tied to the name Hellion.
The door clicked open.
Eella walked in barefoot, in black lace and nothing else.
The lights were off, but the fireplace burned. The room smelled like leather, bourbon, and him.
She didn’t call out.
She went straight to his private room—the one he never let her enter. The one with the reinforced door and fingerprint scanner.
She placed her hand on the panel. Nothing. Denied.
Then—his voice, behind her. Low. Amused.
“You have ten seconds to explain why I shouldn’t chain you to that wall for the next seventy-two hours.”
Eella turned slowly. “Because if you chain me, you’ll never get answers to the questions burning your tongue.”
Garrison stepped into the light.
Shirtless. Low slung black pants. Eyes darker than the flames.
“Try me.”
She didn’t back down. “I want to see her.”
“Darcie?”
She nodded. “Tonight. Or I walk.”
A pause. A blink. Then he laughed.
It wasn’t nice.
“You think I care if you walk?”
“No,” she said. “But I think you care if I run straight to the press with what I know.”
His smile vanished.
“I wouldn’t survive it,” she added. “But you’d lose everything.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then… he pressed his palm to the scanner.
The door slid open.
Cool air spilled out. A soft humming sound. Dim red lights. And a staircase that went down—impossibly deep.
Garrison held out his hand.
Eella placed hers in his.
They descended together.
With every step, the air grew colder, heavier. Like they were entering the underworld.
The hallway at the bottom was lined with thick glass panels. Behind each one—rooms. Cells. Suites. It looked like a luxury hotel… crossed with a dungeon.
In the third glass room—she saw her.
Darcie.
Alive.
Hair longer. Face pale. Kneeling on velvet cushions. Wearing nothing but silk and metal. A collar. A leash. Eyes blank and bright all at once.
She looked at Eella… and smiled.
Then whispered: “He told me you’d come.”
Eella’s breath caught.
Darcie pressed her hand to the glass. “Are you ready to stay, little girl?”
And Garrison?
He said nothing.
Because this wasn’t about words anymore.
This was initiation.
Eella couldn’t move.
The sight of Darcie—alive, collared, seemingly thriving in her gilded cage—paralyzed her.
Darcie tilted her head, that soft, deranged smile curving her lips like a curse. “You’re prettier than I thought you’d be.”
Eella swallowed. “Why are you here?”
Darcie’s smile deepened. “I’m not here. I belong.”
Behind Eella, Garrison finally spoke. “She stayed.”
Darcie’s gaze never wavered. “He broke me so well I never wanted to be whole again.”
The words weren’t whispered—they were etched, branding themselves onto Eella’s bones.
She turned to Garrison. “You… kept her. Like this. Like she’s your pet.”
“No.” He stepped beside her, voice flat. “My religion.”
Eella’s stomach twisted. “You’re sick.”
“I’m honest,” he said. “She chose it. Just like you’re choosing it now.”
“I never said I’d stay.”
“You walked into my penthouse uninvited. You demanded the truth. Now you’ve seen it.”
Darcie rose to her feet behind the glass. Her body moved like it was made of silk and obedience.
She walked to the door—then knelt again, precisely where a golden mark was inlaid on the floor. A ritual, not random.
“She kneels before me every morning without being told,” Garrison murmured. “Because it’s the only place she feels safe.”
Eella shook her head. “You brainwashed her.”
“She begged for it.”
The steel in his tone was final. Absolute. Unshakeable.
“She was dying out there, Eella. Lost in the noise. I offered silence. Structure. Salvation.”
“And what am I, then?” she whispered.
He turned, eyes black with hunger. “The next reckoning.”
The silence cracked.
Eella spun and pressed her hand against the glass.
Darcie’s eyes fluttered shut like a worshiper in prayer.
“Does she sleep in here?” Eella asked quietly.
“She lives here.”
“No windows.”
“No distractions.”
“No freedom,” Eella spat.
Darcie opened her eyes again. “Freedom is overrated.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I used to think like you.” Darcie’s voice was achingly soft. “That freedom was everything. But it’s a lie. Out there, you scream and no one hears. In here—he makes sure I’m always heard. Always.”
Garrison stepped closer to Eella. So close she could feel the heat of him.
“She isn’t a prisoner, Eella. She’s the blueprint.”
Eella’s knees weakened.
Darcie… wasn’t suffering.
She was thriving.
But that was what horrified her most.
“I’ll never be her.”
Garrison touched her jaw, gently. “Good. I don’t want another Darcie. I want a ruin born of fire, not ash.”
Eella turned to him. “Then what happens now?”
He smiled. “You choose.”
She stared back at Darcie—still kneeling. Still smiling.
“No tricks?” she whispered.
“No tricks,” he said.
He opened the chamber door.
Darcie didn’t flinch. Didn’t rise. Just looked up at them both like an angel reborn in sin.
Eella stepped inside.
The air shifted. Hot. Intimate.
Darcie touched her wrist. “He loves breaking you. But deeper than that—he loves what comes after.”
“And what’s that?”
Darcie’s smile softened into something terrifyingly tender. “Worship.”
Eella looked back at Garrison.
His eyes said welcome home.
—
Hours later, Eella didn’t remember how they got back upstairs.
But she remembered the moment everything changed.
The moment he didn’t kiss her. He claimed her.
On the same floor where Darcie had once bled and burned.
He pressed her naked back against the cold glass wall, the city glittering behind them like witnesses.
“You think you’ve tasted my darkness,” he rasped, sliding into her so deep she arched and gasped. “You haven’t even seen the beginning.”
She clawed at his shoulders, but it wasn’t pain. It was the unraveling of everything she used to be.
“You don’t need saving,” he growled against her throat. “You need someone who’ll watch you burn and beg for more.”
And she did.
God help her, she did.
—
When it was over, when she was wrecked and raw and shivering, Garrison wrapped her in his arms and whispered:
“She’ll always be in the basement. But you… you’ll be at my side.”
Eella looked up at him.
“What does that mean?”
He smirked. “It means Darcie may be the ghost in my walls—but you, Eella, you’re the knife in my chest.”
And he wasn’t pulling it out.
Not the typical echo of his footsteps—those were always deliberate, controlled, dripping with power. No, this was something raw. Heavy breathing. A slow drag of something along the glass outside her door. Like claws. Or bone.
Eella’s pulse hiccupped.
It was two in the morning. The lights in her apartment were low. She had been curled up in her robe, half-drunk on the wine she’d opened hours ago to forget what she’d seen at Ally’s Inc. What she had unearthed.
The 33rd floor.
Darcie’s blood.
The video.
Garrison’s voice.
“You don’t scream unless I allow it.”
She’d played the recording fifty-seven times. Fifty-seven. The number etched itself into her like a brand. Not because of what he said—but because of how Darcie responded. No horror. No plea. Just… whimpers. Like she wanted it.
Now, something was outside her door, and it wasn’t fear pulsing through her veins. It was him. She knew. She felt it.
When the handle turned, Eella didn’t move.
The door creaked open slowly—so slowly it might’ve been scripted. Garrison stepped into her apartment, soaked in rain, hair slicked back, black suit clinging to him like a second skin.
“You watched it,” he said.
Her lips parted. She didn’t deny it. “Yes.”
He closed the door behind him. Locked it. “And?”
She stood, robe falling slightly off her shoulder. “I couldn’t stop.”
His eyes burned. “Say it.”
“I couldn’t stop,” she whispered.
In an instant, he was on her. Hands grabbing her face, mouth crashing to hers with so much force it knocked her against the wall. The picture frames rattled. His hands didn’t just touch—they claimed. He kissed like he needed to erase what she saw, but also… mark it. Confirm it. Yes, I’m that man. Yes, you saw it. And now you want it too.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he hissed into her mouth.
“Then teach me.”
That was all it took.
He dragged her to the floor like an animal—no gentle moves, no tender prelude. Just raw need. His fingers found the sash of her robe and yanked it open, exposing her body to the air and his gaze.
Eella gasped as he trailed his tongue from her collarbone to the dip between her breasts. “I can’t stop thinking about you in that room,” she breathed. “With her.”
His teeth grazed her nipple. “You shouldn’t.”
“Why did you lock that footage away?”
He didn’t answer. Not with words.
He shoved two fingers inside her without warning, curling them with brutal precision. She arched, a broken cry tearing from her lips. He smirked.
“Because it wasn’t punishment,” he said darkly. “It was desire. It was surrender. She begged for it. I gave it to her. But she wasn’t you.”
The room spun.
She clawed at his shirt, dragging it off, revealing the sharp lines of his chest, the jagged scar slashing down his ribs like a secret no one was supposed to see. She kissed it. Licked it. Bit it.
His groan was low and lethal.
Garrison pinned her wrists above her head with one hand and slid his belt free with the other. The sound alone made her thighs tremble.
“You want my hell?” he rasped. “You get the rules.”
“Then break me.”
He did.
Every thrust, every slap of skin, every choked command—open for me, don’t run, don’t you fucking hide—set fire to her sanity. She didn’t know where her body ended and his began. The line between pain and pleasure blurred until all that existed was his voice, his touch, the pressure building inside her like a scream.
When she finally shattered, it was his name on her lips like a prayer and a curse.
Garrison collapsed over her, breathing ragged, chest heaving. For a long minute, neither of them moved. Rain hammered against the windows.
Then she whispered, “What happened to her, Garrison?”
Silence.
His fingers curled tighter around her hip. “Darcie signed a contract.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“She broke it.”
“And?”
His eyes met hers—cold, deadly. “And I kept her.”
The air froze.
“You kept her?” Eella whispered, heart slamming into her ribs.
“She lives,” he said softly. “But not like you. She stays in the building. Below the 33rd. Where the cameras don’t go.”
Terror mingled with arousal in her blood. “You’re keeping her prisoner?”
“No. She wants to stay. And she’ll never walk out because she can’t live without it now.” He ran his fingers down Eella’s throat. “Just like you won’t.”
Her lips trembled. “I’m not like her.”
His smirk was cruel. “Aren’t you? Then why are your legs still open for the man who broke her?”
She slapped him.
Hard.
The silence after was suffocating.
Garrison’s cheek reddened, but he didn’t retaliate. He leaned in close, brushing his lips to her ear. “That’s the first taste of the monster, baby. Hope you’re hungry for more.”
He stood and left without another word.
Eella lay on the floor, her body aching, her soul screaming.
Because the truth was, he was right.
She was hungry. And this hell? She wanted seconds.
Eella didn’t sleep.
Her body was wrecked in all the ways that meant satisfaction, but her mind couldn’t stop spiraling.
He kept her.
Darcie. In the building. Below the 33rd.
And the worst part wasn’t the shock.
It was the envy.
Every breath Eella took tasted like madness. She showered twice, scrubbing until her skin bloomed red, but she couldn’t wash him off. Couldn’t erase the image of him on top of her, owning her, whispering filth that wrapped around her ribs like barbed wire.
By noon the next day, she was at Ally’s Inc. again.
Her keycard buzzed red at the elevator to the 33rd floor. Denied. Just like before.
But Eella didn’t back down.
She took the stairs.
Floor by floor, she descended into silence. Past the locked media division, past the server storage where everything always felt three degrees too cold. At the landing between the 32nd and 33rd, she found it—a keypad. New. Hidden behind an unmarked metal panel. Slick. Sophisticated.
She pressed her hand to it.
Nothing.
No way in.
Then—footsteps behind her.
Her heart kicked.
“Looking for something?” a voice purred.
Astrid.
Wearing all black, her platinum hair in a braid, sunglasses still on despite the dim lights.
Eella straightened. “You knew, didn’t you?”
Astrid didn’t flinch. “Knew what, darling?”
“About Darcie.”
“Everyone knows about Darcie,” she said coolly. “Some of us just know when to shut up about it.”
“She’s alive,” Eella said. “Here. Somewhere.”
Astrid smiled. “And you want to see her, don’t you?”
Her silence was the answer.
Astrid leaned in, her breath warm. “Careful, baby. Curiosity in this place? It isn’t cute. It’s suicidal.”
“I can handle Garrison.”
Astrid let out a soft, venomous laugh. “Handle him? You think this is about handling? You’re still in the foreplay stage, Eella. You think you’re special because he made you come? Darling… he made Darcie scream.”
The slap came fast.
Eella’s hand cracked against Astrid’s cheek so hard, the sunglasses fell.
They stared at each other. No words.
Then Astrid smirked, rubbed her jaw, and leaned in closer. “You hit like her too.”
She turned and left, boots echoing.
And all Eella could do was stand there, vibrating with fury and the sickest, darkest kind of desire. Because now, it wasn’t just about knowing. It was about seeing.
She had to see Darcie. Had to know what it was that broke her and made her stay.
Had to know what she was becoming.
—
That night, she didn’t wait for Garrison.
She broke into his penthouse.
Used the code he once let slip when he was too deep inside her to notice he was whispering his secrets. A four-digit combination tied to the name Hellion.
The door clicked open.
Eella walked in barefoot, in black lace and nothing else.
The lights were off, but the fireplace burned. The room smelled like leather, bourbon, and him.
She didn’t call out.
She went straight to his private room—the one he never let her enter. The one with the reinforced door and fingerprint scanner.
She placed her hand on the panel. Nothing. Denied.
Then—his voice, behind her. Low. Amused.
“You have ten seconds to explain why I shouldn’t chain you to that wall for the next seventy-two hours.”
Eella turned slowly. “Because if you chain me, you’ll never get answers to the questions burning your tongue.”
Garrison stepped into the light.
Shirtless. Low slung black pants. Eyes darker than the flames.
“Try me.”
She didn’t back down. “I want to see her.”
“Darcie?”
She nodded. “Tonight. Or I walk.”
A pause. A blink. Then he laughed.
It wasn’t nice.
“You think I care if you walk?”
“No,” she said. “But I think you care if I run straight to the press with what I know.”
His smile vanished.
“I wouldn’t survive it,” she added. “But you’d lose everything.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then… he pressed his palm to the scanner.
The door slid open.
Cool air spilled out. A soft humming sound. Dim red lights. And a staircase that went down—impossibly deep.
Garrison held out his hand.
Eella placed hers in his.
They descended together.
With every step, the air grew colder, heavier. Like they were entering the underworld.
The hallway at the bottom was lined with thick glass panels. Behind each one—rooms. Cells. Suites. It looked like a luxury hotel… crossed with a dungeon.
In the third glass room—she saw her.
Darcie.
Alive.
Hair longer. Face pale. Kneeling on velvet cushions. Wearing nothing but silk and metal. A collar. A leash. Eyes blank and bright all at once.
She looked at Eella… and smiled.
Then whispered: “He told me you’d come.”
Eella’s breath caught.
Darcie pressed her hand to the glass. “Are you ready to stay, little girl?”
And Garrison?
He said nothing.
Because this wasn’t about words anymore.
This was initiation.
Eella couldn’t move.
The sight of Darcie—alive, collared, seemingly thriving in her gilded cage—paralyzed her.
Darcie tilted her head, that soft, deranged smile curving her lips like a curse. “You’re prettier than I thought you’d be.”
Eella swallowed. “Why are you here?”
Darcie’s smile deepened. “I’m not here. I belong.”
Behind Eella, Garrison finally spoke. “She stayed.”
Darcie’s gaze never wavered. “He broke me so well I never wanted to be whole again.”
The words weren’t whispered—they were etched, branding themselves onto Eella’s bones.
She turned to Garrison. “You… kept her. Like this. Like she’s your pet.”
“No.” He stepped beside her, voice flat. “My religion.”
Eella’s stomach twisted. “You’re sick.”
“I’m honest,” he said. “She chose it. Just like you’re choosing it now.”
“I never said I’d stay.”
“You walked into my penthouse uninvited. You demanded the truth. Now you’ve seen it.”
Darcie rose to her feet behind the glass. Her body moved like it was made of silk and obedience.
She walked to the door—then knelt again, precisely where a golden mark was inlaid on the floor. A ritual, not random.
“She kneels before me every morning without being told,” Garrison murmured. “Because it’s the only place she feels safe.”
Eella shook her head. “You brainwashed her.”
“She begged for it.”
The steel in his tone was final. Absolute. Unshakeable.
“She was dying out there, Eella. Lost in the noise. I offered silence. Structure. Salvation.”
“And what am I, then?” she whispered.
He turned, eyes black with hunger. “The next reckoning.”
The silence cracked.
Eella spun and pressed her hand against the glass.
Darcie’s eyes fluttered shut like a worshiper in prayer.
“Does she sleep in here?” Eella asked quietly.
“She lives here.”
“No windows.”
“No distractions.”
“No freedom,” Eella spat.
Darcie opened her eyes again. “Freedom is overrated.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I used to think like you.” Darcie’s voice was achingly soft. “That freedom was everything. But it’s a lie. Out there, you scream and no one hears. In here—he makes sure I’m always heard. Always.”
Garrison stepped closer to Eella. So close she could feel the heat of him.
“She isn’t a prisoner, Eella. She’s the blueprint.”
Eella’s knees weakened.
Darcie… wasn’t suffering.
She was thriving.
But that was what horrified her most.
“I’ll never be her.”
Garrison touched her jaw, gently. “Good. I don’t want another Darcie. I want a ruin born of fire, not ash.”
Eella turned to him. “Then what happens now?”
He smiled. “You choose.”
She stared back at Darcie—still kneeling. Still smiling.
“No tricks?” she whispered.
“No tricks,” he said.
He opened the chamber door.
Darcie didn’t flinch. Didn’t rise. Just looked up at them both like an angel reborn in sin.
Eella stepped inside.
The air shifted. Hot. Intimate.
Darcie touched her wrist. “He loves breaking you. But deeper than that—he loves what comes after.”
“And what’s that?”
Darcie’s smile softened into something terrifyingly tender. “Worship.”
Eella looked back at Garrison.
His eyes said welcome home.
—
Hours later, Eella didn’t remember how they got back upstairs.
But she remembered the moment everything changed.
The moment he didn’t kiss her. He claimed her.
On the same floor where Darcie had once bled and burned.
He pressed her naked back against the cold glass wall, the city glittering behind them like witnesses.
“You think you’ve tasted my darkness,” he rasped, sliding into her so deep she arched and gasped. “You haven’t even seen the beginning.”
She clawed at his shoulders, but it wasn’t pain. It was the unraveling of everything she used to be.
“You don’t need saving,” he growled against her throat. “You need someone who’ll watch you burn and beg for more.”
And she did.
God help her, she did.
—
When it was over, when she was wrecked and raw and shivering, Garrison wrapped her in his arms and whispered:
“She’ll always be in the basement. But you… you’ll be at my side.”
Eella looked up at him.
“What does that mean?”
He smirked. “It means Darcie may be the ghost in my walls—but you, Eella, you’re the knife in my chest.”
And he wasn’t pulling it out.
End of His Private Hell Chapter 101. Continue reading Chapter 102 or return to His Private Hell book page.