His Private Hell - Chapter 11: Chapter 11

The media called it a takedown.
New York Post screamed “Tech King Toppled”. Vanity Fair ran a double spread of Walter in cuffs next to a red-drenched photo of Eella Vance under the headline: “The Woman Who Lit the Match.”
She didn’t read any of them.
Not because she wasn’t curious.
Because she wasn’t done.
“Ronnie’s waiting,” Ollie said, stepping into her glass office at Ally’s Inc’s new headquarters. “You want backup?”
“I want answers,” Eella replied, standing in front of a screen still glowing with encrypted code. “And I don’t trust anyone but myself right now.”
Ollie’s brow rose. “Not even your old flame?”
“I’ve buried that.”
“You sure?”
She paused. “No.”
Downstairs, Ronnie—her second-in-command now—sat with someone new. Astrid. Walter’s former CFO. The woman who’d vanished the day the Shanghai lab fell and hadn’t resurfaced until today.
Eella approached them with the confidence of a woman with nothing left to lose.
“You’re brave,” she said, folding her arms.
Astrid met her eyes. “I’m desperate.”
Ronnie looked between them. “She wants to trade immunity for intel.”
Eella didn’t blink. “I’m not the FBI.”
Astrid leaned in. “But you’re scarier.”
Eella gave a tight smile. “Talk.”
Astrid slid over a thumb drive. “Walter was just the front. The real investor? The one who pushed the human trials? He’s still out there.”
Eella stiffened. “Name.”
Astrid hesitated. “Darcie’s father.”
The room went silent.
Eella’s voice was steel. “He’s dead.”
Astrid shook her head. “He faked it. Changed his name. He’s the one bankrolling the new offshore lab in Singapore.”
Ronnie paled. “We thought he died in that fire.”
“He didn’t,” Astrid said. “And now that Walter’s gone, he’s taking the reins. And trust me—Walter was cruel. But Vincent Deveraux is feral.”
⸻
Eella didn’t sleep that night.
The name Vincent Deveraux sat in her mouth like poison.
She’d grown up hearing stories about him—Darcie’s father. The elusive genius who vanished after a series of deadly trial scandals in Eastern Europe. The man who “died” in an explosion that left fifteen researchers dead.
Apparently, the rumors of his death had been premature.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number: You started a war. Let’s see if you can survive it.
She stared at it. Then deleted it.
And called Garrison.
He picked up on the third ring.
“You miss me already?”
“We have a problem.”
“I figured. Ronnie texted.”
She sighed. “He’s alive, Garrison. Darcie’s father.”
He didn’t respond immediately. Then—“I’ll get my gear.”
“No,” she said. “Not yet. Let me move first.”
“Eella—”
“I’m not asking for permission.”
His voice dropped. “You ever wonder if we’ll both die from pride?”
“Every day.”
She hung up.
⸻
The next morning, Astrid’s intel led them to a private airport outside Boston.
A redacted flight log. One tail number. Two names. Vincent Deveraux. And Darcie.
Eella boarded her jet without hesitation, hair in a sleek braid, gun in her duffel. Ronnie went with her, along with Ollie—whose specialty wasn’t tech, but bombs.
“Just surveillance,” Ronnie reminded as the wheels lifted. “No hero stunts.”
“Define ‘hero,’” Eella muttered.
Three hours later, they landed in Singapore.
The sun was brutal. The air was wet silk. And the compound nestled in the jungle hills was too quiet to be legal.
They rented a Jeep. Ollie hacked the perimeter sensors in thirty seconds.
Inside, the lab was cold. Sterile. And busy.
Rows of researchers. Cryo chambers. Subjects hooked to tubes and monitors.
“Jesus,” Ronnie muttered. “This is worse than Shanghai.”
They moved fast—snapshots of documents, photos of test results, security schedules, heat maps.
But Eella’s blood froze when she reached the center chamber.
Darcie was there. Hair in a tight bun, sleeves rolled, speaking to a tall man in a grey suit.
Vincent Deveraux.
He looked nothing like the photos in her old case files. He looked stronger. Sharper. Polished like a billionaire philanthropist—and cold like a surgeon dissecting hope.
Eella hit record on her hidden mic.
Vincent spoke. “Once the test group stabilizes, we move to human optimization trials. And we patent the neuro-bond tech.”
Darcie nodded. “And what about Ally’s Inc?”
“It will burn.”
Eella’s hand curled around her hidden pistol.
Not yet.
Not now.
They escaped the compound undetected.
But the war had officially begun.
⸻
Back in New York, Eella called a meeting.
Just her, Ronnie, Ollie, and one unexpected face.
Astrid.
“You’re sure you want to be here?” Eella asked.
Astrid shrugged. “I helped build this mess. I’ll help bury it.”
Eella opened a holographic map. “They’ve recreated the Shanghai system. Only this time, they’re blending biotech with military applications. Mind-linked soldiers. Controlled pain thresholds. Optimized adrenaline.”
Ronnie cursed. “They’re making super soldiers?”
“Worse,” Ollie said. “They’re making disposable ones.”
Astrid added, “They’ve already tested it on trafficked prisoners. That’s what those chambers were.”
Eella turned to her team. “We burn it to the ground.”
Silence.
Then Ronnie said, “I thought you’d never say it.”
Ollie cracked his knuckles. “When do we leave?”
“Tonight.”
Astrid hesitated. “There’s more.”
Eella looked at her.
“There’s a list. Of names. Powerful donors. People who’ve kept this operation off-grid.”
“Where is it?”
Astrid’s eyes glittered. “Locked in Vincent’s safe. Inside the compound.”
Eella nodded. “Then I guess we’re not just going back.”
Ronnie grinned. “We’re going loud.”
⸻
By midnight, they were airborne again.
This time, they weren’t running surveillance.
They were making war.
And somewhere over the Atlantic, Eella finally let herself remember the look on Garrison’s face when she walked away.
She pulled out her phone.
Eella: I might not come back.
The response came instantly.
Garrison: Then I’m coming to you.
She smiled faintly.
And for the first time in a long time, she felt ready.
Not just to fight.
But to survive.