His Private Hell - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

The door to her apartment slammed open before she could scream.
But she didn’t.
Because it was him.
Garrison Wolfe.
Soaked from the rain, black shirt plastered to his body, jaw tight, eyes wilder than she’d ever seen them. He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Just stepped inside like he owned her air, like he didn’t need permission to cross thresholds.
Maybe he didn’t.
Eella’s pulse spiked, heart catching somewhere between fury and something far more dangerous.
“You followed me home?” she said, voice sharp.
“You didn’t answer your phone.”
“I didn’t know I had to.”
He stepped closer, eyes dragging down her frame. She was in nothing but a silk nightgown—thin, black, barely-there straps. Her skin flushed under his gaze.
“I told you,” he murmured, voice low, rough, “not to tempt me.”
“You think I did this for you?”
“No,” he said, eyes narrowing. “I think you did it for both of us.”
And then he kissed her like he didn’t care if it broke them.
His mouth crushed against hers, hungry and wild. She moaned into it, pulling at his shirt, soaked fabric peeling off hot skin. He lifted her like she weighed nothing, walked her backwards until her spine hit the wall.
His hands were everywhere—her waist, her throat, gripping her thighs. One slid between her legs, finding her already soaked through the fabric.
“So wet,” he growled, “and I haven’t even touched you yet.”
“You are touching me,” she gasped, hips grinding into his palm.
“No,” he said. “This isn’t touching.”
He tore the silk up over her head. No warning. No slow undoing of straps. Just a low, primal growl as he yanked the fabric away and dropped to his knees.
She cried out when his mouth found her, when his tongue flicked against her like he was trying to memorize every twitch, every breath. Her hands tangled in his dark hair, knees buckling as his fingers joined his tongue—deep, unrelenting, delicious.
“Oh my—Garrison,” she gasped, head falling back. “Stop—”
“Lie,” he muttered against her. “You don’t want me to stop.”
And he didn’t.
He drove her to the edge until she shattered in his mouth, trembling, raw, half-lost in the blur of heat and need and something dangerously close to obsession.
When he stood, his mouth glistened with her. She kissed him again anyway.
It was madness. She didn’t care.
They made it to her bedroom half-dressed and fully gone.
⸻
Later, when the air was heavy with sweat and silence, she lay beside him staring at the ceiling. His hand rested across her stomach. Not soft. Possessive.
“You broke into my place,” she whispered.
“You left the door unlocked.”
She snorted. “You mean you picked the lock.”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he sat up and reached for his shirt, his expression unreadable. That calm mask slipping back into place.
“Was that a one-time thing?” she asked, watching the way his muscles flexed.
“I don’t do one-time things.”
“Do you do relationships?”
He looked over his shoulder, a cruel sort of smile tugging at his mouth. “No.”
“Then what are we doing?”
“I’m not sure yet,” he said. “But I know one thing.”
“What?”
“You’re mine now.”
The room went still.
“I didn’t agree to that,” she said.
“You didn’t have to.” He leaned in, mouth brushing her ear. “I decide what’s mine.”
And then he left.
Just like that.
No goodbye. No softness. Just the echo of his voice and the storm he left behind in her bones.
⸻
The next morning at Ally’s Inc., Eella walked into the executive floor with her head held high and a tremor in her limbs she couldn’t shake.
She passed Rainer in the hall, who gave her a knowing glance.
“Don’t,” Eella said sharply.
But the woman just smiled. “You should be careful, Ms. Hart.”
“Of what?”
“Of wanting to be the one he doesn’t destroy.”
Before she could answer, her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number
Conference Room 7. Now.
Her heart slammed once. She didn’t ask questions.
When she stepped inside, Garrison was already waiting, suit sharp, tie undone. His eyes dragged over her like a punishment.
He locked the door.
“Sit.”
“I’m not one of your employees.”
He stepped forward. “No. You’re worse.”
“Worse?”
“You’re a distraction I can’t afford.”
“Then stop texting me. Stop touching me. Walk away.”
He laughed, low and hollow. “You think I can walk away now?”
Eella swallowed. “Why not?”
“Because I’ve already started needing you.”
She blinked, startled.
But before she could speak, he gripped her wrist and pinned her back against the conference table. The same one where just last week she’d presented quarterly growth strategies.
Now he bent her over it.
“Garrison—”
“Tell me to stop,” he growled in her ear, pulling her skirt up, sliding his fingers between her legs again.
She didn’t.
She arched into his hand, let herself moan as he made her come a second time that morning—fully clothed, heels still on, face pressed to the cold wood of the boardroom table.
Afterward, he didn’t apologize.
He just straightened his tie and said, “Lunch. Today. My car will pick you up.”
Then he was gone.
⸻
By lunch, the whole office was buzzing.
Rumors swirled. People stared. Someone whispered about a woman who got too close to the CEO once and ended up buried in legal non-disclosures and tears.
But Eella wasn’t afraid of whispers.
She was afraid of how much she didn’t care about them.
When the black car pulled up to the curb, she got in without hesitation. Garrison didn’t speak as she slid into the seat beside him. He handed her a glass of champagne.
“I don’t drink on the clock,” she said.
“You’re not on the clock. You’re with me.”
They rode in silence, but the air crackled between them like heat lightning.
The restaurant wasn’t a restaurant. It was a rooftop—private, candlelit, with only one table set for two. The skyline stretched behind them like a painted lie. She almost laughed.
“Romantic. Unexpected.”
“I don’t do romance,” he said, pouring her wine.
“Of course not.”
“But I do hunger. And control.”
“And danger,” she added.
He met her eyes, his voice low. “Especially danger.”
She cut a bite of rare steak, slowly chewing as she studied him. “Tell me something real.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if you knew the truth, you’d run.”
She leaned in, eyes glittering. “Try me.”
Garrison said nothing. Just stared. Until finally—
“I killed someone.”
The words landed like a gunshot between them.
Eella didn’t flinch.
He leaned closer, voice a deadly whisper. “Do you still want to play with me now?”
She smiled faintly. “You just made the game more interesting.”