His Private Hell - Chapter 36: Chapter 36

Eella didn’t dream.
She remembered.
Garrison’s lips on hers. The press of his body. The sharp glint in his eyes when he warned her about hell and the grave behind that forbidden door. His scent—dark woods and fire—still lingered on her skin like bruises made of smoke. Every breath she took felt stolen from a man who didn’t know how to breathe without pain.
She woke before dawn, tangled in her sheets, heart thrashing against her ribs like it was trying to outrun her thoughts.
Her phone buzzed.
A single message.
Unknown Number: Boardroom. Forty-five minutes. Don’t be late.
Not a request. A command.
And even though she should’ve been furious—terrified, even—Eella was already halfway dressed before her brain caught up with her body. She chose a silk blouse in a color too bold for a morning meeting, heels sharp enough to slit throats, and hair pinned with strategic carelessness. If he wanted to play games, she could rewrite the rules.
Because Garrison Wolfe wasn’t the only one who knew how to weaponize desire.
The executive boardroom on the thirty-second floor gleamed with polished sin. Mahogany table. Glass walls. The kind of luxury meant to intimidate.
He was already seated when she arrived.
Midnight-black suit. No tie. Cufflinks undone like he’d been in a fight with himself and almost lost. And when he looked up—
No smirk. No flirtation.
Just storm.
“You’re late,” he said.
“I’m early.”
“You’re always late… when you’re afraid of what you want.”
She sat across from him. Slowly. Deliberately.
“I’m not afraid.”
“No,” he said softly. “You’re addicted. And that’s worse.”
She didn’t blink. “You’re projecting.”
“I’m unraveling,” he corrected. “And you walked in with scissors.”
There were files on the table. Real ones. Financials. PR fallout reports. Something about a former exec suing Ally’s Inc over NDA breaches. Paper to hide behind. Numbers to use as shields.
But this wasn’t about business.
This was about the two of them. About whatever the hell was building between them, too dangerous to name.
“You wanted to see me?” she asked.
He stood, paced to the windows.
“I wanted to warn you,” he said without turning. “Things will start to come out. About me. About the company. About what Ally’s Inc used to be. You’ll hear things that make your skin crawl. You’ll see things that make you question your own goddamn morals.”
She studied his back. Straight. Tense. Like every bone had been forged from guilt and regret.
“Then tell me now,” she said. “Whatever it is. Show me what’s behind the curtain so I don’t have to learn it from someone else.”
He turned, slow.
His eyes didn’t just hold shadows. They were shadows.
“You think you’re ready to look into my private hell?” he asked. “You think you can crawl through it and come out untouched?”
“I think I’ve already started,” she said. “And I’m still here.”
His gaze dragged over her face, her mouth, her chest—more calculating than carnal this time.
Then he walked to her side, stopped directly behind her chair.
“You have no idea what I’ve done,” he said into her ear. “No idea what kind of man I used to be.”
“Then tell me,” she whispered, goosebumps rising on her arms.
His hand came down, not on her shoulder—but on the file in front of her.
“Open that.”
She did.
Photographs. Grainy. Security footage. A bloodied man in an alley. Garrison, half-hidden in the shadows.
She looked up. “What is this?”
“My past,” he said. “And the kind of loyalty Ally’s Inc used to inspire.”
The room tilted. She gripped the edge of the table.
“Is that—?”
“Yes.”
“You beat someone?”
“I ended someone.”
Her breath locked in her lungs.
“And the company covered it up?”
“They didn’t have to,” he said. “I was the company.”
She rose, too fast, but he stepped in front of her, blocking the door.
“Eella.”
“Let me out.”
“No.”
Her heartbeat thudded violently in her chest. “You said you’d protect me, not trap me.”
“I’m not trapping you. I’m giving you a choice.”
She glared up at him.
“You can leave,” he said. “But if you do—don’t come back. Not to this floor. Not to me. You want out? Take it. But understand what it means.”
“And if I stay?”
His voice dropped. “Then you don’t get to pretend you’re clean anymore.”
She didn’t answer.
Because the part of her that should’ve run?
That part was already dead.
When she finally moved, it wasn’t to leave.
It was to step into his space.
“Then show me everything,” she said. “No more halfway. No more games.”
He studied her like he didn’t know whether to devour or destroy.
Then he kissed her.
Harder than before. Rougher. One hand fisting in her blouse, the other braced against the glass behind her as if the building itself was the only thing stopping him from dragging her to the floor.
And she didn’t resist.
She opened for him.
Melted into him.
This was no longer foreplay.
This was war.
He broke the kiss first. Breathing hard.
“If you’re staying,” he said, voice hoarse, “you need to understand one thing.”
“What?”
“This isn’t a love story.”
She touched his face.
“No,” she agreed. “This is .”