His Private Hell - Chapter 38: Chapter 38

The second rule of : once you enter, you don’t leave the same.
Eella didn’t sleep.
After the burning photo. After Linus’s warning. After watching Garrison collapse against her like a man who’d just seen the past dig up its own grave, she sat beside him in his penthouse—dark, cavernous, quiet except for the sound of rain slamming the windows like fists.
“Tell me about your brother,” she whispered.
He poured whiskey into two glasses. Passed one to her without looking up. “Linus was the golden child. Brilliant. Manipulative. And batshit cruel. We built Ally’s Inc together. Then he sold me out to get to the top.”
Her throat tightened. “Why didn’t I know this?”
“Because the board buried it. And I let them. I thought burying Linus would mean burying my own rot.” He drank. “But rot always finds a way back.”
She sipped the whiskey, her mouth bitter. “He took that photo for leverage.”
Garrison’s eyes were fire. “He won’t use it. He wants us afraid. Running.”
“Well, I’m not.” She stood and pulled her shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor. “Let him watch.”
He blinked. “Eella—”
“I want you. Not because I should. But because hell is already around us, so why the f*ck not?”
She unzipped her skirt. Let it fall. The look in her eyes dared him—dared him to give in, to burn with her.
And he did.
He crossed the room like a storm. Grabbed her waist, slammed her back into the wall. The glass rattled. Her gasp cut the silence. His mouth found hers—hard, furious, desperate.
had never tasted like this before.
⸻
They made love like war. Like confessions whispered in fire.
Her nails carved red tracks down his back. His teeth found her throat. Her breath caught as he lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapped around him as he pressed her against the window overlooking the sleeping city.
She kissed him like she hated him for owning her.
He groaned into her mouth. “You’ll be the death of me.”
She kissed him harder. “Then die slowly.”
When he finally released inside her, it wasn’t with a shout—but a tremor. Like a dam collapsing somewhere deep in his soul.
After, they lay tangled in sheets and broken promises. His fingers traced lazy patterns along her spine.
“I should tell you something,” he murmured.
She stirred. “Don’t say it unless it’s the truth.”
He turned her chin gently. “I think I fell for you before I ever saw you. The moment your name hit my desk, I knew it would end like this.”
She brushed his lips. “On fire?”
He nodded. “Bleeding. Wanting.”
⸻
Morning came too early. And with it, pain.
Eella arrived at her apartment to find the door ajar.
She froze.
Pushed it open. Inside: chaos. Her couch slashed open, pictures shattered, drawers overturned.
And on her kitchen table—a red envelope.
She opened it with trembling fingers.
Inside, a photo of her dead mother’s grave.
A note, scrawled in angular black ink.
“Your sins will be inherited.”
She dropped it, heart racing.
Whoever this was—they knew about her mother. About her past. They weren’t just threatening her job. They were threatening her soul.
She dialed Garrison. He answered on the first ring.
“Get to the office,” she said. “Now. It’s starting.”
⸻
The elevator ride to the thirty-third floor was silent except for their shared rage.
She stormed into the boardroom, tossed the envelope onto the table. Caldwell picked it up, paled.
“Where did you get this?” he demanded.
Eella glared. “From someone inside your hell.”
Garrison stepped forward. “Linus is in the city. He’s behind this.”
Caldwell’s hands shook. “He was exiled.”
Garrison scoffed. “He was smarter than you. And now he’s smarter than all of us.”
Eella leaned in. “We’re not here to ask permission. We’re here to make something clear: we’re coming for him.”
Caldwell tried to speak. Garrison cut him off. “Either get out of our way or end up in a grave beside the truth.”
⸻
They left the boardroom without another word.
But as the elevator descended, Garrison stiffened.
“Something’s wrong.”
The lights flickered.
Then—
The elevator slammed to a halt between floors. A shriek of metal. The lights died.
Eella gasped. “Power cut?”
“No,” Garrison growled. “Message.”
The emergency light blinked on.
And written in red—across the mirror above the buttons—was a single phrase:
“Welcome to .”
⸻
The doors refused to budge.
They sat in silence, bathed in red glow.
“Claustrophobic?” she whispered, half-joking.
He shook his head. “No. But I don’t like being trapped.”
“Metaphor,” she murmured. “For your entire life.”
He chuckled darkly. “You’re not wrong.”
Then he took her hand.
“I want you to hear this,” he said. “If Linus goes after you—I’ll kill him.”
Eella stared at him. “You already killed one man. Could you live with another?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I’d rather die with guilt than live without you.”
The elevator jolted back to life.
And as the doors opened—they saw the message had been written in real blood.
⸻
They didn’t go back to work.
They went hunting.
Garrison pulled every contact, every underground whisper. Eella broke into Linus’s old server.
They tracked his aliases, his abandoned bank accounts, his off-the-grid burner devices.
Until they found a clue—a hidden transaction from Ally’s Inc’s old shell company.
To a private club in the city. No cameras. No names. Just red masks and whispered sins.
Eella narrowed her eyes. “We infiltrate. We make contact.”
Garrison’s mouth was grim. “We dance with the devil.”
She grabbed her coat. “Then let’s f*cking dance.”
⸻
Midnight. The club pulsed with shadows and secrets.
Everyone wore red masks. The women in silk. The men in suits. Eyes painted black. No one real. No one clean.
Eella stepped inside like a flame in human form. Crimson dress, skin shimmering with power.
Garrison followed—dark suit, darker intent.
They didn’t speak.
They found the staircase. Slipped into the private upper floor.
And there, in the velvet lounge, surrounded by masked figures and laughter that didn’t reach the eyes, sat him.
Linus.
He raised a glass. “Little brother. Welcome home.”
Garrison clenched his fists.
Linus turned to Eella. “And the lovely hellfire. You’ve been keeping him warm, haven’t you?”
She didn’t flinch. “Cut the theatrics. What do you want?”
Linus smiled like the devil. “I want to watch you both burn.”
Garrison stepped forward. “I’m not that kid anymore.”
“No,” Linus agreed. “Now you’re the monster they fear. And I made you.”
He stood, tall and coiled like a serpent.
“This city belongs to me,” Linus said. “The company. The secrets. Even the blood on your hands.”
Garrison raised a gun from his jacket. Silent. Steady.
Eella touched his wrist. “Not yet.”
Linus smirked. “You won’t shoot me. Not in here. Not with your woman watching.”
“Try me,” Garrison said.
But Linus only walked away. “I’ll see you again. When the final gate opens.”
⸻
Back at the penthouse, Garrison threw the gun on the table. Poured another drink. Sat in silence.
Eella stood behind him. Touched his shoulder.
“He’s trying to break you,” she said.
“He already did,” Garrison whispered. “Years ago.”
“Then we rebuild you.”
He looked up. “You’d stay through this?”
She leaned down. Kissed him slow. “We’re already in hell. Might as well rule it.”
He pulled her onto his lap. This time their kiss was slow. Desperate. Worship and ruin.
She slid her hand inside his shirt. “Show me how the monster loves.”
And he did.
With bruises that were promises. With moans that sounded like penance. With sweat and skin and the kind of possession that didn’t ask—it took.
In the end, she lay gasping, body bare, throat bitten.
And whispered into the darkness, “I want more.”
He kissed her temple.
“You’ll get it.”