His Private Hell - Chapter 49: Chapter 49

The Monsters We Invite
The elevator ride felt like a descent into something far deeper than the thirty-three floors between Eella’s office and the forbidden level. Every light that flickered above them in the steel shaft felt like a warning, but Garrison’s hand wrapped around hers was ironclad.
She didn’t ask where they were going.
She didn’t need to.
The locked door. The one no one opened. The one that hummed with silent screams and promises of punishment. That was where they were headed. And her blood was already singing.
He didn’t speak, but his body did. Leaned forward, jaw sharp, eyes dark as sin. He was already gone—drifting somewhere between desire and torment—and she wasn’t sure which part of him she wanted more.
Or which part terrified her most.
The doors parted.
The thirty-third floor wasn’t lit by fluorescents. It was bathed in low, golden hues. The scent of leather and silence hung thick in the air. This wasn’t an office. This wasn’t even a dungeon. It was his cathedral of control.
Garrison turned to her with the kind of stillness that made her pulse race.
“You asked who I am when I’m not pretending,” he said, voice quiet. “This is it.”
And then he let go of her hand.
He stepped in first, crossing the threshold like he was returning to war. She followed, but the second her heels met the velvet carpet, the door shut behind her with a thud that made her jump.
She was locked in.
Garrison stood in front of a massive steel cabinet against the far wall. He slid a key from his belt and turned the lock.
The doors opened.
Whips. Cuffs. Ropes. A mask. Everything laid out like trophies. Polished. Treasured.
“I haven’t used this room in a year,” he said. “Not since Darcie.”
Eella froze.
Darcie. The name clawed back into the air, thick and suffocating.
“What happened to her?”
Garrison turned slowly. “She broke the rules.”
Her throat tightened. “What rules?”
“The ones that keep people alive.”
The air between them crackled. The old hurt in his voice wasn’t fake. It was poison disguised as pain. She stepped forward anyway.
“Show me.”
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I do.”
And that’s when Garrison changed.
He didn’t ask for permission. He didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed her chin with one hand and her waist with the other, and slammed her back against the nearest wall with a force that shook the air from her lungs.
“Then take off your clothes,” he said, low and cruel.
Eella stared at him, heart hammering. “Here?”
“Now.”
She did.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Every inch of fabric peeled from her body as if she were shedding her innocence—her fear. She stood naked beneath the low lights, her skin flushed, her eyes defiant.
And Garrison stepped back like he was seeing a goddess he wanted to destroy.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he muttered. “No idea how close I am to burning.”
“Then burn.”
He didn’t need more.
In seconds, he had the cuffs locked around her wrists and raised her arms above her head to the leather-tethered bar. It lowered by a mechanical crank, bringing her into full view, spread and vulnerable, suspended just off the ground. Her toes barely grazed the floor.
“Safe word?” he asked.
“Don’t insult me.”
He chuckled. Dark. Unforgiving. “Wrong answer.”
Then the flogger came down.
Not hard. Not at first. A teasing stroke that made her skin jump, then heat. Another. Then another. Each landed with more purpose. By the fifth, she was arching into them, moaning.
“You want pain?” he rasped. “Or do you just want to feel something that matters?”
“Both,” she gasped.
He moved behind her, dragging the leather tails down her back, then around her hips, brushing her inner thighs.
“You know what happened to Darcie?”
The whisper slithered into her ear.
“She begged to go deeper. Begged for more. But she didn’t love the man—just the monster. She wanted to drown in my darkness and never come up for air. She didn’t care who I was. She cared what I could do.”
He slapped the flogger across her ass—sharp, wicked.
“Is that what you want, Eella?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Then tell me what you want.”
“I want you.”
Something cracked in his mask.
Garrison dropped the flogger.
He walked around her, slowly, eyes raking down her body. He lowered her wrists. The moment she was freed, he caught her by the thighs and lifted her, slamming her back against the padded wall behind them. Her legs wrapped around him instinctively.
“Then take me.”
And she did.
Their kiss wasn’t sweet—it was desperate. He sank into her like he was starving for it. Skin to skin. Flesh to fire. She cried out as he drove into her—deep, brutal, raw.
Her nails raked down his back. His teeth found her shoulder. She shattered so fast it was like falling through glass—painful, brilliant, addictive.
Again. And again.
When she came undone, it wasn’t silent. It was a scream ripped from her chest, his name a curse and a prayer all in one.
Garrison followed with a groan that sounded like it tore through his soul. He didn’t stop until they were both trembling, his body shaking against hers, breath uneven.
For a long moment, he just held her there.
“I can’t stop,” he whispered.
“Then don’t.”
He stepped back, gently lowering her to the velvet bench beneath them. She curled against the padding, naked and sore and still aching.
But Garrison didn’t leave her.
He knelt.
Right in front of her.
And when he rested his head against her stomach, like he was kneeling before his salvation—or his damnation—Eella ran her fingers through his hair.
“This is your private hell?” she asked quietly.
He didn’t answer.
But the tears in his eyes did.
—
Back in her apartment that night, she couldn’t sleep. Her body still thrummed from the experience. But it wasn’t just lust that kept her awake—it was the memory of his voice when he said Darcie broke the rules.
She climbed out of bed, pacing.
The way he looked when he said her name…
Something wasn’t right.
Eella grabbed her phone and opened the file she wasn’t supposed to have.
Darcie Langston. Former publicist. Deceased.
That was the word the file had tried to bury under legal jargon. Deceased.
Her fingers trembled.
She opened her laptop, pulling up every media archive she could access. She dug deeper. Lawsuits. Whispers. Articles that vanished. And then—buried in a forgotten corner of the internet—she found a blog post from a former intern.
I worked at Ally’s Inc three years ago. I saw things I shouldn’t have. Heard screaming from the 33rd floor. They say Darcie had a breakdown, but no one just disappears like that.
Eella stared at the screen, pulse hammering.
Garrison said Darcie broke the rules.
But maybe the rules broke her first.
—
The next morning, the boardroom was unusually full. Garrison hadn’t arrived yet, but the room buzzed with tension.
Eella stood outside the glass, still clutching her laptop. Inside, Ronnie gestured animatedly while Walter leaned against the far wall, unreadable. Ollie watched her with something between concern and suspicion.
She stepped in.
Walter turned. “You’re not on the schedule.”
“Good,” she said coolly. “Then I won’t waste time.”
She walked to the head of the table, where Garrison usually stood. Her fingers slid the USB into the monitor port.
“I have something to share.”
And then she hit play.
The audio was crackly. Distorted. But the words were clear.
Screaming. Pleading. “Garrison, please!”
Someone gasped.
The room froze.
Walter rose from his seat. “Where did you get this?”
Eella’s voice was like ice. “You knew, didn’t you?”
“Get out,” Walter barked. “Now.”
But Eella didn’t move. “What happened on the 33rd floor wasn’t just trauma. It was erasure. And if you think you’re going to bury it again, think again.”
The doors opened.
Garrison stepped inside.
Every head turned.
His eyes locked on the screen, then on her. The room vibrated with silence.
“What are you doing, Eella?” he asked.
She swallowed.
“Finding out if you’re the monster everyone’s afraid of… or the man who’s still afraid of himself.”
To her surprise, Garrison didn’t deny the audio.
He simply reached forward… and turned it off.
“You want the truth?” he asked.
“I want all of it.”
He looked around the room.
“Leave.”
No one moved.
“I said leave.”
And like dominos, the room emptied.
Only she remained.
When the door closed, Garrison’s mask cracked again. Not with rage. With pain.
“She didn’t just break the rules,” he said. “She wanted to replace them. Wanted to push me beyond what I could control. I told her to stop. I begged her to stop. But she didn’t. And one night… I snapped.”
Eella’s breath hitched. “Did you hurt her?”
His jaw clenched. “Not the way they think. I told her it was over. That she needed help. She didn’t listen. She overdosed in the room. I found her the next morning.”
Silence bloomed like a bruise.
“Why didn’t you tell the truth?”
“I was the monster. What jury listens to monsters?”
He turned to her.
“But you see me.”
Her heart broke and rebuilt itself all at once.
“I do.”
And then she crossed the room and kissed him.