His Private Hell - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Garrison wasn’t the only man watching her now.
Eella felt it the second she walked through the lobby of Ally’s Inc.
Not just the usual stares—the ogling from interns or envious glances from assistants. This was different. Weighted. Intentional.
She passed two board members near the elevator, both mid-conversation, both falling into abrupt silence as she approached.
One of them, tall and lean with slick silver hair and a Rolex too shiny for modesty, smiled at her.
Too long. Too slow.
“Miss Hart,” he said smoothly. “Pleasure to finally meet you.”
She paused. “We met last quarter. Elevator pitch. You told me I’d never make it past HR.”
He chuckled. “I was wrong.”
She gave him a tight smile. “You were.”
The elevator dinged. She stepped inside alone.
But the chill remained.
Something had shifted. Garrison’s favor had made her untouchable. But now it was making her a target.
⸻
He was already in his office when she arrived. No tie, shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest. Brooding. Dangerous. Unreadable.
She shut the door behind her.
“You changed my title again.”
He didn’t look up. “You complained it wasn’t real.”
“‘Vice President of Executive Affairs’ sounds like something from a porn script.”
Now he looked up—slowly.
“It is,” he said, lips twitching. “Your job is to handle my affairs.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be.” He stood. “You left this at my place.”
He held up her red silk slip between two fingers like it burned him.
She walked over, snatched it from his hand. “You kept it?”
“I stared at it for an hour before I realized it smelled like you.”
That made her pause.
His voice dropped. “You make me reckless.”
“You were already reckless, Garrison.”
He stepped closer. “I’d kill again for you.”
“Don’t.”
“Why? Because you’re scared of what I’d do?”
“No,” she said calmly. “Because I’m not ready to bury another body.”
A beat. Then—he laughed. A dark, rich sound that made her chest clench.
“Christ, I could marry you,” he muttered.
“You’d ruin me.”
“I’m already ruining myself.”
He kissed her then—deep, slow, like they had hours to burn. But they didn’t. Because the second she pulled back, the intercom buzzed.
Ronnie from security.
“Sir,” came the voice, uneasy. “You need to see this.”
They both froze.
⸻
The elevator to the security floor felt longer than usual.
Garrison didn’t speak. His jaw was locked tight. Eella followed, tension clawing her spine.
Ronnie met them with a tablet in hand. “Thirty minutes ago, someone tried to access the West Wing vault.”
“No one even knows that vault exists,” Garrison said.
“Exactly.”
He swiped the screen. Surveillance footage played. A hooded figure slipping through the stairwell, using a code—his code.
“How the hell—” Garrison started.
Eella’s voice was low. “They knew your password.”
His fists curled.
Ronnie’s eyes flicked to her. “You brought her down here?”
“She’s my liaison,” Garrison snapped. “She knows everything I do.”
That wasn’t entirely true. But it was enough.
“What’s in the vault?” she asked.
Silence.
Then, “Old files. Untraceable payments. Contracts we never legally signed.”
“And?”
“A list of names,” Garrison said slowly. “People who made us who we are. And people we destroyed along the way.”
She met his gaze.
“How many?”
He didn’t blink. “Too many.”
⸻
They returned to his office in silence.
Once the door shut, she turned to him.
“You think it’s someone from inside?”
“It has to be. The vault’s on a biometric lock now. Only two people have access.”
“Let me guess. You and—?”
“Astrid,” he said.
Her stomach twisted.
Astrid Vega. Garrison’s former fixer. Gorgeous. Sharp. Lethal.
And very, very interested in Garrison.
“She’s in Paris,” he added quickly, reading her face. “Has been for a year.”
“Doesn’t mean she stayed there.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “You think she’s back?”
“I think someone wants to bring you down.”
He walked toward her slowly, hands sliding around her waist. “They can try.”
She stepped out of his arms. “This is serious.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t. Because you still think you can control everything with sex and secrets.”
He smirked. “You don’t like the sex?”
She stared him down. “I didn’t say that.”
His voice dropped. “Say it again.”
Her breath hitched.
“I like the way you kiss me like I’m the only woman who ever made you beg,” she said. “I like the way you look at me like you’re already in hell, and I’m the only sin you’d repeat.”
He reached for her, but she pushed him against the wall instead.
“I like the way you lose yourself.”
Then she kissed him. Hard. Rough. Dominant.
She ripped his shirt. He didn’t stop her. Didn’t speak.
She yanked down his pants, dropped to her knees, and made him hers.
By the time he came, gripping her hair, groaning her name like a prayer, he looked at her like he didn’t know who had more power anymore.
Good.
Because she was done being the pawn.
⸻
That night, Eella sat on her fire escape with a cigarette she didn’t smoke and a bottle of wine she didn’t finish.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
I saw you with him. You don’t know what he did to me.
Her blood turned cold.
Another text came.
Unknown Number:
You should’ve stayed out of the fire, darling. Now you’ll burn too.
She stared at the screen.
Then typed:
Eella:
Meet me. Tomorrow. 9 PM. The vault.
No reply.
But she didn’t need one.
Because this wasn’t just about secrets anymore.
It was personal.
And someone wanted revenge.