His Private Hell - Chapter 56: Chapter 56

Fire Knows Your Name
Garrison didn’t knock. He never did.
The penthouse door swung open under the weight of his palm, and there she was—Eella—barefoot, damp from the shower, wrapped in nothing but one of his old black dress shirts, collar unbuttoned, her bare legs gleaming in the low amber light.
He didn’t speak.
He stalked.
The energy between them snapped taut, a wire pulled to the edge of ruin. She stepped back without even realizing she did it, but her spine hit the wall and she stayed there, trembling slightly—though whether it was fear, lust, or something dangerously in between, she couldn’t name.
“I didn’t say you could leave the office like that,” he said quietly, eyes dragging over her neck, her thighs, the fall of her damp hair.
“I didn’t think I needed your permission.”
“You don’t.” He closed the space between them, leaned in, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “But you knew I’d come after you anyway.”
Her breath hitched. Her fingers clenched in the silk hem of the shirt. And then his hand slid between her legs like he owned every part of her.
“You’re wet,” he whispered.
“I just showered.”
“Liar.”
Her nails raked down his chest as his mouth captured hers—hot, searing, devastating. Her back arched. His tongue stole the words she hadn’t yet dared to say, and her knees buckled when he sank to them.
“Open,” he commanded.
She did.
And he feasted.
It was vulgar, the way he moaned against her skin, like she was something he needed to survive. His tongue was cruel and reverent all at once, flicking over her clit, circling it slowly, then plunging into her until her thighs trembled. She clutched his head, hips rolling helplessly.
“Garrison—”
“No.”
Two fingers joined his mouth, curling just right, and her back hit the wall with a thud. Her orgasm rose like a storm—sharp, sudden, raw. He didn’t stop until she screamed his name and slid to the floor, shaking.
Then he stood, dragged her to her feet, and kissed her again. She tasted herself on his tongue.
“Still think you’re not mine?” he asked.
“I never said I wasn’t,” she gasped.
“You don’t have to. It’s written all over your skin.”
He pushed her toward the bed. She stumbled, laughing breathlessly, but the laughter died the moment he stepped out of the shadows and let her see what he was hiding.
The gun holster.
The faint cut on his collarbone.
The bloody knuckles.
“Garrison.” Her voice cracked. “What happened?”
He stared at her for a long time, something dark swirling in his gaze.
“There was a problem,” he said finally. “Darcie’s name came up again.”
Eella’s breath stalled.
Darcie.
The girl no one talked about.
The girl no one dared ask about.
The one they said had died… or vanished… or worse.
“You said she was gone.”
“She was. But someone broke into the sealed archive on the 33rd floor. They wanted her files.”
“Why?”
He looked away. “Because what happened to her wasn’t an accident.”
Eella moved closer, her voice a whisper. “What did you do?”
He didn’t answer.
The silence between them roared like fire.
Then he reached for her again, hand closing around her throat—not to hurt, but to anchor. His thumb pressed against her racing pulse.
“I’ve only ever lied about one thing,” he said hoarsely. “And that lie was about what I did to her. What I let happen.”
She swallowed. “Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Tell me.”
He exhaled like he’d been holding it for years. “Darcie was like you. Bold. Reckless. She got too close. And when she found out what was behind that door… I didn’t stop it in time.”
“What did she find?”
He leaned in. “A memory. A locked room. A chair with straps. And a man who doesn’t exist anymore.”
Eella’s legs went weak.
Because that was the thing no one had said aloud. That the monster hiding behind Garrison’s cold eyes wasn’t just metaphorical.
It was real.
“You hurt her?”
“No,” he growled. “But I didn’t stop who did. And now someone is making sure I never forget it.”
He showed her a photo.
Printed. Torn. Burned at the edges.
It was a picture of Darcie, tied to the very chair Eella had seen in her nightmares.
“She was alive after she disappeared,” he said. “Long enough to bleed.”
Eella touched the edge of the photo. “Who sent it?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” His jaw ticked. “Someone’s digging through the past. And I have a feeling you’re next.”
She stepped back.
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone’s using you. Watching you. Maybe it’s revenge. Maybe it’s something worse.”
“Why me?”
“Because you touched the match, Eella.” His eyes were darker now. “And maybe you’re not just here to burn. Maybe you’re here to make me burn with you.”
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Run, Eella. You’ll end up just like her.
Her blood turned to ice.
He saw it. Snatched the phone. Read the message.
And for the first time since she’d met him, Garrison Wolfe looked afraid.
“Pack a bag,” he said coldly.
“Garrison—”
“Now. You’re not safe here anymore.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know.” He gritted his teeth. “But whatever it is, it just put a target on your back.”
She obeyed, fingers shaking as she stuffed her essentials into a duffel. But before she could zip it shut, she turned and faced him.
“What are we, Garrison?”
His brows lifted. “Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
His answer came low, fierce, unshakable.
“We’re the fire they’re trying to put out.”
She stared at him.
Then she kissed him.
Hard.
Because if this was war—if someone was coming for her, for him, for everything they’d built out of smoke and sin—then she wasn’t running.
Not yet.
And not without a fight.
Garrison pulled her close, slamming the door behind them as they left. His hand gripped hers tighter than necessary. He wasn’t just angry.
He was terrified.
Of losing her.
Of losing again.
The elevator hit the lobby, and she caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror as they stepped out—jaw tight, eyes colder than ever, gun hidden beneath his coat.
Whatever ghost he’d buried on the 33rd floor was no longer content to stay dead.
And now it wanted her too.