His Private Hell - Chapter 59: Chapter 59
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Eella awoke to a silence deeper than any night she’d ever known.
Gone was the thrum of city traffic. Gone were the muffled echoes of footsteps behind her—his steps, her heartbeat. Even the heat in their shared bed was different, diminished. She blinked against the dark, throat tight, her fingers brushing the cold sheet beside her. He wasn’t there.
Her phone lay facedown, the screen cracked. It buzzed twice before going still.
Unknown Number: Didn’t think you’d come back.
She sat straight up, mind reeling. Someone—or something—had watched her. Recorded her. Contacted her.
Questions crashed through her thoughts as she pulled on clothes and stumbled to the living room. The penthouse was untouched since the bombing. Still. Quiet. The shadows felt… aware.
Suddenly, a silhouette slipped through the kitchen doorway. Tall. Familiar.
“Garrison.”
No immediate response—just measured breathing. The man stepped into the faint gleam of moonlight. His eyes were different. Harder. Hollower.
“Why didn’t you look for me?” Her voice trembled, low.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t move.
“You left me on the 33rd floor,” she whispered.
That ripped something in his eyes—the briefest flicker of guilt.
“I thought you’d be safer without me.”
“Safe? I nearly died.”
His lips compressed, jaw clenching. Then he took her hand. Cold. Trembling.
“I betrayed you first.”
She pulled her hand free. “You left me.”
He lifted the folder onto the table. The photo stared back at her—Darcie’s pain bleeding through frames.
“We’re both betraying each other,” he said quietly. “But there’s worse than what’s between us.” Hidden in the Ashes
The night after the explosion, Ally’s Inc. had been evacuated. Broken glass littered the lobby. Security tapes ended mid-frame. The official line? “Electrical malfunction.”
Bullshit.
Garrison found her in the chaos—hunched near the debris in the service stairwell, phone held like a lifeline. She wasn’t hiding. She had been watching.
“How many times did you think I’d run?” she asked him.
“Countless.” His reply was flat.
“You left me with the ghost of a dead woman… and expected me not to fight.”
He stepped closer. “Maybe I did.”Obsession Unmasked
They didn’t sleep.
They hid in his study, the city’s sirens droning far below. He laid out files—bank transfers, private calls, encrypted messages. All connected to Darcie.
“She was sent to me,” Garrison whispered. “By someone who knew what I was hiding.”
“She? Darcie?”
“No. Someone else.”
Her fingernails pressed into her palms. “What did you do?”
He opened a folder labeled Project Lucidity. Medical trial. Volunteer. Uncontrolled subject.
“She was cured,” he breathed. “But she remembered.”
Eella stared at the wisp of paper showing Darcie’s handwriting: I remember everything.
“Who’s controlling this?”
He stared at the ceiling. “Someone who wants me to remember too… permanently.”
⸻
They moved together, but the shadow grew between them.
Eella hacked her access back. She combed through records—encrypted files on Garrison’s private server. And what she found chilled her blood.
Videos.
Footage of Darcie in that white room. Bound. Drugged. Pleading. Screaming. And then—staring into camera—saying Eella.
He denied it. “She was hallucinating.”
She called an expert. The footage? Real.
She confronted him.
He admitted everything.
“I built that prison to contain her. To fix her. But I lost control.”
“You let her snap.”
“She wasn’t breaking. I broke her.”
⸻
She punched him. Hard.
He didn’t cry. They both laughed.
Then he nailed her to the bookcase—hands pinned, spine arched.
He didn’t ask.
He took her.
Dark. Beautiful. Animal.
She climaxed the way you fall off cliffs and don’t want to survive.
Then, broken and panting, she said—
“Why me?”
He whispered in her ear—
“Because you’re the only one who could make me feel alive… before I destroy you too.”
⸻
L
She backed away. Reality fracturing.
“He’s watching.”
She gestured at the folder.
“Us.”
He shook his head. “They’re watching both of us. They planned this.”
She slammed the folder on the table.
“Who?”
He swallowed.
“Me.”
Eella stared at him.
“You.”
“Darcie wasn’t cured.”
He stared at her.
“She was cloned.”
She laughed, disgusted, horrified.
“Cloned?”
“Her mind. Transferred. Into you.”
Eella staggered.
He explained.
Someone uploaded Darcie’s consciousness—database, personality, memories—into a subject with your DNA. Garrison—addicted, obsessive—ended up choosing you.
She stared at him, mind blacking.
“I’m not real.”
He closed the distance.
“You are. You’re real. Not Darcie. Not a copy.”
“Then why do I remember… her?”
⸻
Sirens outside.
Footsteps below.
He grabbed her, gaze urgent.
“There’s a back door. Basement. We run—you lead.”
She nodded.
In the stairwell, gunshots.
One.
Two.
Eella pressed against Garrison’s chest.
“Go.”
He didn’t.
They fought. Dark, frantic.
Then the hallway went black.
She felt him fall.
Gone was the thrum of city traffic. Gone were the muffled echoes of footsteps behind her—his steps, her heartbeat. Even the heat in their shared bed was different, diminished. She blinked against the dark, throat tight, her fingers brushing the cold sheet beside her. He wasn’t there.
Her phone lay facedown, the screen cracked. It buzzed twice before going still.
Unknown Number: Didn’t think you’d come back.
She sat straight up, mind reeling. Someone—or something—had watched her. Recorded her. Contacted her.
Questions crashed through her thoughts as she pulled on clothes and stumbled to the living room. The penthouse was untouched since the bombing. Still. Quiet. The shadows felt… aware.
Suddenly, a silhouette slipped through the kitchen doorway. Tall. Familiar.
“Garrison.”
No immediate response—just measured breathing. The man stepped into the faint gleam of moonlight. His eyes were different. Harder. Hollower.
“Why didn’t you look for me?” Her voice trembled, low.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t move.
“You left me on the 33rd floor,” she whispered.
That ripped something in his eyes—the briefest flicker of guilt.
“I thought you’d be safer without me.”
“Safe? I nearly died.”
His lips compressed, jaw clenching. Then he took her hand. Cold. Trembling.
“I betrayed you first.”
She pulled her hand free. “You left me.”
He lifted the folder onto the table. The photo stared back at her—Darcie’s pain bleeding through frames.
“We’re both betraying each other,” he said quietly. “But there’s worse than what’s between us.” Hidden in the Ashes
The night after the explosion, Ally’s Inc. had been evacuated. Broken glass littered the lobby. Security tapes ended mid-frame. The official line? “Electrical malfunction.”
Bullshit.
Garrison found her in the chaos—hunched near the debris in the service stairwell, phone held like a lifeline. She wasn’t hiding. She had been watching.
“How many times did you think I’d run?” she asked him.
“Countless.” His reply was flat.
“You left me with the ghost of a dead woman… and expected me not to fight.”
He stepped closer. “Maybe I did.”Obsession Unmasked
They didn’t sleep.
They hid in his study, the city’s sirens droning far below. He laid out files—bank transfers, private calls, encrypted messages. All connected to Darcie.
“She was sent to me,” Garrison whispered. “By someone who knew what I was hiding.”
“She? Darcie?”
“No. Someone else.”
Her fingernails pressed into her palms. “What did you do?”
He opened a folder labeled Project Lucidity. Medical trial. Volunteer. Uncontrolled subject.
“She was cured,” he breathed. “But she remembered.”
Eella stared at the wisp of paper showing Darcie’s handwriting: I remember everything.
“Who’s controlling this?”
He stared at the ceiling. “Someone who wants me to remember too… permanently.”
⸻
They moved together, but the shadow grew between them.
Eella hacked her access back. She combed through records—encrypted files on Garrison’s private server. And what she found chilled her blood.
Videos.
Footage of Darcie in that white room. Bound. Drugged. Pleading. Screaming. And then—staring into camera—saying Eella.
He denied it. “She was hallucinating.”
She called an expert. The footage? Real.
She confronted him.
He admitted everything.
“I built that prison to contain her. To fix her. But I lost control.”
“You let her snap.”
“She wasn’t breaking. I broke her.”
⸻
She punched him. Hard.
He didn’t cry. They both laughed.
Then he nailed her to the bookcase—hands pinned, spine arched.
He didn’t ask.
He took her.
Dark. Beautiful. Animal.
She climaxed the way you fall off cliffs and don’t want to survive.
Then, broken and panting, she said—
“Why me?”
He whispered in her ear—
“Because you’re the only one who could make me feel alive… before I destroy you too.”
⸻
L
She backed away. Reality fracturing.
“He’s watching.”
She gestured at the folder.
“Us.”
He shook his head. “They’re watching both of us. They planned this.”
She slammed the folder on the table.
“Who?”
He swallowed.
“Me.”
Eella stared at him.
“You.”
“Darcie wasn’t cured.”
He stared at her.
“She was cloned.”
She laughed, disgusted, horrified.
“Cloned?”
“Her mind. Transferred. Into you.”
Eella staggered.
He explained.
Someone uploaded Darcie’s consciousness—database, personality, memories—into a subject with your DNA. Garrison—addicted, obsessive—ended up choosing you.
She stared at him, mind blacking.
“I’m not real.”
He closed the distance.
“You are. You’re real. Not Darcie. Not a copy.”
“Then why do I remember… her?”
⸻
Sirens outside.
Footsteps below.
He grabbed her, gaze urgent.
“There’s a back door. Basement. We run—you lead.”
She nodded.
In the stairwell, gunshots.
One.
Two.
Eella pressed against Garrison’s chest.
“Go.”
He didn’t.
They fought. Dark, frantic.
Then the hallway went black.
She felt him fall.
End of His Private Hell Chapter 59. Continue reading Chapter 60 or return to His Private Hell book page.