His Private Hell - Chapter 67: Chapter 67

Eella woke in satin sheets that weren’t hers. The scent of Garrison lingered on her skin, a mix of smoke, sweat, and something dangerously male. Her wrists bore faint red marks, a phantom ache from the way he’d held her down—demanding, unrelenting, lost in the dark storm of himself.
She sat up slowly, the city skyline bleeding orange behind tinted glass. Garrison’s penthouse was silent, but she didn’t feel alone. His presence haunted every inch of the space. A predator’s den, disguised in luxury. Minimalist furniture. Black leather. Silver edges. And the absence of warmth.
Her fingers brushed the faint mark at her collarbone—his teeth had left that behind.
There was no note. No breakfast. No trace of him.
But she knew better.
Eella padded into the bathroom, and there he was—standing before the sink, shirtless, wet hair slicked back. A towel hung low on his hips, and steam curled around his body like smoke off a battlefield.
He didn’t turn. “You should’ve run last night.”
She swallowed. “But I didn’t.”
“You still can.”
“I won’t.”
His reflection met hers in the mirror, and something dark flickered in his eyes. Regret? Rage? Longing? She couldn’t tell. She was learning that with Garrison, feelings weren’t allowed to surface. Only control.
He turned slowly, the towel slipping just slightly. She saw the scar across his abdomen—the one Darcie had mentioned in whispers. It wasn’t from an accident. It looked deliberate. Deep. Like someone had wanted him to bleed.
“Last night was a mistake,” he said, voice gravel. “I don’t share my bed. Or my weakness.”
“Then why let me in?”
Garrison stepped closer. “Because I wanted to see if you’d survive it.”
She stood her ground, breath shallow. “And?”
“You’re still here.” He reached out, fingers trailing her jaw. “But for how long?”
She hated the way her body reacted to him. Hated how easily he pulled desire out of her with just a glance. But more than anything—she hated that she wanted to know what was behind his locked doors. His past. His pain.
“Tell me what happened on the 33rd floor,” she said, suddenly.
He stilled.
“Darcie told me enough to be afraid,” Eella added. “But not enough to leave.”
His jaw clenched. “That floor is sealed for a reason.”
“So unseal it.”
He gripped her wrist and pulled her flush against him, the air crackling. “You don’t want that kind of truth, Eella.”
“Maybe I do.”
“You’re not ready.”
“I don’t care.”
He crushed his mouth against hers, bruising, punishing. But she kissed him back harder. If he wanted to use pain as protection, she would use pleasure to break past his walls.
Garrison shoved her against the counter, lifting her onto the marble in one swift motion. Her nightgown bunched at her hips, and he didn’t wait—didn’t ask. He yanked her panties aside and thrust two fingers inside her.
“You think you’re strong enough for my truth?” he rasped, curling them just right. “You can’t even handle my touch.”
She gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “Try me.”
He dropped to his knees, dragging her legs over his shoulders like a man starving. His tongue found her without hesitation, lapping at her with devastating precision. She cried out, arching into his mouth, fingers tangling in his wet hair. He didn’t stop. Not when she came. Not when she trembled. Only when she collapsed against the mirror, breathless.
He rose slowly, lips glistening. “Still want to know what happened to Darcie?”
“Yes,” she panted. “Tell me.”
He looked at her like she was already dead. “She fell in love.”
Eella blinked. “With you?”
“No. With what I couldn’t give her.”
She hopped down, legs shaking. “Then what happened?”
“She opened the door I warned her never to touch.”
“You mean metaphorically or—?”
“No,” he said, voice flat. “The actual door on the 33rd floor.”
Her blood turned to ice. “And?”
He turned away. “And I watched her lose herself.”
Eella stared at him. “You did nothing?”
“I did everything,” he snapped. “I begged. I threatened. I bled for her. But she wanted more.”
He turned toward her again, eyes hollow. “She thought my obsession was love. It wasn’t. It was madness.”
Silence fell, thick and impenetrable.
“You have two choices,” he said finally. “Leave now… or stay and become what she couldn’t survive.”
The air felt thin.
“I already made my choice,” she whispered.
His eyes darkened. “Then I hope you’re not afraid of drowning.”
They didn’t speak as he dressed. As he took her downstairs. As he handed her into a sleek black car that would drop her at her apartment. He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t touch her. But when she glanced back up at the tower, he was watching from the window.
She should’ve been scared.
Instead, she felt high.
•
At Ally’s Inc the next day, whispers followed her.
People looked at her differently now—especially Ronnie, who cornered her near the elevators.
“You really think you’re special?” she hissed, glancing around. “You think you’re the first woman he’s brought to that penthouse?”
“I don’t think anything,” Eella replied coolly.
“Then let me give you advice,” Ronnie sneered. “Stay away from the 33rd floor. That place ruins people.”
Eella smiled sweetly. “Thanks. But I don’t scare easy.”
Ronnie blinked, then stalked away.
Inside her office, a box waited on her desk.
No note. No label.
She opened it and gasped.
Inside was a single white dress. Silk. Floor-length. Barely there. And a key.
To the 33rd floor.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Garrison:
Wear it tonight. Bring the key. Come alone. No matter what you hear—do not run.
•
Eella didn’t hesitate.
When the elevator hit the 33rd floor, it was as if the air changed. Colder. Quieter. As if the walls remembered screams and secrets.
She stepped out slowly, the silk of the dress whispering around her thighs.
The hallway was dark. Only one light illuminated the end—where the door stood slightly ajar.
Her pulse thrummed as she approached.
Inside was… nothing.
A room. Bare. Except for the chair in the center. Leather straps on each arm.
And him.
Garrison stood beside it, shirt off, eyes shadowed.
“This is what Darcie found,” he said softly.
“What is this?” Eella whispered.
“My hell,” he said. “The place I go when I can’t control the darkness.”
“You… strap yourself in?”
He nodded. “When the rage gets too loud. When the past claws its way out.”
“And Darcie?”
“She thought she could fix it. She climbed into the chair. She thought if she understood my pain, it would make me love her.”
Eella’s throat tightened. “And did you?”
“I ruined her.”
He stepped closer. “This is your last chance to leave me, Eella.”
She moved past him, sat down in the chair, and held out her wrists.
His breath caught.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to know you.”
He strapped her in gently. Reverently.
Then he kissed her.
And for the first time—it wasn’t rough. It was desperate.
•
Garrison watched her restrained in his chair, and something inside him cracked.
This wasn’t about sex. Or control. Or even pain.
It was about surrender.
He knelt before her, dragged the dress down slowly. Worshipped every inch of her with his mouth. Took her apart until she was sobbing, writhing, begging. And then—only then—did he slide into her, eyes locked on hers.
“Say my name,” he growled.
“Garrison,” she gasped. “Garrison, I’m yours.”
His rhythm was punishing. Possessive. His hands fisted in her hair. His mouth at her throat.
“You don’t leave me,” he growled. “You never f**king leave me.”
“I won’t,” she cried.
“You’re mine now.”
“Yes.”
“You chose the fire.”
“I want to burn.”
He shattered inside her, and she followed.
And in the silence after, as he unstrapped her trembling limbs, he kissed her forehead.
“You opened the door,” he whispered. “Now you can’t go back.”
She didn’t want to.
Not when hell felt like home.