His Private Hell - Chapter 70: Chapter 70
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The sound of her laugh echoed in the hallway before she even realized she was laughing. Unhinged. Hollow. It tasted like smoke and something far more dangerous—truth. Eella gripped the wall, one heel slipping from her foot as she tried to gather herself, to make sense of what she’d seen.
The red file.
The photographs.
Darcie.
Not dead. Not vanished. But used. Silenced. Preserved like a secret trophy on the 33rd floor, buried behind Garrison’s mirrored doors and locked drawers.
He hadn’t killed her. No. He’d broken her.
And now he was breaking Eella, too.
The elevator opened behind her with a sterile ping, and she spun, heart slamming against her ribs. But it wasn’t Garrison. It was Ronnie, her hair up in a severe bun, eyes sharper than usual.
“You shouldn’t be up here,” Ronnie said in a low voice, stepping out, closing the distance between them. “How did you get access?”
“I—” Eella’s throat burned. “I had the code.”
Ronnie’s gaze shifted. “He gave it to you?”
Eella nodded once. That small, trembling confirmation told Ronnie everything. The assistant exhaled, like the weight of it had been dragging her down too. “He’s going to find out,” Ronnie whispered. “And when he does, you won’t get to laugh about it. You won’t even get to run.”
Eella backed away, the red file clutched tight to her chest. “Tell me what happened. What happened to Darcie?”
But Ronnie only shook her head. “You don’t want the truth, Eella. You want the fantasy. And Garrison—he’s really fucking good at making that fantasy feel like love.”
The elevator doors slid shut behind her, and Eella stood frozen in the sterile hallway. Her pulse thundered like footsteps behind her. She didn’t go home. She went straight to the office—locked herself inside her suite and read every word of the file until the sun burned gold over the skyline.
Darcie had worked in Eella’s exact role.
Darcie had been promoted fast.
Darcie had slept with Garrison.
Darcie had tried to run.
Darcie hadn’t made it.
What had happened to her after wasn’t written in the file—but there were notes. Psychiatric reports. Photos of her apartment, ransacked. Her passport, confiscated. Her name wiped from the system like she’d never existed. And then a single scrawled note in Garrison’s unmistakable hand: “Silence is loyalty. Noise is betrayal.”
Eella didn’t sleep.
When morning arrived, she walked into the boardroom like nothing had changed. Her pencil skirt hugged her hips. Her lipstick was deep scarlet, a violent bloom of defiance on her lips. She shook hands. She made calls. And when Garrison strode in, dark suit sharp enough to bleed, she didn’t flinch. But he noticed.
His eyes locked on hers with a heat that bordered on dangerous.
After the meeting, she turned to leave—but his voice was a blade.
“Eella.”
She froze. The air grew thick with the scent of him. Bergamot. Leather. Fire.
“In my office.”
The command wasn’t barked—it was whispered. Worse. It curled around her throat like a leash.
She walked in minutes later, her heels quiet on the plush rug, the red file tucked into her tote like a loaded gun.
He didn’t speak at first.
Just watched her.
Leaned back in his chair like a king studying a disobedient subject. The top button of his shirt was undone. His sleeves rolled.
But his jaw was tight.
“You went upstairs.”
She said nothing.
He rose slowly, walked around the desk, until he was right in front of her. “Why?”
“Why do you think?” Her voice was lower than she meant it to be.
He reached for her wrist, dragging her forward with a firm grip. “Don’t play games, Eella.”
“Like you?” Her eyes flared. “Like Darcie did?”
His grip tightened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw the photos. The files. Her apartment. You buried her, Garrison.”
“I saved her.”
“Bullshit.”
He grabbed her chin, forcing her eyes to his. “You think I don’t know what silence feels like? You think you’re the first woman to try and peel back my skin and find something real beneath it?”
She didn’t pull away. Didn’t blink. “What happened to her?”
His eyes flickered—guilt? Rage? Madness?
“She betrayed me.”
“By falling in love with you?”
“No.” His voice cracked. “By pretending it was love when it was all just leverage. She was hired to spy, Eella. Blackmail. You weren’t.”
That knocked the wind out of her.
“She was working with my father. They wanted to bring me down from the inside.”
“But she—she was broken—”
“Because I broke her.” His voice was raw now. “Because I let her get too close before I found out. And when I did… I made sure she’d never do it again.”
Eella shivered. “You kept her locked up.”
“I saved her life. I paid for her rehab. I wiped her name from the company before the wolves could shred her reputation. You want to call it hell? Fine. But don’t forget who lit the match.”
Her breath caught.
“I see the way you look at me,” he whispered. “Like I’m the villain in your fairytale. Maybe I am. But you’re not the princess either.”
He kissed her then. Hard. Brutal. His tongue forced her mouth open, his hand yanking her against him until her breath vanished into the spaces between his sins.
They didn’t make it to the desk.
He slammed her against the door, his hands under her skirt, dragging down her panties with a snarl. “Say it,” he growled against her throat.
“Say what?”
“That this—” he thrust into her hard, the sudden stretch making her cry out “—isn’t about love.”
She gasped. “It’s not.”
“Louder.”
“It’s not about love.”
“Good girl.”
He fucked her like a punishment. Like each thrust was a reminder that he could wreck her from the inside out. His fingers bruised her hips. His teeth grazed her collarbone. Her cries echoed against the walls, wild and untethered.
She came fast—too fast—and he didn’t stop. Just spun her around and took her from behind, one hand in her hair, the other pressed to her throat as he dragged another orgasm out of her.
When he finally finished, spilling deep inside her with a strangled groan, he collapsed against her back, panting like he’d just outrun a ghost.
She turned, trembling, mascara smeared, legs unsteady.
And he looked at her like he didn’t recognize her anymore.
“You should’ve stayed out of the file,” he said.
She swallowed. “You should’ve told me the truth.”
“I don’t tell anyone the truth.”
She stepped back, pulling her clothes together. “Then you don’t get to ask for loyalty.”
He watched her walk out—no fight this time.
But the air around him changed.
Colder.
Thicker.
And then he picked up the phone.
“Ronnie,” he said. “Start tracking all Eella’s outgoing communications. I want everything. Emails. Texts. Calls. And prepare the contingency plan.”
“What level?”
He stared at the door she’d just slammed.
“Level three.”
Because if she thought Darcie’s silence was a warning, she hadn’t even heard the scream his hell had waiting for her.
The red file.
The photographs.
Darcie.
Not dead. Not vanished. But used. Silenced. Preserved like a secret trophy on the 33rd floor, buried behind Garrison’s mirrored doors and locked drawers.
He hadn’t killed her. No. He’d broken her.
And now he was breaking Eella, too.
The elevator opened behind her with a sterile ping, and she spun, heart slamming against her ribs. But it wasn’t Garrison. It was Ronnie, her hair up in a severe bun, eyes sharper than usual.
“You shouldn’t be up here,” Ronnie said in a low voice, stepping out, closing the distance between them. “How did you get access?”
“I—” Eella’s throat burned. “I had the code.”
Ronnie’s gaze shifted. “He gave it to you?”
Eella nodded once. That small, trembling confirmation told Ronnie everything. The assistant exhaled, like the weight of it had been dragging her down too. “He’s going to find out,” Ronnie whispered. “And when he does, you won’t get to laugh about it. You won’t even get to run.”
Eella backed away, the red file clutched tight to her chest. “Tell me what happened. What happened to Darcie?”
But Ronnie only shook her head. “You don’t want the truth, Eella. You want the fantasy. And Garrison—he’s really fucking good at making that fantasy feel like love.”
The elevator doors slid shut behind her, and Eella stood frozen in the sterile hallway. Her pulse thundered like footsteps behind her. She didn’t go home. She went straight to the office—locked herself inside her suite and read every word of the file until the sun burned gold over the skyline.
Darcie had worked in Eella’s exact role.
Darcie had been promoted fast.
Darcie had slept with Garrison.
Darcie had tried to run.
Darcie hadn’t made it.
What had happened to her after wasn’t written in the file—but there were notes. Psychiatric reports. Photos of her apartment, ransacked. Her passport, confiscated. Her name wiped from the system like she’d never existed. And then a single scrawled note in Garrison’s unmistakable hand: “Silence is loyalty. Noise is betrayal.”
Eella didn’t sleep.
When morning arrived, she walked into the boardroom like nothing had changed. Her pencil skirt hugged her hips. Her lipstick was deep scarlet, a violent bloom of defiance on her lips. She shook hands. She made calls. And when Garrison strode in, dark suit sharp enough to bleed, she didn’t flinch. But he noticed.
His eyes locked on hers with a heat that bordered on dangerous.
After the meeting, she turned to leave—but his voice was a blade.
“Eella.”
She froze. The air grew thick with the scent of him. Bergamot. Leather. Fire.
“In my office.”
The command wasn’t barked—it was whispered. Worse. It curled around her throat like a leash.
She walked in minutes later, her heels quiet on the plush rug, the red file tucked into her tote like a loaded gun.
He didn’t speak at first.
Just watched her.
Leaned back in his chair like a king studying a disobedient subject. The top button of his shirt was undone. His sleeves rolled.
But his jaw was tight.
“You went upstairs.”
She said nothing.
He rose slowly, walked around the desk, until he was right in front of her. “Why?”
“Why do you think?” Her voice was lower than she meant it to be.
He reached for her wrist, dragging her forward with a firm grip. “Don’t play games, Eella.”
“Like you?” Her eyes flared. “Like Darcie did?”
His grip tightened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw the photos. The files. Her apartment. You buried her, Garrison.”
“I saved her.”
“Bullshit.”
He grabbed her chin, forcing her eyes to his. “You think I don’t know what silence feels like? You think you’re the first woman to try and peel back my skin and find something real beneath it?”
She didn’t pull away. Didn’t blink. “What happened to her?”
His eyes flickered—guilt? Rage? Madness?
“She betrayed me.”
“By falling in love with you?”
“No.” His voice cracked. “By pretending it was love when it was all just leverage. She was hired to spy, Eella. Blackmail. You weren’t.”
That knocked the wind out of her.
“She was working with my father. They wanted to bring me down from the inside.”
“But she—she was broken—”
“Because I broke her.” His voice was raw now. “Because I let her get too close before I found out. And when I did… I made sure she’d never do it again.”
Eella shivered. “You kept her locked up.”
“I saved her life. I paid for her rehab. I wiped her name from the company before the wolves could shred her reputation. You want to call it hell? Fine. But don’t forget who lit the match.”
Her breath caught.
“I see the way you look at me,” he whispered. “Like I’m the villain in your fairytale. Maybe I am. But you’re not the princess either.”
He kissed her then. Hard. Brutal. His tongue forced her mouth open, his hand yanking her against him until her breath vanished into the spaces between his sins.
They didn’t make it to the desk.
He slammed her against the door, his hands under her skirt, dragging down her panties with a snarl. “Say it,” he growled against her throat.
“Say what?”
“That this—” he thrust into her hard, the sudden stretch making her cry out “—isn’t about love.”
She gasped. “It’s not.”
“Louder.”
“It’s not about love.”
“Good girl.”
He fucked her like a punishment. Like each thrust was a reminder that he could wreck her from the inside out. His fingers bruised her hips. His teeth grazed her collarbone. Her cries echoed against the walls, wild and untethered.
She came fast—too fast—and he didn’t stop. Just spun her around and took her from behind, one hand in her hair, the other pressed to her throat as he dragged another orgasm out of her.
When he finally finished, spilling deep inside her with a strangled groan, he collapsed against her back, panting like he’d just outrun a ghost.
She turned, trembling, mascara smeared, legs unsteady.
And he looked at her like he didn’t recognize her anymore.
“You should’ve stayed out of the file,” he said.
She swallowed. “You should’ve told me the truth.”
“I don’t tell anyone the truth.”
She stepped back, pulling her clothes together. “Then you don’t get to ask for loyalty.”
He watched her walk out—no fight this time.
But the air around him changed.
Colder.
Thicker.
And then he picked up the phone.
“Ronnie,” he said. “Start tracking all Eella’s outgoing communications. I want everything. Emails. Texts. Calls. And prepare the contingency plan.”
“What level?”
He stared at the door she’d just slammed.
“Level three.”
Because if she thought Darcie’s silence was a warning, she hadn’t even heard the scream his hell had waiting for her.
End of His Private Hell Chapter 70. Continue reading Chapter 71 or return to His Private Hell book page.