His Private Hell - Chapter 74: Chapter 74

Eella’s phone felt like a ticking bomb in her hand. The message glowed accusingly: “We’ve watched you rebuild. Now watch it all fall.” It had been forty-eight hours since she and Garrison had set Darcie’s scorched dress ablaze in the furnace room, forty-eight hours since they’d sworn to face whatever came next—together—or perish trying. And now the world outside their mirrored fortress was coming to collect.
She climbed the spiral stairs from the 33rd floor, muscles still humming from the heat and passion they’d shared. Each step took her past burnt splinters of their past lives: glass shards from the shattered mirror, chains rusting in memory, the echo of confessions that had burned them both. At the penthouse landing, Garrison waited in the foyer—black suit replaced by jeans and a charcoal tee streaked with soot—eyes like flint.
He took her hand wordlessly, guided her to the window wall. The storm had cleared; the city was a glittering grid below. But somewhere, shadows hovered—unseen enemies determined to watch them burn.
“I hate that message,” Eella whispered, voice tight.
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Then let’s ruin the party.”
That evening, Ally’s Inc hosted its annual gala on the eighty-seventh floor. Investors, board members, socialites in designer gowns—an ocean of opulence. Eella stood at the top of the grand staircase, the red carpet unfurling before her like a warning banner. Her gown was silver silk, backless, clinging to every curve. Earrings of black diamonds caught the chandelier’s glare. She looked like a goddess—if a goddess could wear scars as armor.
Garrison materialized beside her, tuxedo perfect, tie a whisper undone. They moved as one, descending into the crowd. Whispers followed: Did you see her? She’s the new face of the company. He looks… haunted.
Eella felt electric. This was their battlefield. She leaned into the moment—smile sharp, eyes sharpest.
They reached the center of the room. The CEO’s speech droned on, words about expansion and stability. But Eella saw only two entrances: one to the main ballroom, the other to the private VIP suite where she and Garrison would celebrate—or die.
Then she saw him.
A man in the crowd who stopped mid-conversation, eyes locked on her like a predator. He was tall, lean, dressed in midnight blue. His hair was silver at the temples. His gaze slid over Garrison, narrowed, then returned to Eella. Heat pooled behind her ribs.
That man had the same eyes as her brother in the photo. The same malicious calm. She shivered.
Garrison’s elbow pressed against hers. “Trouble.”
She followed his gaze. Recognition flickered in his face—horror, betrayal. “He’s here.”
The man smirked and vanished into the throng.
Eella swallowed. “My brother.”
Garrison’s jaw clenched. “Follow me.”
He led her through the crowd to a secluded alcove near floor-to-ceiling windows. The city lights glittered around them, oblivious.
“Tell me everything,” he said, voice low.
Her pulse raced. “I thought Darcie’s brother was gone. I thought he was—”
“Your brother died,” Garrison said softly. “He never did. He resurfaced months ago, using shell companies to funnel cash into Darcie’s research project.”
Her breath caught. “He rerouted funds meant for mental health trials—money he claimed was for her treatment.”
Garrison shook his head. “He hid the truth from me. Used her. Used both of you.”
Eella closed her eyes. “He’s insane.”
“He’s more dangerous,” Garrison whispered. “Because he’s patient.”
A champagne flute shattered against marble. Eyes turned toward a scream—Eella’s scream. She glimpsed the man’s hand, gloved, pulling a compact pistol from his jacket.
Garrison’s head snapped to her. In one lethal stride, he yanked her behind a pillar and pulled his own gun from his jacket.
The crowd parted like water in a gale.
Her brother’s voice: “Eella. You always thought you were safe.”
Garrison’s shot rang out. The glass of a window pane cracked. The bullet embedded in the marble.
Her brother didn’t flinch. He smiled.
“Still as impulsive as Darcie’s replacement.”
Eella’s blood froze. Garrison crouched behind the pillar, training his weapon on the man.
Shots echoed—two more. Glass showered the floor. Screams erupted.
Garrison grabbed Eella’s hand. “Run.”
She nodded, stunned, and they bolted through a service corridor, heels echoing. Behind them, chaos bloomed—security guards rushing in, alarms wailing.
They burst through a door into a hidden service elevator. Garrison slammed the button for the 33rd.
Eella clutched her side. Pain bloomed where his bullet grazed her dress. She clenched her jaw.
He knelt. “You’re hurt.”
“Just a scratch,” she said, voice forced calm. “Keep going.”
The elevator sank. Doors opened onto the padded hall. Mirrors reflected their panic a thousand times over.
They ran to the black door.
Garrison fumbled the key, cursing. Finally unlocked.
Inside, the shrine awaited—red velvet walls, mirrors, the bed of chains. It felt like home.
But not safe.
Her brother stepped in behind them, eyes gleaming. He held a remote with a single red button.
“Did you think you could destroy my sister’s past?” he whispered. “Destroy me?”
Eella squared her shoulders. “It ends tonight.”
He laughed. It was a razor’s edge. “In your private hell, the devil always wins.”
He pressed the button.
Infrared scanners activated. Spotlights flicked on—half the room lit in harsh white, half smothered in red. The scanners hummed above, tracking movements. Automated pistons sprang from walls; floor panels shifted.
The door slammed shut. Heavy steel. Sealed from the outside.
Her brother smiled wider. “Your playground.”
Garrison raised his gun. “Let her go.”
Eella stepped between them. “No. He needs me.”
Her brother crouched, remote in hand. “Oh, I know.”
He threw the switch.
The lights dimmed entirely. Total darkness swallowed them. Then a spotlight roared to life on the far wall, illuminating the bed on which Darcie once knelt. The chains rattled in the darkness.
Eella swallowed. “What is this?”
Her brother’s voice came from behind her, omnipresent. “This is the culmination of your love story. The final twist.”
He triggered the room’s audio—Darcie’s voice, taken from a lost recording: “He burns everything he loves. And then wonders why nothing remains.”
Eella’s breath caught.
Her brother clicked the remote again. Spotlight swung to Garrison—face pale, gun lowered.
Then to Eella—her dress torn from the altercation, lipstick smeared. Each eye in the mirror fixed on her like a jury.
Her brother stepped into the light. “Say goodbye.”
He pressed the button.
From hidden vents, a gas hissed—smoke, acrid.
Eella coughed, stepping back.
Garrison fired into the ceiling thrice. Bullets missed. Smoke thickened.
“We need air,” he yelled.
He kicked a panel in the wall. Steel bowed but didn’t open.
Her brother laughed. “You’re trapped. Both of you.”
Eella’s mind raced. She lunged at the mirrored wall—no give. The mirrored maze looped infinitely.
Garrison grabbed her. “Follow me.”
He darted toward a red velvet section. Tugged a seam. The wall slewed open—a hidden safe room.
They dived in as the door clanged shut, trapping them in a small space the size of a closet. A single vent overhead leaked clean air.
Her brother’s voice through the vent: “Enjoy your refuge.”
Silence, then footsteps.
They huddled in the safe room, heartbeats echoing in the tiny space. The gas crept in slower here.
Garrison wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry.”
She trembled. “We’ll burn this down.”
He kissed her temple. “Together.”
They heard the door to the main room explode—splinters, steel, glass.
Then silence.
Eella pressed her cheek to his chest. “What now?”
He whispered: “Now we fight back. We end this.”
She nodded, tears mixing with sweat. “I’m with you.”
The alarm above them faded to a distant drone.
Their breaths synchronized.
And in the heart of the 33rd floor, fire was waiting.