His Private Hell - Chapter 84: Chapter 84

The silence after Garrison’s scream wasn’t silence at all—it was a vibration. A hum that lived in the walls, the floorboards, her skin. Eella stood against the far end of the corridor on the 33rd floor, her breath uneven, her pulse thrashing like it had claws. The room behind that sealed door still hadn’t stopped glowing red, pulsing like a wound. Something—someone—was inside it.
“You should never have come up here,” he growled behind her.
She spun. He was already close. Too close.
Her back hit the wall before she could speak. His hand struck beside her head, not touching her but radiating danger.
“That room,” she whispered, voice trembling, “what happened to Darcie?”
His jaw tensed, nostrils flaring. “She disobeyed.”
“That’s all you’re going to say?” she spat. “You locked her in that room—”
“I didn’t lock her in,” he said, too calm. “She chose to stay.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, his hand curved around her throat—not squeezing, not yet, just letting the threat live there, a promise.
“Because she was addicted to the monster,” he murmured. “Just like you are.”
A bolt of something electric lanced through her spine. “I’m not—”
“You’re here, aren’t you?” His mouth brushed her ear. “On the floor no one is allowed on. Asking about the woman no one mentions. You’re just like her.”
“I’m not,” she lied, teeth clenched.
He laughed, and it was feral. “You want me to break you, Eella? Is that what you came for?”
She said nothing.
But her silence was an answer.
Garrison’s lips crushed hers—hot, brutal, devastating. He kissed like he fought. Like he hated what he needed. His hands found her hips, dragging her up until her legs wrapped around his waist, her back scraping the wall. She should’ve said no. Should’ve screamed. But all she could do was burn.
“I should chain you up,” he whispered against her lips, “keep you on this floor so no one else ever sees you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she whispered, trembling.
His smile was a slow, wicked thing. “Wouldn’t I?”
He carried her, not gently, into a room that wasn’t on any of the Ally’s Inc floor plans—a hidden chamber of dark marble, leather restraints, low lighting that pulsed like a heartbeat. The scent of sandalwood and ash choked the air.
And in the center of the room—an old leather chair.
The same chair she’d seen in Darcie’s photos.
Her heart exploded in her chest.
“I was going to save this,” he murmured as he lowered her onto it, spreading her thighs with calculated precision. “But since you’re already halfway to madness…”
Chains whispered from the shadows. Her wrists were bound—not tightly, just enough to remind her of the choice she was making.
She should’ve run.
She didn’t.
“You want the truth?” he said, sinking to his knees. “This chair has heard every scream I’ve never let out.”
Then he buried his mouth between her legs, and Eella forgot how to breathe.
He was brutal and slow. Precise and unforgiving. Each lick, each suck, dragged her further down. His hands gripped her thighs like he owned them—like she wasn’t allowed to come unless he said so.
And then he said it.
“Come for me.”
She shattered.
The orgasm tore through her like glass, and still he didn’t stop. She was trembling, begging, lost. Her body no longer her own.
And when he finally rose, unbuckling his belt with a lethal kind of calm, his eyes were black flames.
“You want to know what happened to Darcie?” he asked.
She nodded, breathless.
“She saw the monster. And she didn’t walk away.”
Then he slammed into her, and the world disappeared.
—
Garrison didn’t speak again that night.
He just took.
And gave.
And took more.
Until Eella was boneless, her wrists raw from the restraints, her thighs marked with evidence of him. When he finally untied her, he cradled her in his arms like she was something precious.
But there was nothing soft in his eyes.
Only fire. Only ash.
Only the promise of more destruction.
“I won’t survive you,” she whispered against his chest.
“No,” he agreed. “But you’ll love the way it ends.”
—
The next morning, Eella woke alone.
There was a single rose on the pillow beside her. Black.
Her apartment door was unlocked.
And in the hallway—Darcie.
Alive.
Bleeding.
Laughing.
“Welcome to ,” she whispered before collapsing.
She collapsed to the floor like a marionette with its strings severed, body trembling, eyes vacant. Garrison appeared at the doorway a heartbeat later, breath ragged, his shirtless torso gleaming in the harsh stairwell light. His jaw clenched as he knelt beside Darcie—but his eyes never left Eella.
“Darcie,” he murmured, voice thick. “You promised me you were gone.”
Darcie’s eyelids fluttered. She forced a smile, crimson lipstick bleeding into the cheeks of her sunken face. “I live in every secret you bury, Garrison. I am your shadow.”
Eella staggered forward. “What are you doing here? You’re not—”
“You’re mine,” Darcie whispered, locking her gaze on Eella. “And if I can’t have him, neither can you.”
Garrison rose, stepping between them. “Don’t touch her.”
Darcie laughed, a hollow sound that echoed off concrete walls. “Oh, but I already have.”
She reached out, fingers grazing Eella’s cheek. Eella flinched, tasting steel on her tongue. Darcie’s touch was cold as marble.
“You think your love saved you,” Darcie said softly. “But love is weakness. And you’re powerless now.”
Garrison’s hand slid to his belt, his gun catching the light. “Back away.”
Darcie tilted her head. “Shoot me, then. See how hollow your triumph feels.”
Eella lunged, grabbing Darcie’s arm. “Stop this!”
Darcie wrenched free, eyes wild. “You don’t get to play savior.”
Garrison raised the gun, hands trembling. “Don’t make me—”
Before he could pull the trigger, Darcie dove for the stairs, weaving past them both. Eella chased, heart pounding. At the landing, Darcie vaulted over the railing—landing on the floor below with a brutal grace. Garrison hesitated, reached for Eella. She shook him off.
“No,” she gasped. “I have to end this.”
She followed Darcie down the spiral staircase, heels echoing against concrete. By the time she reached the final floor, Darcie was gone.
Only the door remained.
The sealed door to the forbidden chamber.
Eella pressed her palm to the cold metal. “This is where it ends.”
Garrison appeared behind her. “You can’t survive what’s inside.”
She turned, eyes blazing. “Neither can you. But we have to try.”
Together, they unlocked the door. Inside lay the furnace room—Darcie’s ashes scattered across the floor, remnants of silk and glass, the scorched imprint of a body. At the center, the chair, bathed in red emergency light, its chains still rattling as though someone had only just left.
“There’s nothing more to burn,” Garrison whispered.
Eella stepped forward, reaching for the chair. Her fingers brushed the cold leather. “Not with fire.” She drew a slender blade from her pocket, the same one Garrison had given her weeks ago. “But with truth.”
She carved a single line across the leather seat. The sound was final. A slash through every secret, every hidden sin. As the leather ripped, rods of light from the emergency fixtures split the darkness. Garrison placed his hand over hers, guiding the blade.
And as they cut, the room trembled.
A low, mechanical whine rose from the walls. Panels slid open—revealing countless hidden cameras, monitors flickering to life across every surface. The furnace, the chair, the walls themselves: they had all been built as a cage for secrets.
Now, those secrets were exposed.
Live feeds pulsed: corrupt board meetings, drugged employees, Darcie’s broken confession, Garrison’s cruelty—and Eella’s rising power as she stood beside him. The screens forced them both to face the truth they’d buried.
Garrison’s voice cracked: “It’s all out.”
His gun dropped at his feet.
Eella turned to him, steel in her gaze. “Now no one can hide.”
The cameras whirred, capturing every moment as she undid the chains binding the chair. She lifted the leather flap, revealing a hidden console. On it: one button, labeled in Darcie’s spidery handwriting: “Erase.”
Eella’s fingertip hovered.
Outside the room, alarms pounded the walls—security breached, lockdown initiated. In minutes, every corridor would swarm with guards.
Time to choose.
She pressed the button.
The console hummed, triggering a cascade of events: data wiped, cameras disabled, servers in ally’s Inc ignited on a digital chain reaction. Across the city, news alerts began to pop up: “Ally’s Inc Secrets Leak: Explosive Evidence of Torture and Murder.”
Garrison’s eyes widened.
Eella whispered, “No more cages.”
Behind them, the chair’s red light shattered into darkness.
Together, they stepped out—past the collapsing screens, through the door that slammed shut behind them—and into the inferno of truth they had unleashed.
And as they fled down the stairs, the building’s sirens wailing like vengeance, Eella felt Garrison’s arm wrap around her waist.
He whispered, “We’re free.”
She looked at him, breathless, heart pounding.
“No,” she said, voice fierce. “We’re only beginning.”