His Private Hell - Chapter 86: Chapter 86

The silence in the penthouse was deceptive—clean walls, cold marble, curated art. But beneath the sterile surface, the air throbbed with something ugly. Something that smelled like betrayal and bled like obsession.
Eella’s heels clicked softly as she moved through the open-plan space. Garrison had vanished somewhere inside the glass-and-steel fortress, the echo of his last words still vibrating in her bones.
“Do not open the vault.”
But that was exactly why she came.
Her fingers brushed over the access panel embedded in the wall near the study. Sleek. Black. Biometric.
It blinked red when she touched it.
“No authorization,” the mechanical voice said. “Access denied.”
She didn’t flinch. She reached into her bra, pulled out the glass slide she’d taken from Garrison’s office days ago—when he’d stupidly left his desk drawer unlocked. His thumbprint. Copied. Preserved. Obsession didn’t just stalk. It prepared.
She pressed the slide to the scanner. A slow pause. Then—
Green. Access granted.
The wall split with a hiss.
A narrow hallway opened, bathed in red emergency lighting. Cold air swept out, sharp with metal, blood, and something older. Regret.
Eella stepped in.
The door shut behind her.
Each step was a descent. A spiral into Garrison’s private hell. She passed through a chamber lined with monitors—footage from Ally’s Inc, from her apartment, from places she didn’t even recognize. Every camera was his eye. Every angle… obsessive.
Then the hallway curved.
And there she saw it.
The vault.
Black steel. Reinforced. Screwed into the building’s foundation.
A keypad blinked to life.
She remembered the numbers—Darcie had whispered them once, high off Garrison’s bourbon and some truth serum Ollie cooked up for leverage.
She entered the code.
The lock clicked.
And the door groaned open.
Inside was not what she expected.
Chains hung from the ceiling. Mirrors lined the walls. A single bed in the center—black silk sheets rumpled, stained, possessed. It wasn’t a sex dungeon. It was a shrine. A coffin. A crime scene.
Darcie’s perfume still lingered.
So did her lipstick, smudged on the edge of the crystal glass on the bedside table. A bloodstain marked the pillow.
Eella’s lungs tightened.
This wasn’t fantasy. This was where Garrison buried love—and devoured it.
A sudden sound.
Behind her.
She spun—
And there he stood.
Garrison.
Unblinking. Silent. Darkness personified.
“You came here,” he said, voice low and lethal.
“I had to see,” she whispered. “I had to know.”
“You think this room defines me?” His laugh was broken glass. “You think this—this ghost—is the worst thing I’ve done?”
“I think Darcie never left this room alive.”
He walked toward her, every step calculated violence.
“She begged me to let her stay,” he said, staring at the bed. “Even as she bled. Even as I broke her.”
Eella didn’t flinch.
“I’m not her,” she said.
“No. You’re worse,” he breathed, lifting a hand to her throat. “Because I can’t let go of you.”
His mouth crashed onto hers.
It wasn’t a kiss. It was a war.
She fought back—bit his lip, clawed at his chest. But he only grinned, tasting the blood between them like wine. He shoved her against the mirrored wall, hands dragging her blouse open, buttons scattering like gunshots.
“You want darkness?” he rasped. “I’ll give you a goddamn eclipse.”
Her bra was gone in seconds. His mouth claimed her skin—hungry, violent, reverent. Her gasp echoed in the mirrored chamber. Reflected. Multiplied.
Every wall showed her unraveling.
And him—monstrous and magnificent.
His hand slipped between her thighs, dragging lace aside. She was soaked.
He smirked.
“You’re already addicted.”
“I hate you,” she gasped.
“Good,” he growled. “Hate makes you mine.”
He shoved her legs apart. Lifted her with ease. Pinned her to the cold mirror.
She felt everything.
His belt unbuckling. His cock, hard and angry, pressing against her.
“Beg,” he whispered. “Or I’ll make you scream without mercy.”
“I’m not afraid of your mercy,” she hissed.
He drove into her.
Her scream shook the room.
The chains rattled overhead. Her nails scored his back. He fucked her like vengeance—every thrust a punishment, every growl a confession.
“You opened my vault,” he said, panting. “Now you’re locked in it.”
She came on a sob, her body breaking into pleasure so sharp it bled. He followed her over the edge, teeth in her shoulder, hands still gripping her wrists like manacles.
When he finally pulled back, they were both trembling.
“You want to survive me, Eella?” he said hoarsely. “Then stop looking for the man. He’s gone.”
She looked up, eyes blazing.
“Then give me the monster.”
And she kissed him again—deep, dark, unrepentant.