His Private Hell - Chapter 87: Chapter 87

The mirror cracked.
A spiderweb split across the surface behind Eella’s back, a jagged reminder of the way Garrison had moved inside her, not like a man—but like a curse.
The air was too thick now. Still pulsing with heat and shame. She slid down the wall, legs shaking, arms burning from where he’d gripped her. The black sheets on the vault’s bed were still soaked in memory. In other women. In Darcie.
But none of them had made him look like this.
Not like now—shirtless, chest heaving, a shadow of something feral in his eyes, like he was realizing too late that he’d just burned down the last of his restraint.
“You shouldn’t have opened it,” he said, quieter now. As if admitting something to the ghosts.
Eella sat on the floor, bare thighs spread, blouse clinging to sweat and obsession. “You let me,” she whispered.
“No. I lost control.”
He said it like a sin. But she knew better. This was who he was.
Her lips curled. “You don’t lose control. You design the loss.”
He stared at her like she was the next fire he’d have to set.
And maybe she was.
Because she didn’t fear the ruin anymore.
She was feeding it.
“You think I’m some fucking puppet master?” he asked finally. “That everything is some performance?”
“No,” she said. “I think you’re a graveyard. And I’m already buried inside you.”
Something flickered in his face. Recognition. Dread. Desire.
The trifecta of possession.
He moved, slow at first. But by the time he reached her, he was a storm again. He lifted her, carried her into the main penthouse like she weighed nothing. Her blouse was half open. Her neck bruised. And still—she arched against him when he pressed her to the wall near the towering windows.
“You want it darker?” he asked.
She smiled. “Always.”
The city watched.
They didn’t care.
He pulled her skirt up, tore her panties down her thighs. She hissed as cold air touched her slick heat—but he didn’t wait.
He slid two fingers inside her, slow and brutal.
“I want to break you on every window in this tower,” he said against her neck. “Let the world watch me ruin you.”
“You already have.”
He thrust harder.
Eella moaned, head falling back, chest exposed to the city skyline as her body trembled around him. His mouth was on her breast, teeth dragging across her nipple until she cried out.
“I should have never let you stay,” he growled. “I should have done to you what I did to Darcie.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
His jaw clenched. “Because I don’t want to kill you.”
She stilled. So did he.
That silence again.
Then—Eella tilted her head. “But you did want to kill Darcie.”
Garrison didn’t answer.
He pulled his fingers out of her and stepped away.
“I gave her everything,” he muttered. “And she tried to feed me to the board.”
“She was trying to survive you.”
“No,” he snapped. “She loved me. She just couldn’t control her greed.”
He walked to the bar, poured something golden and angry into a crystal glass.
“She found out about the 33rd floor,” he said. “She knew it wasn’t just a restricted development wing.”
“And what is it?”
He downed the drink.
“It’s where I keep secrets no one can survive knowing.”
She moved to him slowly. Half-dressed. Reckless. She took the glass from his hand, sipped what was left. Burned her throat on the confession.
“And Darcie tried to sell them?”
He nodded.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her. But once it started—” he swallowed hard, eyes distant “—she wanted the pain.”
“She wanted you to choose,” Eella murmured. “Between her and your secrets.”
“And I chose wrong.”
Suddenly, he looked at her like she was the second chance he didn’t deserve.
Like if he touched her wrong, she’d shatter into someone else’s ghost.
Eella reached for his belt.
Unbuckled it.
“What are you doing?” he asked, voice cracking.
“Giving you something Darcie never could.”
He didn’t stop her as she slid to her knees.
Didn’t blink as she freed him from his slacks and took him into her mouth with a slow, cruel moan. Her lips wrapped around him, tongue tracing veins like a map to every dark decision he’d ever made. He growled low, hands tangling in her hair, hips rocking into her.
“Fuck, Eella…”
She sucked harder, faster, until he was groaning like a man losing his soul.
And when he finally came—violently, desperately—she swallowed every drop like a vow.
When she rose, he caught her wrist.
“You’re not her,” he said hoarsely.
“I never wanted to be.”
“No. You want worse.”
She smiled.
“You want my secrets. My ruin.”
She kissed him once more. Softly this time. Sweetly.
And that scared him more than anything else.
He knew now: She wasn’t just inside his vault.
She was inside his design.
And it was only a matter of time before he couldn’t tell the difference.