His Private Hell - Chapter 88: Chapter 88

The silence that filled Garrison’s penthouse after Eella’s scream was not peaceful. It was the quiet right before a building collapsed, before a war broke loose, the kind of silence that warned you—run. But she didn’t run.
She stood barefoot on his polished floors, her blouse half-ripped, eyes blown wide with more than just fear. Desire. Panic. Realization. The image of Darcie’s name scratched into the steel wall behind the hidden panel on the 33rd floor burned into her mind. She hadn’t meant to find it. But now she had.
And now she knew.
“You shouldn’t have gone there,” Garrison said, voice low and dangerous as he stepped closer. “That floor is off-limits.”
“Because you kept her there?” Her voice broke. “You kept her locked up like a secret. Like a possession.”
His jaw tightened. “Darcie was mine. I protected her.”
“No,” Eella whispered, trembling. “You controlled her. Just like you’re doing with me.”
The words shattered something between them. Garrison’s hand struck the wall beside her head with a brutal force that made the chandelier above them shudder. But his eyes—those wild, gray eyes—didn’t carry hatred.
They carried madness.
“You think I don’t know that?” he rasped, breathing her in like he couldn’t help it. “You think I wanted to become this man? I was built in the wreckage she left behind.”
Eella tried to move, to retreat, but he caught her chin.
“She begged to leave,” he said coldly. “And I let her go. I opened the door. She never walked out.”
A beat of silence. Then—
“She’s dead, isn’t she?”
He didn’t answer.
That was the answer.
The room blurred as Eella’s knees buckled, and suddenly she was in his arms—not by choice, but because he refused to let her fall. Not even now. His grip was steel, his breath hot against her neck, his voice a feral growl as he carried her to the couch.
“I let you in,” he said. “I told myself you weren’t like her. But now I see… you’re worse. Because I don’t just want to use you. I want to keep you.”
His lips crushed against hers—bruising, biting, unforgiving. Eella gasped as his hands pushed under her skirt, dragging her panties down and flinging them across the room like a declaration of war.
“You wanted to know what hell tastes like?” he said against her mouth. “Let me show you.”
She moaned when his mouth moved to her neck, her chest, her inner thigh—tasting her like the secret he never wanted anyone to know. She hated that she wanted it. Hated how wet she was. How her body betrayed her as he parted her legs and slid two fingers into her heat.
“Say you want it,” he demanded.
“No.”
He thrust deeper. “Say it.”
She bit his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. “Fuck you.”
His smirk was pure fire. “That’s the idea.”
And then he was inside her, dragging a scream from her throat so loud it echoed. He didn’t hold back. There was no mercy here, only punishment. Obsession. A raw, broken rhythm that left bruises and claw marks and a madness in her that rivaled his own.
Each thrust was a confession.
Each kiss, a lie.
When he came, it was with her name on his lips—not Darcie’s. Hers.
Eella.
But even in that climax, she saw it.
The ghost in his eyes.
The crack in his soul.
After, she lay on the floor wrapped in his discarded shirt, shaking. Garrison paced like a caged animal, shirtless, sweat dripping down his chest, staring at her like she was the last light before the blackout.
“What did you see?” he finally asked.
Eella didn’t answer.
He dropped to his knees in front of her. “Tell me.”
“Blood,” she whispered. “And something written in it.”
His jaw flexed. “What did it say?”
Her voice was barely audible.
“Let me out.”
A shudder ripped through him. He grabbed her, kissed her so hard it hurt, then pulled back with eyes rimmed in red. “You think I’m the villain in this story,” he breathed. “But you’ve only seen the surface.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “You killed her.”
“I saved her from something worse.”
Eella’s stomach twisted. “What’s worse than you?”
He laughed. But there was no humor in it.
“You’ll see.”
The lights in the apartment flickered.
Eella sat up, pulse pounding. “What is it?”
Garrison didn’t move. “You need to leave. Tonight.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You don’t have a choice,” he said. “They found the body. They know.”
Her heart stopped. “Who?”
“Ally’s Board. The old men who think they still run me. They’ve been digging. They found Darcie’s file. And they’ll come for you, because they’ll think you’re next.”
Her lips parted. “Am I?”
He looked at her. Slowly. Carefully. As if choosing whether to lie.
“No,” he said. “You’re worse. You’re the one I won’t let go.”
Then he pulled her against him again, rougher this time, as if trying to brand her with his heat. He tore her shirt off and bit her collarbone, dragging her to the floor with him, not to make love—but to claim her again.
“You’re not leaving this apartment until I make you understand,” he growled.
“Understand what?”
“That you’re mine now. And hell has new rules.”
He flipped her onto her stomach and pulled her hips back, thrusting into her so hard she sobbed into the carpet. It was cruel. Perfect. Addictive.
He whispered Darcie’s name.
Then corrected it.
“Eella.”
He choked on it like a curse and came inside her again, dragging them both down into a heat too heavy to crawl out of.
By morning, she didn’t know if she hated him.
Or loved him.
Or if there was even a difference anymore.
But one thing was clear.
His hell had no exit.
And she’d stopped looking for the door.