His Private Hell - Chapter 90: Chapter 90

The private elevator screamed as it descended. Not in sound—but in energy. A vibration in the air, a tension wound so tight Eella thought she might snap before the doors even opened.
Garrison stood beside her, phone in hand, face a statue carved from war. No emotion. No fear. But that emptiness in his eyes wasn’t peace. It was a storm delayed.
He dialed a number. Waited one ring.
“She’s not dead.”
Silence on the other end. Then: “Are you sure?”
“She sent a photo from the 33rd. She knows Eella. Knows what we did.”
Another pause. Then a voice sharp as steel: “Then you have to finish it this time. No shadows. No loose ends.”
The call ended.
Eella didn’t ask who it was. She didn’t need to. Whoever it was, they’d bled with Garrison before. And now she would too.
“You buried her,” Eella said. “So what is she now? A resurrection? A clone? A glitch in your guilt?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, the elevator opened into a corridor drenched in red light.
Smoke stung her eyes instantly. Somewhere alarms wailed in a mechanical chorus, and above it all, sirens sang from the city below.
“What did you do?” she whispered.
But he was already moving.
Security guards lay unconscious across the hall. The security monitors were shattered, the mainframe cut. The entire floor had been compromised—by someone who knew the building inside out.
Only one person did.
Darcie.
Eella’s pulse thundered as Garrison led her through the back exit, down a stairwell, fast and silent like death itself.
“You’re scaring me,” she whispered.
“I should.”
“Then why am I still following you?”
He stopped on the landing, turned slowly, and grabbed her chin.
“Because I’m the only monster who’s ever told you the truth.”
And that was the worst part.
He was right.
He kissed her—violent, desperate—and then they kept running.
They emerged into an underground garage. His black Maserati was already running, headlights cutting the dark. He shoved her in and slammed the door before sliding behind the wheel.
“Where are we going?”
“To burn the past down.”
The car roared to life and peeled into the night.
Eella clutched the leather seat as city lights blurred past. Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
She hesitated. Then answered.
No words.
Just a recording.
Her voice. Crying. Begging.
From last night.
And over it, a woman’s voice, soft and dripping venom: “You scream just like I used to.”
Eella dropped the phone. “She was there. She was watching us.”
Garrison’s knuckles went white on the wheel. “Then it’s time she watched me end it.”
They drove in silence.
Until they reached the building Eella never thought she’d see again.
33rd & Gallow.
An abandoned hotel. Fire-blackened on the outside. Still smoldering on the inside.
“Why here?”
“This is where I buried her.”
She stepped out, heels crunching on broken glass.
Garrison led her through the rotted lobby. Burned-out chandeliers dangled like nooses. Ash rained from the ceiling.
But the 33rd floor was pristine.
Untouched.
Perfect.
Eella’s stomach twisted.
Because someone had restored it.
The lights glowed. The furniture gleamed. The scent of perfume—Darcie’s perfume—hung thick in the air.
“Jesus…” she breathed.
Then—laughter.
From the far end of the corridor.
Light footsteps.
High heels.
And then she stepped into view.
Darcie.
Alive.
More beautiful than any corpse should be.
She wore red. Lips, dress, heels. Blood incarnate.
“Miss me?” she purred.
Garrison froze.
And for the first time, Eella saw it.
Not guilt.
Not rage.
Fear.
Real. Raw. Fear.
“Impossible,” he whispered.
“Nothing’s impossible when you plan your death better than your wedding,” Darcie smiled.
“I saw you die.”
“You saw what I let you see.”
Eella couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. She wasn’t ready for this—for the way Darcie moved like a queen on her own chessboard.
“You staged it,” Garrison breathed.
“You killed me in your head long before the fire.” Darcie walked toward them slowly. “But I couldn’t rest until you loved someone the way you couldn’t love me. And now…”
She turned her eyes on Eella.
“You do.”
It wasn’t jealousy in her eyes.
It was hunger.
Obsession.
A mirror of Garrison’s.
“You watched us,” Eella said, voice cracking.
“I did. And I must say, you’re a good little replacement. So sweet when you scream.”
Garrison stepped in front of Eella.
“No more games, Darcie.”
“Oh, darling,” she laughed. “I’m not here to play. I’m here to end it.”
She pulled a gun from behind her back.
Eella gasped.
Garrison didn’t flinch.
Darcie raised it—but aimed it at herself.
“Unless you think you can watch me die twice.”
“Don’t,” Garrison growled.
“Why not?” she whispered. “You already did once.”
Eella stepped forward. “Why come back now?”
“Because he loved you enough to bury me,” Darcie said, eyes glittering. “But not enough to forget me.”
The moment shattered like glass.
Darcie fired—not at herself.
At Garrison.
The bullet struck his shoulder.
He staggered back, blood blooming like a rose.
Eella screamed.
But he didn’t fall.
Instead, he laughed.
Dark. Hollow. Broken.
“You always were a terrible shot.”
He lunged.
They collided, crashing into a glass wall. Darcie screamed, but he was stronger. Faster. Angrier.
They struggled, glass shattering around them, until Eella grabbed the gun.
And pointed it.
At both.
“Stop,” she screamed.
They froze.
“Eella,” Darcie whispered. “You can’t love a man like him. He’ll drown you like he did me.”
“And you think you’re the lifeline?”
Garrison’s blood ran down his chest.
“Eella… give me the gun.”
She looked at him.
Then at Darcie.
Then dropped it.
A test.
Darcie dove.
But Garrison got there first.
The gun went off.
Darcie gasped.
Stumbled.
Blood poured from her abdomen.
She collapsed. Hands shaking.
“I just wanted you to feel it,” she choked. “What I felt.”
Eella knelt beside her. “I do.”
But Darcie didn’t hear.
Her eyes stared past them.
At nothing.
At everything.
Garrison dropped the gun. Dropped to his knees.
And sobbed.
Like a man finally breaking.
Eella wrapped her arms around him.
Neither said a word.
Until dawn.
When the sirens came.
And the past burned down with the 33rd floor.