His Private Hell - Chapter 96: Chapter 96

Eella had tasted madness. But this—this was something far beyond.
Garrison’s touch was fire and ice, slicing her open in places she didn’t know could bleed. The penthouse pulsed with sin, with screams that hadn’t yet been voiced. The city sprawled beneath them, oblivious, as her body bowed against the glass wall of his thirty-third-floor lair.
His mouth crushed to hers, hand gripping her throat with a deadly kind of promise. It wasn’t pressure—it was presence. The way a predator stares into your soul before deciding to feast or let you flee.
But she wouldn’t run. Not now. Not when she knew his secret.
Darcie’s name still echoed in her skull. Darcie. The woman who had once worn the collar Garrison now held behind lock and silence.
“What did you do to her?” Eella gasped, her fingers clawing at his shirt as he dragged her deeper into the penthouse.
He froze for a heartbeat. Then, like a storm forced back into its cage, he let her go.
“I warned you about asking questions,” he said coldly.
“But you never said I’d find answers.”
He grabbed her wrist. “And what did you find, Eella? Truth or fantasy?”
She trembled. “Blood. Walls smeared with it. Chains. A bed like an altar. Her name etched into the floorboards.”
Garrison didn’t blink. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“Why?” Her voice cracked. “Because you’d have to kill me too?”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Darcie wasn’t a victim. She asked for every chain, every bruise. She begged for it.”
Eella recoiled. “That’s what you tell yourself?”
He stepped forward, eyes black as hell. “You think I’m some villain? Then stop moaning like a whore every time I touch you.”
Her slap came fast, but his grip was faster. He caught her hand mid-air and twisted it behind her back, slamming her to the wall. The air rushed from her lungs, but it wasn’t pain that struck her—it was heat.
“You think you’re better than her?” he whispered against her ear. “You’re not. You crave it too. The danger. The ruin. The fall.”
She tried to shake her head, but her thighs trembled with need. His free hand slid between them, and her breath hitched.
“You’re already mine,” he rasped. “And the worst part is—you fucking like it.”
She hated him. God, she hated him.
But her body… it begged.
His mouth devoured hers as he spun her around, lifting her onto the steel dining table. Buttons scattered like shrapnel. Her blouse tore. His belt clanged against the floor as he freed himself, pressing against the place already slick and wanting.
“Say it,” he growled, teasing her entrance. “Say whose hell this is.”
She shook with fury. “Go to hell, Garrison.”
“I live there,” he snarled—and thrust into her so deep, she screamed.
The table shook. Her nails dragged blood down his back. Their movements were primal, carnal, punishment and worship in equal measure. She clung to him, teeth grazing his shoulder, gasping his name like a curse.
“You think you’re unraveling me,” he breathed, panting against her mouth. “But you have no idea how far I’ll fall with you.”
Her legs locked around him, drawing him deeper. “Then fall harder.”
They tumbled together, breaking apart only when the last quake of release left them ruined and breathless.
But there was no safety in the silence that followed.
Eella sat up slowly, pulse wild. “What happened to her?”
Garrison’s eyes turned to steel. “She left.”
“You’re lying.”
His fingers twitched. “And if I am?”
“Then I want the truth,” she said. “All of it. Even the part that turns my stomach.”
He stared at her like she’d just offered to be his executioner—or his salvation.
“She wasn’t just a lover,” he finally said. “She was a mirror. The worst kind. The kind that showed me everything I am.”
Eella swallowed. “And you broke her?”
“No.” His voice cracked. “She broke me first. Then begged to be put back together.”
“And you did?”
“I tried,” he whispered. “But some people… they don’t want healing. They want to burn. And Darcie wanted to take me with her.”
Eella touched his hand. “What happened on the 33rd floor, Garrison?”
His silence lasted forever.
“She died in that room,” he said, voice hollow. “Or maybe I did.”
Her stomach lurched. “You mean—”
“No body. No closure. Just blood. And a note: ‘Let them think I died in your hell. That’s where I belonged anyway.’”
Tears blurred her vision. “You’ve been living with that?”
“She was the first woman who ever saw me. And the last one I let inside. Until you.”
Eella leaned in. “I’m not her.”
He cupped her face. “No. You’re worse. Because you make me want to feel again.”
She trembled. “Then do it. Feel. Or let me go.”
But she already knew he wouldn’t. Just like she knew she couldn’t walk away.
Later, as she lay naked in his bed, bruised from more than his grip, she stared at the ceiling and whispered, “.”
And it echoed through her like a prophecy.
This wasn’t a love story.
It was a descent. A fall. A fucking freefall into fire.
And she had just stepped into the center of it. Willingly.