His Private Hell - Chapter 98: Chapter 98

The morning after didn’t feel like morning at all.
It felt like aftermath.
Eella lay sprawled across his black silk sheets, bruises like art on her skin, mouth still tingling from his kiss—or maybe his lie. She had no idea anymore what was real. All she knew was the woman in that closet had been erased not with kindness, but with obsession.
Darcie Wolfe wasn’t a memory.
She was a monument.
And Garrison had built her one in blood.
She sat up, heart thudding as she stared at the door he’d locked behind him hours ago. She hadn’t slept. Couldn’t. Not when every shadow in the room felt like it was whispering Darcie’s name.
What the hell had she gotten into?
Downstairs, the penthouse was silent. The kind of silence that creeps in after violence. Like the calm hush of a battlefield, littered with bodies and regrets.
Eella moved like a ghost through the kitchen, wearing one of his shirts, too big, too warm, too saturated with his scent. She didn’t know why she hadn’t left. Maybe she wanted answers. Maybe she just wanted to see if he’d lie to her again.
But what she didn’t expect was to find the door to the thirty-third floor wide open.
Unlocked.
No guards.
No darkness.
Just light.
It wasn’t mercy.
It was bait.
She stepped in, pulse thudding in her ears. The air was colder. Different. Almost clinical. As if the madness had been cleaned up—but not erased.
Garrison was there.
Alone.
Sitting on the edge of the piano bench, a cigarette burning between his fingers, ash falling unnoticed onto the marble floor. The music sheets were blank. The keys untouched.
He didn’t look at her.
Just whispered, “She called you, didn’t she?”
Eella froze. “Who?”
He finally turned. Slowly. “Darcie.”
Her blood ran cold.
“No.”
His eyes narrowed. “Lying doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m not lying. I haven’t spoken to her.”
He stood. The ash dropped to the floor. His voice was low, a growl beneath the surface of silk. “Then she’s watching.”
A pause.
Then he laughed.
Dark. Unhinged.
“She’s always watching.”
Eella shook her head, backing away. “You’re losing it.”
“No, sweetheart.” He stepped toward her. “I lost it the day I married a woman who made me burn for her, then tried to drown me in the flames.”
“You still love her.”
“I hate her,” he snapped. “And hate is just another kind of love. You should know that by now.”
She swallowed. “And me?”
“You?” He smiled, bitter and slow. “You’re the replacement. The ghost. The vessel. You were supposed to be nothing.”
“But I became something.”
His hand came to her cheek. Not a slap. A caress. Tender. But lethal.
“You became everything,” he whispered. “And that’s the problem.”
Before she could react, the door behind them creaked.
They both turned.
Darcie stood there.
Not a ghost. Not a memory.
Real.
Alive.
And more dangerous than anything Eella could’ve imagined.
“Hello, darling,” she said to Garrison, lips curled into a savage smile. “Miss me?”
Eella’s scream caught in her throat.
Garrison didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t even blink.
“Darcie.”
“I warned you,” she said, stepping inside. Her black coat swept the marble like a blade. “I told you not to replace me.”
“You were gone.”
“I was preparing.”
“For what?”
Her eyes flicked to Eella. Cold. Curious. “For her.”
Eella stepped back. “What the hell is going on?”
Darcie turned to her, head tilted. “You don’t know, do you?”
Garrison growled. “Don’t.”
“Oh, but she should,” Darcie purred. “She should know everything, love. About the real contract. About the surrogate clause.”
Eella froze. “What?”
Garrison tried to grab her arm. “Don’t listen to her.”
But Darcie just smiled wider.
“You weren’t just his toy, sweetheart. You were his next attempt. His second try at perfection. The baby. The heir. That was always the point.”
Eella shook her head violently. “No. No, he didn’t—”
“He did,” Darcie cut in, voice like velvet soaked in venom. “It’s in the fine print. Didn’t you read the contract?”
Garrison lunged.
Too late.
Darcie slipped behind the piano, pulled out a file—one that looked too familiar. The same contract Eella signed under candlelight and illusions.
“Page thirty-nine,” she said sweetly. “Clause twelve. Fertility consent. Surrogate responsibilities. It’s all there.”
“No,” Eella whispered.
She grabbed the file.
Flipped through.
And then she saw it.
Clause 12: Subject agrees to carry out gestational plans under NDA conditions. Resulting pregnancy is sole legal responsibility of Garrison Wolfe unless proven to be medically unsafe for Subject.
Her fingers trembled.
“You planned this?” she whispered.
Garrison was silent.
“Say it!”
“Yes.”
The word ripped through her like a knife.
“You were never going to let me go,” she breathed. “You wanted an heir.”
“I wanted a future,” he rasped. “One without her.”
Darcie laughed. “And yet here I am.”
Eella backed away.
She couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t believe she’d let him inside her.
Let him own her.
“Don’t leave,” he said.
But she was already running.
Down the stairs.
Out the door.
Into the storm.
Rain tore at her face. The world spun. Her body was numb but her mind screamed.
You’re not his lover.
You’re his plan B.
And somewhere inside, a deeper scream rose.
Because the worst part wasn’t that he lied.
It was that she still wanted him.
Even now.
Even broken.
Even betrayed.
Even with his wife still alive.
And watching.