CHAPTER:-3

"I didn't kill him," Elena cried, her voice trembling, a desperate plea echoing in the red room. "I swear, I didn't kill him. He made my life a living hell," she sobbed, her body shaking with fear and pain.

"Lies," Dante yelled, his eyes burning with hate. "You're just trying to save yourself."

He pressed the tip of the silver knife against her cheek, just below her eye. The cold steel touched her skin, a sharp, painful pressure that made her scream. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the blood that welled up from the cut.

"I am telling the truth," Elena cried, her voice breaking. "Please, believe me. I didn't kill him." She sobbed, her body wracked with fear and pain.

Dante pressed the knife harder, deepening the cut. A thin line of blood appeared on her cheek, tracing a path down her skin. He watched the blood trickle down her face, his eyes filled with a dark satisfaction. He seemed to relish her pain, her fear, her helplessness.

"You're making this very difficult for yourself, Elena," he said, his voice cold and emotionless, devoid of any warmth or compassion. "But I have all the time in the world."

He continued to make small, painful cuts on her cheeks, each one a searing reminder of his power over her. Elena's body trembled, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She felt a wave of dizziness, her vision blurring with tears and pain. The burning sensation from the wounds was unbearable, a constant, agonizing reminder of her torment.

After inflicting numerous painful cuts, Dante pulled the knife away from her cheek. Elena could only feel the burning sensation from the wounds, the blood leaking down her face, a grotesque mask of her suffering. Her skin felt raw and tender, each breath a sharp sting.

Dante snapped his fingers, and the three bulky men entered the room, their faces expressionless, their presence a looming threat. "So, Elena," Dante said, his voice laced with cruel amusement, "your punishment is that you will not be sleeping tonight."

He pressed his fingers against one of the wounds on her cheek, the sudden pressure making her gasp in pain. "Boys," he commanded, his voice sharp and authoritative, "don't let her sleep. Whenever her eyelids close, wake her up with water."

"Yes, sir," the men replied in unison, their voices echoing in the oppressive silence of the room.

Elena's heart pounded in her chest, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. She tried to plead with Dante, her voice weak and trembling. "Please, Dante," she begged, her eyes filled with tears, "don't do this to me. Let me sleep for at least one hour. I am very tired."

She poured out her tears, a desperate attempt to appeal to any shred of humanity he might have left. But her pleas fell on deaf ears.

"Oh, my Elena," Dante said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "don't act innocent with me. I know how cunning you can be, so just shut up." A mischievous smile played on his lips, a cruel twist that sent a shiver down Elena's spine.

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