CHAPTER:- 7

Dante casually dragged a chair from the shadowy depths of the red room, positioning it beneath the dim, flickering bulb. He settled into it, not with a simple sit, but with the air of a monarch claiming his throne. His gaze, cold and calculating, locked onto Elena. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of fear. She knew Dante. He wasn't a man known for kindness, for pity, or for showing mercy. Whatever words were about to leave his lips, she was certain, would be laced with cruelty.

"I'm offering you an easy way out," Dante began, his voice smooth, almost gentle, yet edged with a dangerous undertone. "All you have to do is admit it. Acknowledge your role in Marco's suicide. Say 'yes, I'm responsible.' Confess that you drove him to it, that you rejected him mercilessly, that you told him to die, that you did everything in your power to push him over the edge." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it up as if to record her confession. "Think of it, Elena," he continued, a cruel smile playing on his lips, "a simple confession, and you can eat. Or, you can choose to starve."

Elena's body trembled, but not with fear this time. A wave of pure, unadulterated hatred washed over her, replacing the terror with a burning anger. "Marco," she spat, her voice thick with contempt, "was a monster. He made my life a living hell. He wasn't some innocent victim." She raised her voice, letting it ring out clearly in the oppressive silence. "I would rather die," she declared, "than confess to something I didn't do! He was a vile person."

"Vile?" Dante echoed, his voice laced with a dangerous amusement. "He was my brother, Elena. And you, you broke him." Dante's reaction was swift and violent. He surged to his feet, his face contorted with rage. He dropped to his knees in front of Elena, his eyes blazing with fury. He seized a handful of her hair, yanking her head back. "Lower your voice when you speak to me," he hissed, his words dripping with venom. "And be thankful I'm offering you any kind of choice. I'm not in the habit of giving my enemies options. I tear them apart, piece by piece, and leave them to rot. So, show some respect if you value your life." He released her hair with a sharp, brutal jerk, making her head snap forward.

"Respect?" Elena choked out, her voice raw with anger. "He was a bully, a tormentor. He deserved what he got!"

Dante's eyes narrowed, his gaze like shards of ice. "He was my brother," he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "And you will not speak of him in such a way. You will confess, or you will suffer." He rose to his feet, smoothing his coat, and turned to walk towards the door. He paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob, a flicker of something almost like pity crossing his face, quickly replaced by a mask of cold resolve. "You know," he began, his voice barely a whisper, "Marco, he saw the best in people. He believed in redemption. Even in you, Elena. He thought you could change. But you proved him wrong." He turned, his gaze hardening. "You broke his heart, and for that, you will pay."

He paused in the middle of the room, turning back to face her. "I'll be back in four hours," he announced, his voice flat and cold. "I'll be here to hear your decision. Will you admit your guilt and eat, or will you choose to starve?" .With that, he turned and exited the room, leaving Elena alone in the suffocating silence, the red walls closing in around her, the weight of his words pressing down on her like a physical force. She stared at the closed door, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She had to stay strong. She had to. But the fear, the doubt, the sheer overwhelming weight of her situation, and more over the hunger, threatened to crush her. She closed her eyes, and a single tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek.

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