Samriddhi’s POV:

He was torturing me—there was no doubt about it. He thrived on my suffering, relishing every flicker of pain that crossed my face. His cruelty wasn’t mindless; it was deliberate, calculated. It all began in the dim confines of the darkroom, where I had begged him to stop, my voice cracking under the weight of terror. My pleas had been met with nothing but cold indifference, his sharp gaze holding a sinister gleam, as if he enjoyed watching me break.