DANTE- The Billionaire’s Ghost Vixen

Chapter 2: The Price of Beauty

"Strip."

The word hit like a slap. I didn't move. I just stood there in the center of the cold, white lab, clutching the silk sheet around my shoulders. My knuckles were white. My skin crawled.

Dante Moretti didn't even look up from his tablet. He stood by a row of monitors, his thumb scrolling through data streams that looked like heartbeats and brain waves. My brain waves.

"I said strip, Number Twelve. I don't have time for modesty. We need to calibrate the skin-graft sensors."

"My name is Ivy," I snapped. My voice sounded too small in the high-ceilinged room.

Dante finally looked at me. His eyes weren't human. They were like two shards of flint, devoid of warmth, seeing right through the beautiful face I was wearing. He walked toward me, each step deliberate. I wanted to bolt, but my legs felt heavy.

"Ivy is dead," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. He stopped inches away, smelling of expensive tobacco and sharp, biting ozone. "The girl from the slums who died in a puddle? She’s gone. You’re an investment now. A product. And right now, the product is being difficult."

He reached out and grabbed the edge of my sheet. I flinched, my heart hammering against my ribs.

[Warning: Host heart rate exceeding 140 bpm. Stress levels critical. Commencing stabilizing pulse.]

A wave of artificial calm washed over me, numbing the panic, but the humiliation remained. It burned in my throat. I let the sheet slip. I stood there, shivering in the thin, medical slip underneath, feeling like a dog on an auction block.

Dante didn't look at me with lust. He looked at me with a magnifying glass. He circled me, his gloved hand tracing the line of my shoulder, then my spine. Every touch felt like a brand.

"The heart rate is too high," he muttered, looking at the screen on the wall. "Vivian was always composed. Always cold. If you trip up at the gala tonight, if you show even a hint of that gutter-trash fear, the Board will have you dismantled before dessert."

"Dismantled?" I managed to choke out.

"Scrapped. Recycled." He caught my chin again, forcing me to look at him. "You’re lucky I needed a body with your specific blood type. Don't make me regret picking a scavenger."

He let go and tossed a black garment bag onto the metal table.

"Dress. The car leaves in twenty minutes. If you aren't ready, I’ll let them turn the power off in your chest and see how long you last."

He walked out without a backward glance.

I sank to the floor, my knees hitting the tile. I felt like dirt. Less than dirt. I was a wolfless girl playing dress-up in a dead woman’s skin, held together by wires and a voice in my head that hated everyone.

[Mission Initiated: The Vixen’s First Bite.] [Objective: Inflict Emotional Pain on Target: Dante Moretti.] [Penalty for Failure: Cardiac arrest.]

"You've got to be kidding me," I whispered, staring at the empty doorway. "He doesn't have emotions. He's a machine."

[Everyone has a nerve, Ivy. Find it. Cut it. Feed me.]

The Moretti Gala was a sea of gold, champagne, and vipers.

I stepped out of the black limo, the weight of the emerald-encrusted gown pulling at my shoulders. The heels were too high. The corset was too tight. Every flash of the paparazzi’s cameras felt like a physical blow.

Dante offered his arm. He didn't look at me. He just stared straight ahead at the grand entrance of the museum.

"Smile," he commanded. "Look like you’ve been in the Mediterranean for three years, not a morgue."

I slipped my hand into the crook of his arm. His suit jacket felt like armor. I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear.

"What happens if I scream right now?" I whispered. "What if I tell them you’re keeping a dead girl in your basement?"

Dante’s arm didn't even twitch. "They’d call the men in white coats, and you’d spend the rest of your very short life in a padded cell being poked with needles. Stick to the script, scavenger."

We moved into the ballroom. The air was thick with the scent of lilies and the hushed whispers of the elite.

"Is that... Vivian?" "I thought she died in the Alps." "Look at her eyes. She looks different."

I felt like an animal in a cage. My palms were sweating. Then, I saw her.

A woman in a blood-red dress stood near the fountain, a glass of champagne in her hand. She was beautiful in a sharp, jagged way. Elena. The woman the System had identified as the one who pushed the original Vivian off that balcony three years ago.

Elena’s glass hit the floor. The sound of shattering crystal cut through the music. She turned pale, her eyes wide with a mix of terror and pure, unadulterated hatred.

"Vivian?" she gasped, her voice loud enough to draw a crowd.

I felt a surge of cold adrenaline. The System hummed in my ear, a low, vibrating frequency.

[Skill Unlocked: Vixen Aura (Level 1). Activating now.]

Suddenly, the room shifted. I didn't feel small anymore. I felt tall. I felt dangerous. The fear in my chest turned into a razor-sharp edge.

I let go of Dante’s arm and walked toward Elena. Every step felt like I was gliding on ice. The crowd parted like the Red Sea.

"Elena," I said. My voice wasn't mine. It was deep, melodic, and carried a weight that made people flinch. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or did you just lose your conscience?"

Elena’s face contorted. "You... you shouldn't be here. You’re supposed to be—"

"Dead?" I finished, tilting my head. I leaned in close, so only she could hear. "I climbed back out of the dirt just to see the look on your face tonight. You’re wearing my favorite earrings, by the way. Give them back."

I reached out, my movements blurred and preternaturally fast. I didn't just take the earring; I ripped it. Not enough to tear the lobe, but enough to draw a single, bright drop of blood.

Elena let out a sharp, undignified shriek. She stumbled back, tripping over her own train and falling straight into the fountain.

The splash was enormous. The room went dead silent.

I stood over her, looking down with a bored expression that I’d copied from Dante. I felt a strange, intoxicating rush. For the first time in my life, I wasn't the one in the dirt.

[Target Heart Rate increased: 110... 120... 135.] [Life Force Drained: 1%.] [Reward: Enhanced Reflexes unlocked.]

I turned back toward Dante, expecting him to be furious. He was standing by a marble pillar, his face unreadable. But he wasn't looking at the crowd. He wasn't looking at Elena.

His hand was pressed firmly against his chest, right over his heart. His knuckles were white. For a split second, the mask slipped. I saw a flash of genuine, agonizing pain in his eyes—not anger, but something deeper. Something that looked like a wound being ripped open.

"Dante?" I whispered, the Aura fading.

He didn't answer. He turned and walked toward the shadows of the balcony, his gait slightly uneven.

[Mission Progress: 50%. The heart is a heavy thing to break, Ivy. Keep going.]

I started to follow him, but a hand grabbed my arm. It was a man I didn't recognize—older, with a cruel sneer and a Moretti family pin on his lapel.

"I don't know what kind of game Dante is playing with a look-alike," he hissed, "but you’re going to wish you’d stayed dead, girl."

Behind him, two men in black suits moved to block the exits.