I tore apart my entire wardrobe, flipping through outfit after outfit—none of them felt right.
Until my eyes caught on a glittering mini dress.
There it was.
The dress I was meant to shine in... not die in.
"This was the dress I wanted to wear to prom. But I never made it."
I wiped away a single tear sliding down my cheek.
The memories I'd fought so hard to forget came flooding back.
"I wasn't supposed to be alive. I was murdered. Brutally. Unfairly. Just like my friends.
So why was I the one given a second chance—if I'm still dead inside?"
That last thought kept spinning in my mind, over and over, like a broken record.
"I doubt Heaven will ever give me an answer. But I've figured one thing out: I need revenge.
Whoever was responsible for my pain—for my suffering—needs to walk through their own personal hell."
— And tonight, I'm going to meet the one who might've had something to do with my death.
I had no idea before, no clue how he was connected.
"Dante Belton. Let's see what you'll reveal to me tonight. Maybe this time, you'll actually amuse me."
I smirked, slipped on my stockings, and walked out of the apartment.
"A park. Late evening. Silence. And me—alone, vulnerable, waiting for someone I barely know."
I braced myself for the worst. That Dante Belton was a bastard—I knew that much.
In this life, and the last.
"A beautiful bastard. Damn, that's the perfect description." I chuckled to myself.
In my past life, I'd brushed off his attention. Ignored the business card he offered me.
But not this time.
"This time, I need his full attention. I have to squeeze everything out of him—even if it means pretending to be the woman he wants me to be."
Someone touched my shoulder from behind.
— "You actually came."
He looked me over, slowly, then added,
— "Even earlier than I asked. Were you waiting for me?"
— "Just punctual. Don't flatter yourself."
He smiled but didn't argue. Without a word, he offered me his arm. I took it.
My thoughts were racing.
"What if he wants to get rid of me?"
"What if I changed my future with my actions and this is how it ends?"
"Did I screw everything up?"
I glanced at him, but he stayed quiet. I decided to play along.
No questions. Not yet. I didn't want to lose his interest.
"Men like women who are quiet, self-centered, mysterious. So that's who I'll be."
Even if I didn't feel at peace inside.
— "We're here. Want to take a look?"
I turned and exhaled.
We were standing near a busy street, in front of what looked like a nondescript place.
A bar, I guessed. Dim. No flashy signs.
— "Who invites a girl to a bar on a first date?"
— "It's my bar."
That didn't comfort me in the slightest.
Once inside, anything could happen. And no one would know.
Who would care anyway? No family, just a sister in another state.
Friends? All mediocre. Tied to my work.
In places like this, no one bothers with missing women.
If you disappear, they just assume you left.
Why? Only God knows. Some overdose. Some give up.
Some actually vanish—but no one likes to think about those.
I descended the stairs into the basement space, unsure what to expect.
On one hand—it was intriguing.
On the other—dangerous.
Because only I knew what this man was capable of.
What was hidden behind his mask of decency.
— "Make yourself at home. Order whatever you like."
He pulled out a chair for me, and I sat. It was oddly... charming.
— "Such a gentleman. Then why not a restaurant, if you care so much for manners?"
— "I've been to restaurants—with others. Too many fake smiles and forced gratitude."
I raised an eyebrow.
— "I'll be honest. I'm pretty biased against dancers from your club.
Rarely do I meet one with real class. No offense, but most of them aren't... the type you want to deal with."
I sipped my cocktail through a straw.
— "What makes you think that? There are plenty of decent girls there—just trying to make easy money."
— "Some, sure. But not most. That's why I decided—if I'm going to talk to someone, it'll be on neutral ground."
I was curious, but I changed the subject.
— "Why me? Why did you invite me?"
— "You're young, beautiful, confident—and sharp-tongued.
I figured we'd understand each other."
We talked all evening—about everything and nothing.
Just learning bits and pieces about each other.
I was the woman they want. Silent. Soft. Attractive.
But behind that mask—calculation.
I wasn't here for love.
Past midnight, we stepped out of the bar.
Then came the question:
— "Wanna come back to my place?"
I was ready for it.
I knew he didn't see me as a person. Just a body. A thing. A toy.
Fine. Let him think he's in control.
"I'm walking into the lion's den—on my terms."
I smiled faintly, as if unsure.
But I knew.
And still, I said:
— "Yes."