After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law

The buttons of Aria’s blouse felt like ice against her trembling fingertips.

Beneath her, Damien was no longer the composed, terrifying King of the Capital. He was a raw nerve, his body arching off the leather sofa in spasms of agony. His shirt was already torn open, revealing a chest slick with cold sweat, the muscles coiled so tight they looked like they might snap the bone.

”Hurry,” he gasped, his eyes squeezed shut, his head thrashing against the cushion. ”It feels like... burning. Everywhere.”

Aria didn’t hesitate anymore. She pushed aside the last shred of her hesitation—and her modesty.

’He’s a patient,’ she told herself fiercely. ’Just a patient. This is just a very... unorthodox defibrillation.’

She undid the final button. She didn’t take the blouse off completely, but she pulled it open, exposing the skin of her chest and stomach.

She lowered herself onto him.

The moment their skin connected, a shockwave went through the room.

It wasn’t a metaphor. Aria actually felt a jolt, like static electricity magnified a thousand times, zip through her meridians. Damien let out a guttural roar—half pain, half ecstasy—as the contact grounded him.

”Aria,” he choked out, his hands flying up to grip her waist.

His touch was bruising, desperate. He pulled her down until there was absolutely no space between them. Her soft, cool curves molded against his hard, feverish angles.

”I’ve got you,” Aria whispered, her voice shaking. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder to hide her burning cheeks. ”Just breathe. Draw the energy from me. Let the noise drain out.”

It was an ancient technique Granny Shen had only described in theory: The Human Anchor. When a patient’s Qi was chaotic and explosive, a healer with a compatible energy signature could act as a grounding rod, absorbing the excess static through direct meridian contact.

It worked.

Slowly, agonizingly, the thrashing stopped.

Damien’s breathing, which had been shallow and ragged, began to deepen. The heat radiating from his body, which had felt like a furnace, started to cool.

But as the pain receded, something else took its place.

Skin hunger.

Damien’s senses were no longer being assaulted by pain, so they latched onto the only thing they could feel: Her.

He felt the silkiness of her skin against his chest. He smelled the faint, lingering scent of the Valentino perfume mixed with her natural, sweet aroma. He heard the frantic, rabbit-quick beat of her heart pressed against his own.

He opened his eyes. The gold was back, swimming in a pool of dark pupils.

He looked down at the woman straddling him. Her rose-gold hair was a curtain around them, shielding them from the world. Her blouse hung open, revealing the creamy slope of her shoulder and the lace of her bra.

She wasn’t a doctor right now. She was a woman. And he was a man who hadn’t touched a woman in three years.

”The noise is gone,” Damien rasped, his voice vibrating directly into her chest.

Aria lifted her head. Her eyes were wide, glassy with the intensity of the energy transfer. ”Good. Then... I should get up.”

She tried to move back, to close her blouse.

”No.”

Damien’s arm tightened around her waist like a steel band, locking her in place.

”Don’t move,” he commanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous, husky pitch. ”It’s not... stable yet. If you leave, it comes back.”

It was a lie. The pain was gone. But he couldn’t let her go. His body, starved for touch for so long, was currently overdosing on her. It was a biological imperative. He needed to be closer.

”Damien,” Aria breathed, her hands resting on his pectorals. She could feel the hard muscle beneath the skin. ”We are... this is breaking Clause 3. This isn’t medical anymore.”

”I’m the one paying the bill,” Damien muttered, staring at her lips. ”I decide what’s medical.”

He shifted his hips upward.

Aria gasped. The friction was undeniable. Through the thin fabric of her jeans and his trousers, she could feel exactly how healthy he was.

”You...” Aria stuttered, her face turning the color of her dress from earlier. ”You are definitely cured.”

”Not yet,” Damien whispered.

He reached up, his large hand cupping the back of her head. He guided her down.

He kissed her with a slow, devastating thoroughness. It wasn’t the aggressive claiming of the rooftop; it was a worshipful exploration. He tasted her as if she were the last drop of water in a desert.

Aria melted. Her resistance evaporated like mist in the sun. She whimpered softly, her fingers tangling in his silver hair, pulling him closer.

For a virgin who had barely held hands in her past life, this was overwhelming. It was sensory overload for her. The weight of him, the taste of him, the sheer masculine power he radiated—it was intoxicating.

She kissed him back, shyly at first, then with a growing hunger that matched his own.

Outside, the wind howled around the glass safe house, suspended over the dark ocean. Inside, the only sound was the friction of skin and the heavy, synchronized breathing of two people who had forgotten the world existed.

Damien’s hand slid up her back, his fingers tracing the line of her spine. He found the clasp of her bra.

Click.

The tension in the room snapped.

Aria froze. The sound of the clasp opening was like a bucket of cold water.

’What am I doing?’

She pulled back, breaking the kiss. Her chest was heaving, her lips swollen. She pressed her hands against his shoulders, creating a tiny sliver of distance.

”Stop,” she whispered, her voice wrecked.

Damien stopped instantly. His hands froze on her back. He didn’t push. He didn’t coerce. He just looked at her, his eyes burning with unmasked desire.

”Why?” he asked simply.

”Because...” Aria swallowed hard, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. ”Because I... I don’t know how to do this casually.”

She looked down, ashamed of her inexperience.

”I’ve never...”

Damien’s gaze softened. The predator receded, replaced by something protective. He realized then that beneath the ”Black-Belly Queen” persona, she was terrified.

He reached up, buttoning her blouse with surprising gentleness. His fingers grazed her skin, but he didn’t linger.

”I know,” he said softly.

Aria looked up, surprised. ”You know?”

”You kiss like you’ve read about it in books but never actually done it,” Damien teased gently, though his voice was rough. ”It’s... cute.”

Aria swatted his chest, indignance overriding her embarrassment. ”I do not! I am a very experienced kisser!”

”Sure,” Damien smirked. He sat up, adjusting his own clothes, though he didn’t button his shirt. ”Lie down, Aria. Next to me. Not on top of me.”

He pulled her down onto the sofa, arranging her so she was tucked into his side, her head on his chest. He threw his suit jacket over them as a blanket.

”Sleep,” he ordered. ”The pain is gone. But if you try to leave this sofa, I will tie you to it.”

Aria lay stiffly for a moment, listening to his heartbeat. It was slowing down, finding a steady, soothing rhythm.

”Damien?” she whispered into the darkness.

”Hmm?”

”Does this mean the safe house doesn’t have a guest room?”

”It has five,” Damien mumbled, his eyes closing. ”But they’re all locked. And I lost the keys.”

Aria smiled against his chest. It was a blatant lie.

”Goodnight, Mr. Sinclair.”

”Goodnight, Mrs. Sinclair.”

As sleep overtook them, Aria realized with a start that she wasn’t thinking about revenge, or Bella, or Lucas. She was just thinking about how warm it was in the circle of his arms.

And that was the most dangerous trap of all.