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

Aria woke up to the sound of crashing waves and the smell of extremely expensive coffee.

She blinked, disoriented. The ceiling above her was glass, revealing a grey, overcast sky. For a second, she panicked, thinking she was back in the asylum, exposed to the elements.

Then she felt the leather of the sofa beneath her cheek and the heavy warmth of a suit jacket draped over her body.

Memory returned in a flush of heat. The safe house. The sensory overload. The... treatment.

Aria sat up abruptly, clutching the jacket to her chest. Her blouse was buttoned (thank god), but her hair felt like a bird’s nest, and her lips were tender.

”You’re awake.”

She spun around.

Damien stood in the open-plan kitchen, leaning against a marble island that probably cost more than her entire education. He was holding a mug of coffee.

He was shirtless. Again.

It seemed to be his default state in private, and Aria wasn’t sure if she should be annoyed or grateful. His silver hair was damp, as if he’d just showered, and he looked... different.

The tension that usually radiated from him—the tight coils of pain in his shoulders, the shadow in his eyes—was gone. He looked relaxed. rested. Dangerous, yes, but like a fed lion rather than a starving one.

”Coffee?” he offered, holding out the mug. ”It’s black. I couldn’t find sugar. I don’t keep sweets in my safe houses.”

Aria stood up, her legs feeling a little wobbly. She walked over, taking the mug. Their fingers brushed, and she fought the urge to flinch.

”You look...” Aria searched for the word. ”Human.”

Damien took a sip from his own mug, his golden eyes amused. ”Is that an insult?”

”It’s a diagnosis,” Aria muttered, taking a sip. The coffee was strong enough to wake the dead. ”You didn’t take any pills last night.”

”No,” Damien confirmed. He set his mug down and walked around the island, invading her personal space. ”I didn’t need them. I had something stronger.”

Aria choked on her coffee. She stepped back, hitting the counter. ”Damien. Clause 3.”

”I recall,” Damien murmured, placing his hands on the counter on either side of her, trapping her. ”No physical obligations. But you seemed to enjoy breaking the rules last night, Mrs. Sinclair.”

He leaned down, his face inches from hers. He smelled of sea salt and that crisp, wintery soap he used.

”You were the one who unbuttoned your shirt, Aria.”

Aria’s face turned scarlet. ”It was a medical necessity! Skin-to-skin contact is the most efficient way to ground a chaotic Qi field! It’s... it’s standard procedure in the Lost Medical Sect!”

”Is it?” Damien’s gaze dropped to her lips. ”Is the kissing standard procedure too? Or was that a bonus feature?”

Aria opened her mouth to argue, to deny it, to claim she was delirious from the fumes of his cologne, but nothing came out. Because he was right. She had kissed him back. She had wanted him.

”We have a board meeting,” Aria blurted out, ducking under his arm to escape the cage of his body. ”You said it yesterday. We need to go. I can’t be late to scare old men.”

Damien watched her flee toward the bathroom, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest.

”Run while you can, Little Fox,” he whispered to the empty room. ”But you can’t run forever.”

An hour later, the Rolls Royce pulled up to the gleaming steel tower of Sinclair Corp.

Aria had freshened up as best she could in the safe house bathroom. She had re-braided her hair into a severe, intricate crown and adjusted her clothes.

Damien, now fully suited in navy blue (a rare deviation from black that made him look regal rather than funereal), took her hand as they walked into the lobby.

The atmosphere in Sinclair Corp was different from Starlight Media. At Starlight, people were loud, chaotic, and trendy. Here, the silence was heavy. Men and women in suits moved with terrified efficiency. When they saw Damien, they stopped and bowed, pressing themselves against the walls to make way.

”They’re afraid of you,” Aria noted as they entered the private elevator.

”Fear is efficient,” Damien said, pressing the button for the top floor. ”Love takes too long. Fear gets the quarterly report filed by 9 AM.”

”And what about the Board?” Aria asked. ”Are they afraid?”

”They’re sharks,” Damien said. ”They smell blood. They know about my condition—or at least, they suspect I’m unstable. They’ve been trying to vote me out for years.”

He turned to her, his expression serious.

”Today, they’re going to try to use you against me. They’ll say my marriage to a ’scandalous actress’ proves I’m mentally unfit to lead.”

Aria straightened her spine. The elevator dinged, opening onto a massive boardroom with glass walls.

”Let them try,” she said coldly.

They walked in.

The boardroom was filled with twelve men and women who looked like they had been carved out of old money and judgment. At the head of the table sat an empty chair—Damien’s. To the right sat a man Aria recognized instantly.

Lord Sterling. Elena’s father. The Banking Tycoon.

He was looking at Aria with a gaze that could peel paint.

”Damien,” Lord Sterling boomed, standing up. ”You’re late. And you brought... company.”

”I brought my wife,” Damien corrected, pulling out the chair at the opposite end of the table for Aria before walking to his own seat.

”Fiancée,” Sterling corrected sharply. ”And this is a closed meeting, Damien. Sensitive financials are being discussed. We cannot have an... entertainer present.”

The other board members murmured in agreement. The word ”entertainer” was tossed around like ”clown.”

Aria didn’t sit. She stood at the foot of the table, placing her hands on the polished wood.

”Lord Sterling,” Aria said, her voice projecting clearly without raising its volume. ”I am not here as an entertainer. I am here as the owner of Starlight Media, a subsidiary of this corporation. And as the holder of 20% of Vale Entertainment, which I intend to merge into the Sinclair portfolio.”

The room went quiet. They knew she was an actress. They didn’t know she talked business.

”Furthermore,” Aria continued, walking slowly up the side of the table. ”I heard there were concerns about Mr. Sinclair’s health. About his... stability.”

She stopped behind Damien’s chair. She placed a hand on his shoulder. It was a gesture of dominance, not submission.

”I am here to assure you,” Aria said, looking Sterling dead in the eye. ”My husband is in perfect health. In fact, he’s never been better. But if anyone here doubts his capability...”

She smiled. It was the smile of Consort Li.

”...then you are welcome to sell your shares. I’m sure I can find the cash in my purse to buy you out.”

Damien looked up at her. He didn’t say a word, but the look in his eyes was clear.

Checkmate.