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

The Sinclair Penthouse usually smelled of expensive things: Italian leather, cedarwood, aged scotch, and the crisp, ozone scent of filtered air.

This morning, however, it smelled like a swamp that had caught fire.

Damien woke up not to the sound of his alarm, but to a pungent, earthy stench that assaulted his sinuses even through the closed door of the Master Suite. He sat up, groggy and shirtless, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun in the bedside drawer.

’Is it a gas leak? A chemical attack?’

He threw off the sheets and stalked out of the bedroom, his bare feet silent on the hardwood floors. He followed the smell—a mix of burnt roots, sulfur, and something that smelled suspiciously like wet dog—straight to the kitchen.

The sight that greeted him was... domestic. Terrifyingly so.

Aria was standing at the stove, wearing one of his white dress shirts over her silk pajamas. Her rose-gold hair was tied up in a messy bun held by a single chopstick. She was stirring a pot of bubbling black sludge with the focus of a witch brewing a curse.

”Aria,” Damien rasped, his voice rough with sleep. ”Why are we being fumigated?”

Aria jumped, nearly dropping the wooden spoon. She spun around, her face flushed from the heat of the stove.

”It’s not fumigation,” she said defensively. ”It’s breakfast. Well, your breakfast.”

Damien walked closer, peering into the pot. The liquid was thick, glossy, and darker than his soul.

”That,” Damien pointed at the sludge, ”is a crime against humanity. Did you burn the coffee?”

”It’s not coffee. It’s a ’Dragon Bone and Oyster Shell’ decoction,” Aria explained, turning the heat down. ”Granny—uh, my mentor—taught me the recipe. It targets the liver meridian and anchors the floating Yang. It’s for your tremors.”

She reached for a ladle and poured the black liquid into a delicate porcelain mug.

”It will stabilize your nervous system faster than the pills,” she promised, holding the mug out to him. ”Drink.”

Damien looked at the mug. He looked at Aria. He looked back at the mug.

”No.”

”Damien,” Aria warned, her ’Auntie’ tone emerging. ”You spent half of yesterday shaking. You need this.”

”I need coffee. I need bacon. I do not need to drink liquid asphalt.” Damien backed away, putting the marble island between them. ”Clause 9 covers medical emergencies. It does not cover culinary torture.”

Aria narrowed her eyes. ”You’re acting like a child. It’s just herbs. Dried roots, minerals, maybe a little bit of gecko tail...”

”Gecko tail?” Damien looked horrified. ”You put a lizard in my cup?”

”It’s processed!” Aria argued, marching around the island. ”Stop being a baby and drink it. Or do you want me to call Julian and tell him the big bad CEO is scared of a cup of tea?”

Damien crossed his arms over his bare chest. ”I’m not scared. I have standards.”

Aria sighed. She set the mug down on the counter.

”Fine,” she said, her voice dropping to a soft, cajoling whisper. She walked up to him, placing her hands on his bare waist. ”If you drink it... I’ll give you a reward.”

Damien looked down at her. His interest was piqued. The smell of the medicine was awful, but the sight of her in his shirt, with her messy hair and sleep-softened eyes, was extremely persuasive.

”What kind of reward?” he asked, his hands settling on her hips.

”I’ll... let you pick the movie for movie night,” Aria offered weakly.

”Boring.”

”I’ll cook you a real dinner?”

”Given the smell of this kitchen, that sounds like a threat,” Damien drawled.

Aria bit her lip. She looked at his mouth. ”I’ll... give you a chaser.”

Damien’s eyes darkened. ”A chaser?”

”To get the taste out,” Aria whispered, her face turning pink.

Damien stared at her for a long second. Then, he grabbed the mug. He didn’t hesitate. He downed the hot, bitter sludge in three large gulps, his throat working as he swallowed the vile concoction.

He slammed the empty mug onto the counter with a grimace that contorted his entire face.

”Fuck,” he swore, coughing. ”That tastes like dirt and regret.”

He turned to Aria, his eyes watering slightly but burning with intensity.

”Chaser,” he demanded. ”Now.”

Aria stepped closer, rising on her tiptoes. She placed her hands on his cheeks, intending to give him a sweet, apologetic peck.

Damien had other ideas. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ

He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her effortlessly until she was sitting on the marble counter. He stepped between her legs, trapping her.

”Not a peck, Mrs. Sinclair,” he growled. ”I just drank a lizard for you. I want a real chaser.”

He captured her lips.

He tasted of the bitter medicine—earthy and sharp—but beneath it was the familiar heat of him. He kissed her deeply, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as if trying to transfer the taste to her.

”Ugh,” Aria pulled back, laughing breathlessly against his mouth. ”You’re sharing the bitterness!”

”Marriage is about sharing,” Damien murmured, diving back in.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then the sensitive spot behind her ear. Aria’s head fell back, her hands gripping his shoulders. The bitterness faded, replaced by the dizzying rush of his proximity.

”Damien,” she gasped. ”We have to go. The studio...”

”You own the studio,” he mumbled against her neck. ”Fire everyone. Stay here.”

Aria giggled—a sound she hadn’t made in two lifetimes. She pushed his chest gently.

”I can’t. I have a new co-star to meet today. And Zoe says the internet is waiting for my next move.”

Damien groaned, resting his forehead against hers. He looked at her, his golden eyes clear and focused. The tremors in his hands were gone. The medicine, vile as it was, worked fast.

”Fine,” he relented, stepping back but keeping his hands on her knees. ”But tonight... you’re making me something that doesn’t taste like a swamp.”

”Deal,” Aria smiled.

She hopped off the counter. ”Go shower. I’ll call Ken to bring the car. And Damien?”

”Yeah?”

”Brush your teeth. You smell like gecko.”

Damien threw a dishtowel at her as she ran out of the kitchen, laughing.

Two hours later, Aria walked onto the set of The Empress’s Shadow.

The atmosphere was tense, but different from the day before. The crew greeted her with respectful nods. The makeup artists had fresh coffee waiting for her.

She was in the middle of getting her wig adjusted when a young man burst into the makeup trailer.

He had floppy brown hair, big puppy-dog eyes, and was wearing the costume of the Crown Prince.

”Sister Aria!” the boy shouted, beaming.

He ran over, looking like he wanted to hug her but was stopped by Coco, Aria’s new stylist.

”Watch the silk, Leo!” Coco snapped, waving a makeup brush. ”This robe costs more than your kidneys.”

The boy, Leo, stopped, looking sheepish.

”Sorry, Coco. I just wanted to say hi to the Goddess!” He turned to Aria, his eyes shining with adoration. ”Sister Aria, I saw the press conference! You were so cool! When you told your dad to back off? Iconic! I’ve been practicing my ’cold stare’ in the mirror all morning.”

Aria smiled. Leo was the male lead of the show—the Prince who falls in love with the Saintess. But in reality, he was a twenty-year-old idol who had been a massive fan of Aria’s since her debut in a toothpaste commercial five years ago.

”Hello, Leo,” Aria said kindly. ”Are you ready for our scene today?”

”Yes!” Leo puffed out his chest. ”I have to yell at you for poisoning the tea. I’ve been drinking hot water to prepare my vocal cords.”

He leaned in, whispering loudly.

”But honestly, Sister... why is the Emperor so bad?”

Aria raised an eyebrow. ”Lucas?”

”Yeah!” Leo complained. ”He keeps trying to give me acting advice. He told me to ’smolder’ more. I look like I have constipation when I smolder. And he keeps looking at you weirdly.”

Leo shuddered.

”It’s creepy. Like he wants to eat you, but he’s also scared you’ll bite him.”

Aria smirked, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her kohl-rimmed eyes looked back, dangerous and amused.

”Let him look, Leo,” Aria said, standing up as Coco finished the final pin. ”Because today... I am going to bite.”