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

”Quiet on set! Scene 12, Take 1. Action!”

The studio fell into a hushed silence, broken only by the rustle of silk and the soft clinking of porcelain.

The set was the Imperial Garden. Artificial cherry blossoms drifted down from the rafters, landing on the stone table where Aria—Consort Li—sat pouring tea.

She didn’t look like an actress. She looked like a painting that had come to life to commit a murder. Her movements were fluid and precise, the long gold fingernail guards on her hands clinking against the teapot with a rhythmic, hypnotic sound.

Opposite her sat Leo, the Crown Prince. The boy was trembling, his puppy-dog eyes wide with righteous fury.

”You knew,” Leo recited, his voice cracking perfectly. ”You knew the Saintess was allergic to hibiscus! You tried to kill her!”

Aria didn’t look up. She poured a cup of tea, the steam rising in the cool studio air.

”Kill her?” Aria murmured, her voice a low, bored drawl. She pushed the cup toward him. ”If I wanted her dead, Little Prince, I wouldn’t use hibiscus. I would use oleander. It’s much faster. And it tastes like honey.”

She finally lifted her eyes. The kohl-rimmed emerald gaze hit Leo like a physical blow.

”Besides,” she smiled, chillingly. ”Why kill a flower when you can just pluck its petals one by one?”

”Cut!” Spielberg yelled, jumping out of his chair. ”Leo! Your reaction! You’re supposed to be defiant, not terrified!”

Leo blinked, breaking character. ”Sorry, Director! But... Sister Aria is really scary! My knees actually locked up!”

”Take five,” the Director sighed, though he looked pleased with Aria’s performance.

As the makeup crew swarmed in to powder noses, Lucas walked onto the set. He was dressed in the golden dragon robes of the Emperor, looking every inch the regal monarch—until you looked at his eyes. They were restless, fixated on Aria.

”You’re changing the blocking,” Lucas accused, stepping into Aria’s personal space as the makeup artists retreated. ”You’re supposed to be defensive in this scene. You’re acting too... dominant. It makes the Emperor look weak if he can’t control his own Consort.”

Aria checked her nails, bored. ”The Emperor is weak, Lucas. That’s the subtext of the show. Or did you not read the script? He lets the country burn while chasing a skirt.”

”I am the lead!” Lucas hissed, grabbing her wrist to stop her from reaching for her water bottle. ”You need to tone it down. You’re overshadowing Bella. She’s the heroine.”

Aria looked at his hand on her wrist. Then she looked up at him.

”Let go,” she said calmly.

”Or what?” Lucas sneered, leaning in. ”You’ll call my uncle? He’s not here, Aria. It’s just us.”

”Or,” Aria whispered, leaning forward until her lips were inches from his ear, ”I’ll remind everyone why you were crying on the floor yesterday.”

Lucas flinched as if burned, releasing her wrist instantly.

”Places!” the Assistant Director shouted. ”Emperor entering the scene!”

Lucas stepped back, smoothing his robes, his face flushed with anger. He took his position at the moon gate entrance.

”Action!”

Lucas stormed into the garden. ”What is the meaning of this?!” he bellowed, trying to project authority. ”Consort Li! You dare harm the Saintess?”

It was a decent delivery. Standard angry boyfriend energy.

Aria didn’t stand up to greet him. In the script, she was supposed to kneel. Instead, she remained seated, taking a slow sip of her tea.

”Your Majesty,” she said, not even looking at him. ”You’re shouting. It’s bad for your digestion.”

Lucas froze. That wasn’t the line. He was supposed to be interrupted by her begging for forgiveness.

”I... I command you to answer!” Lucas improvised, stomping forward. ”Did you poison the tea?”

Aria set the cup down. Clink.

She stood up slowly. The heavy train of her black robe spilled over the steps like oil. She walked toward him, not with fear, but with a seductive, predatory grace.

She stopped right in front of him, invading his space. She reached up, her gold-guarded fingers tracing the dragon embroidery on his chest.

”If I say yes,” Aria purred, her voice dripping with dark charisma, ”what will you do? Execute me?”

She stepped closer, her body brushing against his.

”You can’t,” she whispered, her eyes locking onto his. ”Because without me, your treasury is empty. Without my father’s armies, your borders are open. You hate me... but you need me.”

This was definitely not in the script. The script was a romance drama. Aria was turning it into a psychological thriller.

Lucas stared at her. He felt the heat of her body, smelled the faint scent of sandalwood and expensive perfume. His brain short-circuited. He remembered the way she used to look at him with adoration. Now, she looked at him with a hunger that promised to eat him alive.

He forgot his lines.

He forgot he was supposed to push her away.

He just stood there, mouth slightly open, breathing heavily, looking completely captivated by the woman who was threatening his throne.

”Cut!” Spielberg yelled, but this time he was beaming. ”Lucas! That look of conflict! The hesitation! It’s perfect! It shows the Emperor is seduced by her darkness! Brilliant choice to not push her away!”

Lucas blinked, snapping out of his trance. ”I... I...”

”Moving on!” the Director shouted. ”Setup for Scene 14!”

Aria stepped back, the ”Demon Consort” mask vanishing instantly. She picked up her water bottle, walking past a stunned Lucas.

”You’re welcome for the acting lesson, Nephew,” she said dryly. ”Next time, try not to drool. It ruins the majestic vibe.”

She walked toward the exit, intending to find a quiet corner to call Damien. But before she could leave the soundstage, a hand grabbed her arm and yanked her into the shadows behind a set wall.

It was Lucas. Again.

But this time, he wasn’t angry. He looked desperate.

”You still love me,” he breathed, pinning her against the plywood backing of the fake palace wall.

Aria stared at him, genuinely confused. ”Are you hallucinating? Did you drink the tea? I put Tabasco in it for Leo.”

”That scene,” Lucas insisted, his eyes wild. ”The way you looked at me. The way you touched me. You can’t fake that chemistry, Aria. You’re doing all of this—the engagement, the clothes, the cruelty—to get a reaction out of me, aren’t you?”

He laughed, a breathless, relieved sound.

”You’re trying to make me jealous. Well, it worked. I’m jealous. I hate that you’re with Damien.”

He leaned in, trying to kiss her.

”Leave him,” Lucas whispered. ”Come back to me. I’ll dump Bella. I’ll make you the lead. We can rule this industry together, just like we planned.”

Aria looked at the man she had died for in her past life. She looked at his handsome, sweating face, his desperate eyes.

She felt... nothing.

No anger. No sadness. Just the profound realization that he was pathetic.

She didn’t push him. She didn’t slap him.

She simply reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.

”Siri,” Aria said to the device. ”Call Husband.”

Lucas froze.

The phone rang once.

”Aria?” Damien’s deep voice filled the small space, sharp and alert. ”Why are you whispering?”

Aria looked Lucas dead in the eye as she spoke into the phone.

”Damien, your nephew has me cornered behind the set wall. He’s offering to dump Bella if I leave you. He seems to think I’m still in love with him.”

She paused, smiling coldly at Lucas’s paling face.

”Would you like to explain to him why that’s a statistical impossibility? Or should I use a needle?”