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

The wind rushed past Aria’s ears, a roaring symphony of speed and freedom. Beneath her, Ghost was a piston of white muscle, his hooves tearing up the earth as he galloped toward the treeline.

She wasn’t just riding; she was flying. For the first time since her rebirth, the weight of her revenge, the shadow of the asylum, and the constant calculation of her survival faded away. There was only the rhythm of the gallop and the bite of the mountain air.

To her left, a dark shadow surged forward.

Damien, riding Omen, pulled up beside her. He looked effortless in the saddle, his body moving in perfect sync with the massive black Friesian. He didn’t look like a CEO or a Demon King; he looked like a wild thing that had briefly decided to wear human skin.

”Tired yet?” he shouted over the wind, a challenge in his golden eyes.

”In your dreams!” Aria laughed, leaning forward and urging Ghost faster. The stallion responded instantly, surging ahead to cross the invisible finish line—a massive oak tree at the edge of the ridge.

She pulled Ghost to a halt, the horse snorting and tossing his head, exhilarated but obedient. A moment later, Damien reined in beside her.

They sat there for a moment, chests heaving, overlooking the valley below. The sun was setting, painting the Sinclair Ranch in hues of fire and blood.

”You ride like you were born in the saddle,” Damien noted, reaching out to stroke Omen’s neck. ”Where did you learn? The Vale family doesn’t ride. Raymond is afraid of anything taller than a golf cart.”

Aria looked out at the horizon. ”I had a lot of free time,” she lied smoothly. In reality, she had learned to ride in her past life during a brief, desperate attempt to impress Lucas’s polo-playing friends—an attempt that had ended in mockery. But she had perfected the skill in the asylum, visualizing the movements during her meditation to keep her core strong.

”It suits you,” Damien said. He wasn’t looking at the view. He was looking at her. ”The wildness.”

He nudged Omen closer until their stirrups brushed. He reached out, his gloved hand covering hers on the reins.

”Stay here,” he murmured.

Aria looked at him, startled. ”What?”

”Stay at the ranch,” Damien said, his voice low and serious. ”I can run the company remotely. You can have the master suite. No cameras. No Bella. No noise.”

For a second—a dangerous, terrifying second—Aria considered it. The peace here was seductive. Being with him, away from the prying eyes of the world, was seductive.

But then she remembered the ruby ring on her finger. She remembered the empty room at the Vale Estate. She remembered Lydia’s voice on the phone in her nightmares.

”I can’t,” Aria whispered. ”Peace is for after the war, Damien. Not during.”

Damien studied her face, searching for a crack in her resolve. Finding none, he nodded once, accepting her answer. But his grip on her hand tightened.

”Then we finish the war quickly.”

The helicopter ride back to the city that evening was somber. The bubble of the weekend had popped, replaced by the grim reality of the battlefield waiting for them.

When they landed on the private helipad of the Sinclair Tower, Ken was waiting. He didn’t look like his usual efficient self. He looked pale.

”Sir. Madam,” Ken greeted them, clutching a tablet like a shield. ”Welcome back.”

”Spit it out, Ken,” Damien commanded, helping Aria down from the chopper. ”Who died?”

”No one died, sir. But... Mrs. Lydia Vale has returned.”

Aria went still. ”She’s back?”

”She landed two hours ago,” Ken confirmed. ”And she didn’t go home. She went straight to the Central Police Precinct.”

Aria’s eyes narrowed. ”To report a robbery?”

”To report a theft of ’heritage assets’,” Ken corrected. ”She claims the jewelry and journals you took from the estate were not part of your mother’s trust, but rather ’stolen property’ belonging to the Vale Family Trust, of which she is the executor.”

”That’s a lie,” Aria snapped. ”My mother left them to me.”

”She has paperwork, Miss Vale,” Ken said nervously. ”It looks forged, but it’s high quality. She has filed a restraining order against you entering the estate, and she has frozen the transfer of the 20% shares citing ’mental incompetence’ and ’coercion’ by a third party.”

Damien let out a low, dangerous laugh. ”Coercion? Does she mean me?”

”She implies it, sir. She gave a statement to the press at the airport. She said...” Ken hesitated.

”Say it,” Aria ordered.

”She said, ’My poor stepdaughter has fallen into the clutches of a predator. I have returned to save her from herself, no matter the cost.’”

Aria felt a cold rage settle in her stomach. It was the same narrative as before—Aria is crazy, Aria is weak, Aria needs to be controlled. Lydia hadn’t changed her playbook; she had just escalated the stakes.

”She wants to paint me as a victim again,” Aria whispered. ”She wants to invalidate the marriage contract by claiming I wasn’t of sound mind when I signed it.”

”She can try,” Damien growled. ”Julian will bury her in litigation so deep she won’t see the sun for a decade.”

”No,” Aria said. She looked at the city lights below, her emerald eyes hardening into diamonds. ”Litigation takes time. She wants to freeze me out now. She wants to cut off my resources so I can’t fight Bella on the movie set.”

She turned to Damien.

”She’s challenging my sanity?” Aria smiled, and it was a smile that made Ken take a step back. ”Fine. Then I think it’s time the ’Crazy Consort’ paid her a visit.”

”Aria,” Damien warned, stepping into her space. ”Lydia is not Bella. She won’t cry if you slap her. She’ll sue you for assault and have you institutionalized.”

”I know,” Aria said softly. ”That’s why I’m not going to slap her.”

She reached up, adjusting the collar of her jacket.

”I’m going to make her wish she had stayed in Paris.”

Aria looked at Ken.

”Get Zoe. Tell her to bring the camera. And tell her to wear black.”

”Why?” Ken asked, confused.

”Because,” Aria said, walking toward the elevator. ”We’re going to a funeral. Lydia just killed her own reputation, she just doesn’t know it yet.”