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

The Central Police Precinct was usually a place of grim, bureaucratic silence. Tonight, it looked like the red carpet at Cannes, if the red carpet were paved with asphalt and desperation.

Lydia Laurent had been busy.

Dozens of reporters were camped outside the steps, their breath fogging in the chilly night air. When the black Rolls Royce pulled up, the crowd surged forward like a single, hungry organism.

Inside the car, Aria adjusted the collar of her black leather jacket. She had pulled her rose-gold hair back into a severe, high ponytail that exposed the sharp lines of her face. She wore no jewelry except for the ruby engagement ring and the simple sapphire choker she had ”repossessed” from the estate.

”She called them,” Damien observed from the seat beside her. He looked bored, scrolling through his phone. ”She wants a public spectacle. She thinks shame will make you fold.”

”Shame is a currency I don’t trade in anymore,” Aria replied. She looked at Zoe, who was checking her camera settings in the front seat. ”Ready?”

”Born ready,” Zoe grinned. ”I’m livestreaming to the ’Auntie’ fan club. We have 200,000 viewers waiting for the tea.”

Aria opened the door.

The flashbulbs were blinding. Questions were shouted over the roar of the crowd.

”Miss Vale! Is it true you robbed your father’s house?” ”Are you being coerced by Mr. Sinclair?” ”Do you have a comment on your stepmother’s statement that you are mentally unstable?”

Aria didn’t stop. She walked up the steps with Damien flanking her, his presence parting the crowd better than any police barricade.

Inside the station, the scene was even more theatrical.

Lydia Laurent sat on a bench in the main lobby, looking like a tragic, beautiful widow. She was dressed in an elegant navy suit, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Raymond stood beside her, looking righteous and angry.

When Aria entered, Lydia stood up. Her face crumpled into a mask of heartbreaking relief.

”Aria!” Lydia cried out, rushing forward with her arms open. ”Oh, thank god! You’re safe!”

She tried to hug Aria.

Aria sidestepped smoothly. Lydia hugged empty air, stumbling slightly.

”Hello, Lydia,” Aria said, her voice cool and carrying through the silent lobby. ”I see you didn’t waste time changing out of your ballgown. The jet lag must be terrible.”

Lydia recovered instantly, her expression shifting to one of deep concern. ”Darling, please. We’re not here to fight. We just want to help you. You’re not well. Taking those things... breaking into the house... it’s a cry for help.”

She turned to the Police Chief, who was standing nearby looking uncomfortable.

”Chief, you see? She’s wearing the stolen necklace. My sapphire choker.”

Raymond stepped forward, pointing a shaking finger. ”Arrest her! Or at least take her into protective custody! She’s clearly under the influence!”

Damien stepped forward then. He didn’t shout. He didn’t posture. He simply placed a hand on the small of Aria’s back and looked at the Police Chief.

”Chief Miller,” Damien said softly. ”I believe there is a misunderstanding. My fiancée didn’t steal anything.”

”She stripped the house bare!” Raymond roared.

”She collected her dowry,” Aria corrected.

She signaled to Ken, who walked in carrying a thick accordion folder.

”Lydia,” Aria said, turning to her stepmother. ”You claim the sapphire choker belongs to the Vale Family Trust. But here...”

She pulled a yellowed piece of paper from the folder.

”...is the original purchase receipt from 1998. Signed by my mother, Eleanor Vale. Paid for from her personal inheritance, separate from the marital assets.”

Aria handed the paper to the Chief.

”And here,” she pulled out another document, ”is her Last Will and Testament. Specifically, the addendum you and Father tried to bury in probate court. ’All personal jewelry, effects, and the contents of the Master Suite are to be left solely to my daughter, Aria Seraphina Vale, upon her 18th birthday.’”

Lydia’s face went rigid. The mask of the concerned mother slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing the viper beneath.

”That will was contested,” Lydia hissed.

”Contested, but never invalidated,” Aria smiled. ”You just... forgot to execute it. For ten years.”

Aria turned to the reporters who had snuck into the lobby behind them.

”So, Chief,” Aria asked loud enough for the microphones to pick up. ”Is it theft if I take what is legally mine? Or is it theft that my stepmother has been wearing my dead mother’s jewelry for a decade?”

The Chief looked at the receipt. He looked at the Will. He looked at Damien Sinclair, who was watching him with the patience of an executioner.

”It... appears to be a civil matter, Mrs. Vale,” the Chief stammered, handing the papers back. ”We cannot arrest Miss Vale for retrieving her own property.”

”This is ridiculous!” Raymond shouted. ”She took the furniture! The curtains!”

”Interest,” Aria said coldly. ”Ten years of rent for using my property. I’ll send you an invoice for the difference.”

Lydia took a deep breath. She realized the ’theft’ angle had failed. She pivoted instantly.

”Fine,” Lydia said, her voice trembling. ”Keep the jewelry. It’s just things. We care about you, Aria. You’re living with a dangerous man. You’re cutting off your family. We are petitioning for a psychiatric evaluation. Under the Mental Health Act, as your next of kin, we have the right to—”

”Next of kin?” Damien interrupted.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek, folded document.

”I’m afraid that title has been transferred.”

He unfolded the paper. It was a Marriage Certificate. Signed, stamped, and dated that morning.

”Aria is a Sinclair now,” Damien announced, his voice ringing with finality. ”I am her next of kin. I am her medical proxy. And I am the only one who decides who she sees.”

He looked at Lydia with a cold, golden stare.

”And right now? She doesn’t want to see you.”

Lydia stared at the certificate. Her plan—the conservatorship, the asylum, the control—shattered in front of her eyes.

”You married him,” Lydia whispered, looking at Aria with genuine horror. ”You actually married him.”

”I did,” Aria said, stepping closer to Lydia until they were inches apart. ”And Lydia? You should check your accounts.”

Lydia frowned. ”What?”

”While you were busy filing police reports,” Aria whispered, ”my lawyers were busy auditing the Vale Entertainment accounts you manage. Did you think I wouldn’t notice the ’consulting fees’ paid to a shell company in the Cayman Islands? A company registered in your maiden name?”

Lydia’s blood ran cold.

”That’s... that’s a lie.”

”Is it?” Aria smirked. ”The IRS is very interested in lies. I sent them the file an hour ago.”

She stepped back, linking her arm through Damien’s.

”Come on, darling,” Aria said brightly. ”I’m bored of this funeral. Let’s go home.”

They turned and walked out, leaving Lydia Laurent standing in the middle of the police station, pale as a ghost, as the reporters began to shout questions—not at Aria, but at her.

”Mrs. Vale! Is it true about the embezzlement?” ”Mrs. Vale! Did you steal from your stepdaughter?”

Aria didn’t look back. She walked out into the night, the flashbulbs blinding her, feeling the weight of Damien’s arm and the thrill of the hunt.

The first head had rolled.