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

The remnants of the ”disaster dinner” were cleared away by a silent, efficient Ken, but the heavy atmosphere in the penthouse remained. The smell of burnt steak had been replaced by the sharp, metallic scent of tension.

Damien sat in his home office, his sleeves rolled up, a glass of amber liquid—untouched—on the desk. Aria sat opposite him, the ”Kiss the Cook” apron gone, replaced by a silk robe wrapped tightly around her frame. She looked pale, but her eyes were dry and dangerous.

The elevator chimed.

Julian Cross walked in. He didn’t look like a lawyer tonight; he looked like the Grim Reaper in a bespoke suit. He carried a heavy briefcase and a tablet.

”The police are ruling it a D.U.I.,” Julian said without preamble, placing the tablet on the desk. ”They found a bottle of vodka in the wreckage. Convenient.”

”And the firebombing?” Damien asked, his voice low.

”Electrical fault,” Julian scoffed. ”According to the preliminary report paid for by... let’s just say, ’friends’ of the Vale family.”

Aria stared at the tablet screen. It showed a photo of the crash site. A twisted heap of metal that used to be a luxury sedan.

”She’s erasing him,” Aria whispered. ”She knows he was the weak link. Evans signed the death certificate. He signed the prescription orders. If he testified, she would go away for life.”

”She was thorough,” Julian admitted. ”His office is ash. His home computer is ash. Even his cloud backups were wiped remotely ten minutes before the crash.”

”Not everything,” Aria said suddenly.

Both men looked at her.

”Dr. Evans was greedy,” Aria said, her mind racing back to her previous life.

In the original timeline, five years from now, Dr. Evans hadn’t died in a crash. He had been arrested for blackmailing a senator. It turned out he had been secretly recording his high-profile patients for decades, storing the audio files as an insurance policy.

”He was a parasite,” Aria continued, carefully framing her future knowledge as deduction. ”He charged my father double the standard rate. He took bribes from Lydia. A man like that doesn’t trust his partners. He knows that in a criminal conspiracy, the loose end gets cut. He would have kept leverage.”

”Leverage?” Damien leaned forward.

”Recordings,” Aria said. ”Notes. Something tangible he could use to threaten Lydia if she ever tried to cut him off. He wouldn’t keep it in his office or on a standard cloud server. He would keep it somewhere physical. Somewhere offline.”

Damien looked at Julian. ”Check his financials again. Not the bank accounts. Look for recurring cash payments. Storage units. Safety deposit boxes.”

Julian typed furiously. ”I checked his assets. Nothing.”

”Check his vices,” Aria suggested. ”In... rumors I heard, Evans was a gambler. Underground poker.”

Julian’s fingers flew across the keyboard. ”Accessing the vice squad’s watchlist... cross-referencing... here.”

He spun the laptop around.

”He had a membership at The Golden Lotus. It’s a high-stakes gambling den in Chinatown. He paid a monthly fee for a ’Private Locker’.”

”That’s it,” Aria said, a spark of triumph in her eyes. ”He wouldn’t trust a bank—banks respond to subpoenas. But a Triad-run gambling den? They don’t talk to the police.”

Damien stood up. The lethargy of the evening vanished, replaced by the kinetic energy of a predator scenting blood.

”If he died tonight, the rent on that locker expires soon,” Damien said. ”Or Lydia’s cleaners will figure it out.”

He pressed the intercom button.

”Ken. Get the car. And tell Kai to meet us in Chinatown. We need someone who speaks the language of the underground.”

”We?” Aria stood up.

”No,” Damien said firmly. ”You are staying here. Chinatown at midnight is not a place for my wife.”

”Clause 2,” Aria countered instantly. ”You protect me. You can’t protect me if I’m here and you’re there. And besides...”

She walked around the desk, stopping in front of him. She reached out, straightening his collar.

”I’m the only one who knows what Lydia sounds like when she’s lying. If there are recordings in that locker, I need to verify them.”

Damien looked down at her. He saw the fire in her eyes—the same fire that had burned down the Vale Estate earlier that day. He knew he couldn’t stop her. Not without tying her up, and while that was a tempting thought for other reasons, tonight was about war.

”Fine,” Damien relented, grabbing his jacket. ”But you stick to me like glue. If a fight starts, you get behind Kai. He’s expendable. You’re not.”

Aria smirked. ”I’ll be sure to tell him you said that.”

Forty minutes later, the Rolls Royce was parked in a shadowed alleyway in Chinatown.

The neon signs reflected in puddles of dirty water. The air smelled of roasted duck, garbage, and incense.

Kai was waiting for them, leaning against a graffiti-covered wall. He was wearing a silk bomber jacket with a dragon embroidered on the back, looking entirely at home.

”Boss,” Kai nodded to Damien. Then he winked at Aria. ”Sister-in-law. Nice apron earlier. Ken sent me a photo of the carnage. He was genuinely afraid for his life.”

Aria flushed. ”Ken is a snitch.”

”Focus, Kai,” Damien growled. ”The locker.”

”Right. The Golden Lotus,” Kai pointed to a nondescript door guarded by two men who looked like they chewed glass for breakfast. ”It’s members only. And they don’t like outsiders. Especially corporate types.”

”We’re not corporate tonight,” Damien said. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a stack of cash—thick, bound wads of hundred-dollar bills. ”Tonight, we’re high rollers.”

He turned to Aria. ”Take off the ring.”

Aria hesitated, then slid the massive diamond engagement ring off her finger. It was too recognizable. She put it in her pocket.

”Stay close,” Damien ordered. He draped his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his side. His demeanor shifted. The cold, aristocratic CEO vanished. In his place stood a dark, dangerous man with money to burn and a beautiful woman on his arm.

They walked up to the bouncers.

Kai stepped forward, speaking rapid-fire Cantonese. He slipped a wad of cash into the lead bouncer’s hand. The bouncer looked at Damien, then at Aria. He grunted and opened the door.

The noise hit them first—the clatter of Mahjong tiles, the shouting of bets, the haze of cigarette smoke.

It was a different world.

”Locker room is in the back,” Kai whispered. ”But we have to play a hand first. To blend in.”

Damien steered Aria toward a Pai Gow table. He threw a stack of cash on the felt.

”Deal,” Damien commanded the dealer.

Aria watched him. She had seen him in boardrooms. She had seen him on movie sets. But seeing him here, in the underbelly of the city, perfectly calm amidst the chaos... it was a reminder.

Damien Sinclair wasn’t just a businessman. He was the King of the Capital. And Kings ruled everywhere.

”Eyes open, Aria,” Damien whispered against her ear, his hand tightening on her hip. ”We’re not the only ones looking for Evans’s secrets.”

Aria scanned the room. In the corner, near the bar, she saw a man in a black suit watching them. He wasn’t gambling. He was talking into a wrist microphone.

”We have company,” Aria whispered back.

”I know,” Damien smiled, a terrifying, shark-like expression. ”Let them come. I haven’t hit anyone since lunch.”