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

The air inside The Golden Lotus was thick enough to chew. It smelled of unfiltered tobacco, expensive cologne, and the metallic tang of adrenaline.

Damien sat at the Pai Gow table, his jacket discarded, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal the lean muscle of his forearms. He looked relaxed, almost bored, as he stacked his chips. But Aria, standing behind his chair with her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, could feel the tension radiating off him like heat from a furnace.

His eyes were scanning the room, tracking the exits, the guards, and the man in the black suit who was still watching them from the bar.

”Place your bets,” the dealer intoned, his voice raspy.

Damien pushed a stack of bills into the center. ”All in.”

The table went silent. The other players—a mix of nervous businessmen and hardened criminals—stared at the mountain of cash.

Across the table, a man with a scar running through his eyebrow chuckled. This was Iron Tooth, the floor manager and enforcer. He was the gatekeeper to the back rooms.

”You’re in a hurry, Mr. Suit,” Iron Tooth sneered, revealing a gold-capped canine. ”Where’s the fire?”

”No fire,” Damien said calmly. ”Just a schedule. I have a locker to check.”

Iron Tooth’s eyes narrowed. ”Locker area is for VIPs only. And VIP status isn’t bought with cash. It’s bought with respect.”

He gestured to the tiles.

”Beat me, and you get a pass. Lose, and you leave. Without the cash. And without the girl.”

Aria felt Damien’s shoulder muscles coil tight under her hand.

”The girl isn’t part of the bet,” Damien said, his voice dropping to that dangerous, subsonic rumble.

”Everything is part of the bet in The Golden Lotus,” Iron Tooth grinned.

Aria squeezed Damien’s shoulder. She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear.

”Play,” she whispered. ”I’ll handle the respect.”

Damien looked at her. He saw the cold glint in her emerald eyes. He nodded once.

The tiles were dealt.

Pai Gow was a game of strategy, but in a place like this, it was also a game of cheating. Aria watched Iron Tooth’s hands. They were fast. Too fast. As he arranged his tiles, she saw a flicker of movement—a tile disappearing up his sleeve, replaced by another.

He was cheating. And he was good at it.

If Damien played fair, he would lose.

Aria scanned the room. She needed a distraction. Something subtle.

Her eyes landed on a waiter carrying a tray of drinks to the table. He was young, nervous, sweating.

Aria moved.

She stepped away from Damien’s chair, swaying slightly as if she were tipsy from the atmosphere. She walked past the waiter just as he was passing Iron Tooth.

With a flick of her wrist, she pulled a silver needle from her hair.

She didn’t stab the waiter. That would be messy. Instead, she brushed past him, her needle pricking the Hegu point on his hand—the point connected to the large intestine meridian, but more importantly, a point that could cause a sudden, involuntary muscle spasm if stimulated correctly.

The waiter’s hand jerked.

The tray tipped.

Three glasses of red wine and a tumbler of whiskey cascaded directly onto Iron Tooth’s lap.

”GAH!” Iron Tooth roared, jumping up. ”You idiot!”

In the chaos, while Iron Tooth was shaking off the liquid and backhanding the waiter, Damien moved.

His hand was a blur. He didn’t cheat. He simply reached across the table and flipped Iron Tooth’s tiles face up.

”You lose,” Damien said calmly.

He revealed the hidden tile that had fallen out of Iron Tooth’s sleeve when he jumped up. A Gee Joon tile.

The room went deadly silent.

Iron Tooth stared at the tile on the floor. Then he looked at Damien. Then he looked at Aria, who was standing innocently by the bar, checking her nails.

”You set me up,” Iron Tooth hissed, reaching for his waistband.

Before he could draw the gun, Kai materialized from the crowd. He slammed a heavy briefcase onto the table.

Thud.

He opened it. It wasn’t money. It was blackmail.

”Photos of you skimming off the top of the Triad’s profits,” Kai said cheerfully. ”Taken last Tuesday. Do you want me to show them to the Dragon Head? Or do you want to give Mr. Sinclair the key to Locker 402?”

Iron Tooth froze. His face went from red to white.

He looked at the briefcase. He looked at Damien, who hadn’t even flinched.

Slowly, Iron Tooth reached into his pocket. He pulled out a magnetic key card.

He slid it across the table.

”You have five minutes,” Iron Tooth growled. ”Then the shift changes. And I won’t be responsible for what happens.”

Damien took the card. He stood up, buttoning his jacket. He walked over to Aria, offering his arm.

”Shall we, Mrs. Sinclair?”

Aria took his arm. ”After you, Mr. Wallet.”

They walked past the stunned gamblers and into the back hallway. The air here was cooler, smelling of old concrete and secrets.

They found Locker 402. It was a rusted metal box in a wall of identical boxes.

Damien swiped the card. The light turned green.

Click.

He opened the door.

It wasn’t empty. But it didn’t contain stacks of cash or gold bars.

Inside was a single, leather-bound notebook. And a digital voice recorder.

Aria reached for the notebook. Her hands were shaking. She recognized the handwriting on the cover. It was Dr. Evans’s scrawl.

[Patient: Eleanor Vale. Session Notes: Private.]

”This is it,” Aria whispered. ”The proof.”

She opened the book.

The first page wasn’t medical notes. It was a log.

January 14, 2014: Payment received from L.L. Condition worsening. Administered Compound B as requested.February 2, 2014: Patient suspects food poisoning. Increased dosage. L.L. promises bonus.March 10, 2014: Patient deceased. Cause of death listed as Cardiac Arrest. Bonus received.

Tears welled in Aria’s eyes. It was all there. The dates. The money. The murder.

”She poisoned her,” Aria choked out. ”For months. My mother spent her last days thinking she was sick, and they were killing her slowly.”

Damien took the book from her gently. He looked at the entries, his jaw tight.

”We have her,” Damien said. ”This puts her away for life.”

He reached for the voice recorder.

”Let’s see what this says.”

He pressed play.

A voice crackled to life. It wasn’t Dr. Evans.

It was a woman’s voice. Smooth. Cultured. French accent.

”Hello, Aria. Hello, Damien.”

Aria’s blood froze.

It was Lydia.

”If you’re listening to this, then poor Dr. Evans is dead. I assumed he would keep a backup. He was always so predictable.”

The recording laughed softly.

”Did you really think I would leave loose ends? I’ve known about this locker for years. I let him keep it because it made him feel safe. But now that he’s gone... well, I suppose I should thank you for retrieving it for me.”

Click.

The door behind them slammed shut. The electronic lock engaged with a heavy thud.

Damien spun around. He threw his shoulder against the door. It didn’t budge.

”It’s a trap,” Damien growled.

From the ventilation duct above, a faint hissing sound started. A white gas began to drift down.

”Sleeping gas,” Kai yelled from the hallway outside—his voice muffled through the thick steel door. ”Damien! They sealed the corridor! I can’t get in!”

Aria looked at Damien. They were trapped in a steel box, with evidence that was now worthless, and gas filling the room.

Damien grabbed her, pulling her face into his chest, covering her nose and mouth with his jacket.

”Don’t breathe,” he ordered.

But Aria was looking at the notebook in his hand.

”Damien,” she mumbled into his shirt. ”The notebook... the pages... they’re wet.”

Damien looked down. The ink on the pages was smearing. Not from water.

It was contact poison.

His hand, the one holding the book, was already turning a distinct shade of purple.

”Fuck,” Damien swore, dropping the book.

He looked at his hand. He looked at Aria.

And for the first time since she had met him, Aria saw fear in the Demon King’s eyes.

Not for himself. For her.

”Aria,” he whispered, his voice slurring slightly as the neurotoxin hit his bloodstream. ”You need... to get out.”

He slumped against the lockers, sliding down to the floor.

”Damien!” Aria screamed, dropping to her knees beside him. She grabbed his face. His skin was burning up. The poison was interacting with his nerve condition, accelerating the effects.

She had her needles. She had her skills.

But she was locked in a gas chamber with a dying man, and the only way out was through an army of Triad enforcers who had clearly just been bought by Lydia Laurent.

The war had just turned lethal.