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

The backup car—a heavily armored SUV that smelled of gun oil and spearmint gum—tore through the rain-slicked streets of the capital.

Kai was driving like a man possessed, weaving through traffic with a terrifying disregard for the law. In the back seat, Aria sat with Damien’s head in her lap.

He was burning up.

The neurotoxin had triggered a cytokine storm. His skin was dry and hot to the touch, and his tremors had returned with a vengeance, racking his body with violent shudders.

”Stay with me,” Aria whispered, her hands pressing cool cloths (found in the car’s emergency kit) to his forehead and neck. ”We’re almost there. Just breathe, Damien. Breathe.”

Damien’s eyes were slit open, glazed and unfocused. He wasn’t seeing her. He was seeing the darkness of his own mind.

”No...” he mumbled, his voice a delirious rasp. ”Don’t... let them... take her.”

Aria’s heart clenched. Even while dying, he was worried about her being taken.

”No one is taking anyone,” Aria promised fiercely. ”I’m right here. I’m holding you.”

”Elias is prepped,” Kai shouted from the front, drifting around a corner. ”We’re two minutes out. Hold on, Sister-in-law, I’m taking the sidewalk.”

The SUV jumped the curb, scattering trash cans as Kai bypassed a red light.

Dr. Elias Thorne’s ”private clinic” was actually a fortress disguised as a high-end wellness center in the quietest district of the city.

When the SUV screeched to a halt in the underground ambulance bay, a team was already waiting. Elias stood at the front, looking less like a doctor and more like a general losing a war. He was wearing scrubs, his stethoscope gone, replaced by a grim determination.

”Get him on the gurney!” Elias barked as Kai threw the doors open. ”Vitals?”

”Pulse is 160. Temp is 104 and rising,” Aria reported instantly, jumping out of the car. She didn’t wait for permission. She grabbed the side of the gurney as they wheeled Damien toward the trauma room. ”Neurotoxin. Contact absorption. It triggered a histamine cascade and a seizure.”

Elias looked at her, surprised by the clinical precision of her report. ”Did you secure the airway?”

”Gold needles,” Aria said, pointing to the pins still sticking out of Damien’s neck and wrist. ”Stimulated the laryngeal muscles to prevent collapse. But he needs a massive dose of atropine and a cooling protocol immediately.”

”Get him inside!” Elias shouted to his nurses.

They burst into the trauma room. The bright lights were blinding after the dark alley.

”Everyone out except the core team!” Elias ordered.

”I’m staying,” Aria said.

”This is a sterile field, Aria,” Elias snapped, grabbing a syringe. ”You’re a civilian. Wait in the lobby.”

”I’m his wife,” Aria countered, stepping up to the other side of the bed. She grabbed a pair of gloves from the dispenser and snapped them on. ”And those needles in his neck? If you pull them out wrong, you’ll paralyze his vocal cords. I put them in. I take them out.”

Elias paused, the syringe hovering over Damien’s IV line. He looked at the gold pins. He looked at Aria’s steady hands.

He realized then that the ”actress” label was a very, very thin mask.

”Fine,” Elias grunted. ”Don’t get in my way.”

The next hour was a blur of controlled chaos.

Elias handled the chemistry—flushing Damien’s system with antidotes and fluids. Aria handled the energy.

While the nurses packed Damien in ice to lower his fever, Aria worked on his meridians. She replaced the gold pins with her own silver ones, creating a ”net” around his heart and brain to protect them from the toxin’s shockwaves.

It was the Thirteen Ghost Needles technique—the fourth needle, Ghost Heart. It was risky. It was ancient. And it was working.

Kai watched from the observation window, pacing like a caged tiger. Julian Cross had arrived ten minutes ago, standing silently beside him, his face a mask of cold fury.

”She’s actually doing it,” Kai whispered, watching Aria work in sync with Elias. ”She’s keeping his heart rate down manually.”

”She saved him,” Julian noted, his eyes tracking the monitors. ”If she hadn’t opened his airway in that gas chamber, he would have been brain-dead before you breached the wall.”

Julian adjusted his glasses.

”Remind me never to draft a divorce paper for them. She would win.”

By 3:00 AM, the crisis had passed.

Damien was stable. He had been moved to a private recovery suite that looked more like a five-star hotel room than a hospital. The monitors beeped with a steady, reassuring rhythm.

Elias walked out of the room, peeling off his gloves. He looked exhausted.

”He’ll live,” Elias announced to the group waiting in the hallway. ”His liver isn’t happy, and he’s going to have a migraine that could kill a dinosaur when he wakes up, but the toxin is neutralized.”

Aria was leaning against the wall, her eyes closed. She was still wearing the jeans and leather jacket from the raid, now stained with grease and rain. Her rose-gold hair was coming loose from its ponytail.

”Thank you, Elias,” she whispered.

Elias turned to her. His gaze was intense, dissecting.

”Those needles,” Elias said. ”That wasn’t standard acupuncture. You blocked the pain receptors in his spinal column without drugs. That’s... theoretically impossible.”

”Impossible is just a lack of imagination,” Aria replied, opening her eyes. They were dull with fatigue.

”Where did you learn it?” Elias pressed. ”I checked your background, Aria. You went to a Swiss boarding school. You studied Art History. You didn’t study ancient TCM.”

Aria pushed herself off the wall. ”I had a lot of free time in the library. And a very eccentric tutor.”

It was the lie she had prepared. The ”Secret Mentor” cover story.

Elias didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. He respected results, and the result was breathing in the next room.

”Go sit down,” Elias said, gesturing to the waiting area chairs. ”You look like you’re about to pass out.”

”I’m fine,” Aria said. ”I need to call Zoe. We need to control the news cycle. If the press finds out Damien Sinclair was poisoned in a gambling den, the stock will crash.”

”Already handled,” Julian spoke up.

The lawyer stepped forward, holding his phone.

”I released a statement ten minutes ago. Mr. Sinclair was hospitalized for ’severe food poisoning’ after dining at a local restaurant. We are suing the restaurant for negligence.”

”Food poisoning?” Kai snorted. ”That’s weak, Julian. I would have gone with ’Heroic Rescue of Orphans’.”

”Food poisoning is boring,” Julian corrected. ”Boring doesn’t make the front page. It buries the lede. By tomorrow, the news will be focused on Lydia’s tax fraud, not Damien’s stomach.”

Aria nodded. ”Good. And Lydia?”

”She’s in holding,” Julian said, a cruel smile touching his lips. ”Her lawyers are trying to get bail, but the IRS moves slowly. She’ll be in a cell for at least forty-eight hours.”

”Forty-eight hours,” Aria murmured. ”That’s enough time.”

”Enough time for what?” Kai asked.

”To find the leak,” Aria said. Her voice hardened. ”Lydia knew about the locker. She knew we were going there. She set the trap. That means someone told her we found Evans.”

The three men went silent.

”We were the only ones who knew,” Kai said slowly. ”Me. You. Damien. Julian.”

”And Ken,” Aria added.

Kai froze. ”Ken? No. Ken is loyal. He’s been with Damien for six years.”

”Loyalty has a price,” Aria said tiredly. ”Or a pressure point. Lydia is good at finding pressure points.”

She looked at the door to Damien’s room.

”I’m going to sit with him. If he wakes up, he’ll need...”

”Treatment,” Kai finished for her, a knowing look in his eyes.

Aria flushed slightly, remembering the safe house. ”Pain management. Just pain management.”

She walked into the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Inside, it was quiet. Damien lay on the bed, looking pale and mortal. The wires and tubes connected to him seemed alien on his powerful frame.

Aria walked over and sat in the chair by the bedside. She reached out, taking his large, limp hand in hers. His skin was finally cool.

”You idiot,” she whispered, bringing his knuckles to her lips. ”I told you to let me go first. Why did you shield me?”

There was no answer, only the steady beep of the monitor.

Aria rested her head on the mattress, her hand still holding his. Exhaustion finally dragged her under.

But as she slept, she didn’t dream of the asylum. She dreamt of silver hair and golden eyes, and a voice that promised to burn the world down for her.

Outside in the hallway, Kai looked at Julian.

”Check Ken’s bank accounts,” Kai ordered, his voice devoid of its usual humor. ”And check his family. If Lydia touched them... he might have cracked.”

Julian nodded, tapping on his phone.

The Wolf Pack was hunting. And this time, they were looking for one of their own.