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

The streetlights of the Old District flickered past the tinted windows of the sedan, casting rhythmic shadows across the leather interior.

Aria sat with the ledger open on her lap, her bandaged fingers tracing the columns of ink. To the untrained eye, it looked like a standard inventory list for a dry goods store—entries for ”Dried Mushrooms,” ”Ginseng Root,” and ”Oolong Tea.”

But to Aria, it read like an obituary.

”It’s a substitution cipher,” she murmured, her eyes scanning the dates. ” ’Mushrooms’ are sedatives. ’Ginseng’ is arsenic. And ’Oolong’... Oolong is the neurotoxin base.”

She pointed to a specific entry dated two days ago.

Client: L.L. Item: Oolong (Special Grade). Quantity: 50g. Price: Urgent.

”She didn’t just buy it,” Aria whispered. ”She paid a rush fee. She was panicked.”

Damien watched her from the seat beside her. He wasn’t looking at the book; he was looking at her profile. The way her brow furrowed in concentration, the way her lips moved silently as she translated the codes.

”You read the language of thieves fluently,” Damien noted, his voice low. ”Mandarin. Poisons. Ciphers. Is there anything you don’t know how to do, Mrs. Sinclair?”

Aria looked up, meeting his gaze. The adrenaline of the raid was fading, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness.

”I don’t know how to knit,” she said with a tired smile. ”And I’m terrible at cooking, as you recently discovered.”

Damien chuckled, reaching out to take the ledger from her. He closed it firmly.

”Stop working,” he commanded gently. ”Kai can verify the handwriting and cross-reference the bank transfers in the morning. Tonight, you’re done.”

”I’m not done until she’s in handcuffs,” Aria argued, though she didn’t fight him for the book.

”You’re shaking,” Damien pointed out. He took her hand—the one she had slammed onto the counter earlier—and inspected the bandages. A small spot of fresh red had bloomed on the white gauze. ”You reopened the wounds.”

Aria looked down. ”It was worth it. We have the proof.”

”We have a book,” Damien corrected. ”Proof is what Julian builds out of it. Your job was to find the thread. You pulled it. Now let me handle the rest.”

The car slowed, turning into the private underground entrance of Sinclair Tower. As the heavy steel gates closed behind them, shutting out the city and the danger, Aria felt her shoulders finally drop.

They rode the elevator up in silence. When the doors opened to the penthouse, the quiet luxury of the space felt almost jarring after the grit of the herbalist’s shop.

”Go sit,” Damien ordered, gesturing to the living room sofa. ”I’ll get the first aid kit. Again.”

Aria sat down, kicking off her boots. She watched as Damien shed his jacket and gun holster, placing them on the entry table before rolling up his sleeves. He moved with a domestic efficiency that was at odds with the violence of his reputation.

He returned with the kit and a bowl of warm water. He knelt in front of her, just as he had the night before.

”Give me your hands.”

Aria held them out. ”I feel like a porcelain doll,” she complained as he began to unwrap the gauze. ”I used to handle everything myself. Now I have a driver, a stylist, and a husband who treats me like I’m made of glass.”

”You’re not made of glass,” Damien said, his eyes focused on peeling the sticky tape away from her skin without hurting her. ”Glass breaks. You don’t break. You just... chip.”

He exposed her palms. The cuts were angry and inflamed from the strain of the day.

”But even diamonds need polishing,” he added softly.

He cleaned the wounds in silence. The sting of the antiseptic made Aria hiss, but she didn’t pull away. There was something incredibly intimate about this—about the Demon King on his knees, tending to her scrapes.

”Damien?”

”Hmm?”

”Why do you do this?” Aria asked. ”The contract... it doesn’t require this. You could have sent me to a hospital. You could have sent a bodyguard to the pharmacy.”

Damien paused, holding a fresh roll of gauze. He looked up at her. His golden eyes were stripped of their usual guarded cynicism.

”Because you’re the only one who stayed,” he said simply.

Aria blinked. ”Stayed?”

”In the gas chamber,” Damien said. ”Everyone else runs. My family runs. My enemies run. Even my friends... they keep a distance because they know I’m a bomb waiting to go off.”

He finished wrapping her left hand and moved to the right.

”But when the air ran out, and I told you to leave... you stayed. You put needles in my neck and held your breath.”

He secured the clip on the bandage and sat back on his heels, his hands resting on her knees.

”You risked your life for a contract, Aria. So don’t ask me why I’m bandaging your hands. It’s the least I can do.”

Aria looked at him. Her heart did a slow, heavy thud in her chest. She realized, with a terrifying clarity, that the ”transaction” was becoming the most real thing in her life.

”I didn’t do it for the contract,” she whispered.

Damien went still. ”Then why?”

Aria leaned forward. She couldn’t tell him the truth—that in her past life, she had died alone, and she refused to let anyone else die that way. So she told him the other truth.

”Because you’re my partner,” she said. ”And because... you look terrible in a hospital gown.”

Damien laughed. It was a rich, warm sound that filled the room.

He stood up, pulling her to her feet. He was careful not to squeeze her hands.

”Go to bed, Mrs. Sinclair,” he said, steering her toward the Master Suite. ”I have to send these files to Kai.”

”You’re not coming?” Aria asked, stopping at the door.

Damien hesitated. He looked at the empty side of the bed. Then he looked at the office door.

”The pain is gone,” he said. ”I don’t need a treatment.”

”I know,” Aria said. She stepped closer, invading his personal space. She looked up at him through her lashes. ”But maybe... I need one?”

Damien’s breath hitched. ”You’re injured.”

”My hands are injured,” Aria corrected. ”The rest of me is fine.”

She reached up, her bandaged hand resting lightly on his chest, right over his heart.

”And it’s a big bed, Damien. It feels cold when you’re not in it.”

Damien stared down at her. He saw the invitation in her eyes. It wasn’t a game. It wasn’t manipulation. It was an olive branch.

”Five minutes,” he rasped. ”Let me send the files. Then... I’m off the clock.”

Aria smiled. ”Don’t be late.”

She walked into the bedroom, leaving the door open.

Damien watched her go. He looked at the ledger on the table. He looked at his phone.

He grabbed the ledger, took a photo of the cipher page, hit ’send’ to Kai, and turned off his phone.

The war could wait until morning. Tonight, the King was going to bed.