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

The tour of the Sinclair Estate was less of a walk and more of a hike through a museum where fun was prohibited by law.

Damien led Aria down endless corridors lined with portraits of ancestors who all shared the same nose and the same expression of chronic indigestion. The silence was heavy, broken only by the click of Aria’s heels on the marble and the distant, muffled sounds of servants scurrying away from their path.

”This place is huge,” Aria muttered, dodging a suit of armor that looked ready to tip over. ”And dusty. Do you have a map, or do we just wander until we die of exposure?”

”I know the way,” Damien said, his hand warm on her lower back, guiding her through a maze of turns she had already lost track of.

Aria looked around. The estate was impressive, yes, but it was also oppressive. It screamed legacy and burden. It was everything she was fighting against.

She reached into the inner pocket of Damien’s suit jacket—having slipped her phone there before the footman took her clutch—and fished it out.

”What are you doing?” Damien asked, glancing down as she invaded his personal space to retrieve her device.

”Documenting the trauma,” Aria replied, tapping the Instagram icon. ”And asserting dominance. Your grandfather wants to hide me? I’m going to put his house on the internet.”

She hit ’Go Live’.

@AriaSinclair is LIVE.Viewers: 12,503 (climbing rapidly)

”Hey guys,” Aria chirped at the screen, holding the phone up for a selfie angle that captured her neon feathers and the gloomy stone walls perfectly. ”Welcome to my humble weekend getaway. It’s giving ’Dracula’s Summer Home’, don’t you think?”

She spun around, panning the camera to a particularly ugly tapestry depicting a stag hunt.

”Check out this decor. It’s very... beige. And dead. If you listen closely, you can hear the ghosts of fun weeping in the walls.”

Comments exploded:@TeaSpiller_X: OMG THE SHADE@CastleFreak99: Is that a real castle?! It’s HUGE.@WifeLife_Goals: Show us the hubby!!! We know he’s there!@Neon_Nightmare: Goth Queen vibes. Slay the beige!

Aria giggled, walking backward down the hall. ”We’re currently following the Master of the House to... actually, I have no idea where we are going. Damien?”

She turned the camera toward him.

”Where are you taking me, Mr. Sinclair? The dungeon? The tower? A secret laboratory?”

Damien didn’t stop walking. He barely glanced at the phone, but the corner of his mouth quirked up.

”The East Wing,” he said, his voice deep and echoing in the corridor.

”The East Wing,” Aria repeated to the camera. ”Sounds ominous. I love it.”

She passed a marble bust of a stern-looking man.

”This is... Uncle Cornelius? I think? He looks like he judged people for a living. Kind of a vibe, honestly.”

Damien watched her. He should have stopped her. The Sinclair privacy protocols were strict; no media inside the main house. His grandfather would have a stroke if he knew Aria was broadcasting the family crest to two hundred thousand teenagers.

But he didn’t stop her. He leaned against a pillar as she paused to film a chandelier, crossing his arms, a slow smile spreading across his face.

She was mocking the very thing that had terrified him as a child. She was taking the heavy, suffocating weight of the Sinclair legacy and turning it into a backdrop for her own show. She was shrinking the monsters until they were just content.

”And here,” Aria said, turning the camera back toward him, ”is the tour guide. He’s very expensive. Highly recommended.”

She zoomed in on Damien.

He looked devastating in the dim hallway light—black suit, unbuttoned collar, silver hair falling over his forehead. He looked at the camera with a bored, predatory arrogance that made the comments section go feral.

Comments:@Daddy_Issues_Official: DADDY????@RomanceReader_99: The way he looks at her... I am unwell.@SingleAndLooking: Does he have a brother? A cousin? A clone?@Respectfully_Simping: HELLO SIR.

”Say hi to the fans, darling,” Aria teased, stepping closer. ”They think you’re scary.”

Damien pushed off the pillar. He walked toward her, his stride eating up the distance in two seconds.

”I am scary,” he murmured.

He reached out, his hand wrapping around the hand holding the phone. He didn’t take it away. He just steadied it, then lowered it slightly so the angle captured both of them—her flushed face, his darkening eyes.

”But not to you.”

He leaned in, his free hand sliding around her waist, pulling her into his body with a force that made her gasp. The neon feathers of her dress were crushed between them.

”You’re filming,” Aria whispered, her eyes wide. ”They can see us.”

”Let them see,” Damien growled. ”Let them see who you belong to.”

He kissed the sensitive spot just below her ear, his teeth grazing the skin. Aria shivered, her head falling back, exposing her throat to the millions watching.

”Damien...”

”Turn it off,” he commanded against her neck, his voice a low vibration that the microphone picked up perfectly. ”I don’t want to share you anymore.”

Aria fumbled with the screen. ”B-But the tour...”

”The tour is over,” Damien said, biting her lip gently. ”Now it’s private viewing only.”

He reached over and tapped ’End Stream’.

The screen went black.

Aria stared at the blank phone, her heart racing. ”You just cut off 500,000 people.”

Damien took the phone from her limp fingers and slid it back into his own pocket.

He looked at her. The playfulness was gone. The hunger was back.

”We’re here,” he said.

He opened a set of heavy double doors at the end of the hall.

It was a massive suite, dominated by dark wood, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the cliffs, and a fireplace that was already crackling with life. It smelled of him—cedar, leather, and rain.

”Your old room?” Aria asked, stepping inside.

”My sanctuary,” Damien responded. He kicked the door shut behind them and locked it.

He turned to her, his eyes blazing.

”We have fifteen minutes before the vultures expect us,” he said, walking toward her, unbuttoning his jacket and tossing it onto a chair without breaking eye contact.

”Fifteen minutes?” Aria swallowed hard, her back hitting the heavy oak door. ”That’s not enough time.”

”It’s enough to start,” Damien growled.

He didn’t waste another second. He crowded her against the wood, his hands gripping her thighs as he lifted her up effortlessly. Aria gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist, the neon dress bunching up around her hips.

”I want to ruin you,” he rasped, his face buried in her neck, inhaling her scent like a man starving for oxygen. ”I want to wreck this dress. I want to leave marks on you that no amount of foundation can cover.”

His mouth found hers, hot and demanding. He devoured her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, his hands kneading her ass through the black lace.

”Damien,” she moaned into his mouth, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

”Tell me to stop,” he challenged, his voice rough with need, pressing his hips against hers, letting her feel the hard ridge of his erection through his trousers. ”Tell me we don’t have time.”

”I don’t care about time,” Aria whispered, pulling him closer.

”Good,” Damien responded against her lips.