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

Studio 4 smelled like burnt coffee, hairspray, and desperation.

Usually, Aria loved this smell. It was the scent of work, of ambition, of creating something out of nothing. But today, stepping onto the soundstage at 6:00 AM after taking a helicopter ride away from a crime scene, it just smelled... fake.

She walked past the craft services table, ignoring the donuts. Her body was still humming with the adrenaline of the weekend. Her skin still felt hot from Damien’s touch. It was disorienting to look at the plywood set of the ”Imperial Palace” and remember that a few hours ago, she was looking at a Viper mark on her sister-in-law’s wrist.

”Aria!”

Lucas popped out from behind a costume rack like a jack-in-the-box.

He looked... different. The arrogance that usually clung to him like cheap cologne was gone, replaced by a frantic, wide-eyed eagerness. He was holding a cardboard cup carrier with trembling hands.

”I got you coffee,” Lucas said, thrusting a cup at her. ”Caramel Macchiato. Extra whip. Just how you used to like it in high school.”

Aria looked at the cup. It was a diabetic coma in a cup.

”I drink black coffee now, Lucas,” she said, not taking it. ”And I haven’t been in high school for a very long time.”

Lucas’s face fell. ”Oh. Right. I can... I can go get another one? There’s a Starbucks across the lot. I can run.”

”Save your energy,” Aria said, walking past him toward the makeup trailer. ”You’re going to need it for the scene.”

”I memorized it!” Lucas trotted after her, ditching the sugary coffee in a trash can. ”I stayed up all night. I know my lines. I won’t let you down today, Aria. I promise.”

He sounded desperate. He sounded like a man who had realized he was playing checkers while everyone else was playing 4D chess with live ammunition.

”Good,” Aria said, stepping into the trailer. ”Because if you ruin my close-up, I’m going to tell the press about the bed-wetting incident from 2018.”

Lucas paled. ”You wouldn’t.”

”Try me.”

Two hours later, Aria sat on the replica Dragon Throne, dressed in the heavy, ceremonial red robes of Consort Li. The makeup artist had painted her lips a deep, blood red and sharpened her eyeliner until it could cut glass.

”Quiet on set!” the Assistant Director yelled. ”Scene 82. The Fall. Take one.”

The studio lights flared, blindingly bright.

”Action!”

Lucas stepped into the frame. He was wearing the Emperor’s golden armor. He looked at Aria sitting on the throne—his throne—and for a moment, the fear on his face was real. He wasn’t looking at Consort Li. He was looking at Aria Sinclair, the woman who had shattered his ego on a reality show and then ignored him for his uncle.

”Li,” Lucas said, his voice trembling perfectly. ”Do you think your silence protects you? In this court, silence is an admission of guilt.”

He delivered the line well. He was actually trying.

Aria stood up. The red robes rustled like spilling blood. She walked down the steps of the dais, moving with the predatory grace she had learned from Damien.

”My silence is not guilt, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice low and smooth. ”It is mercy. Because if I spoke the truth, your empire would crumble.”

Lucas swallowed. He stepped back as she approached. This was the moment. The script said the Emperor was supposed to grab her, to shake her, to demand the truth.

But Lucas didn’t grab her. He couldn’t. He looked at her eyes—green, cold, and judging—and he froze.

”Then speak,” Lucas whispered, the line coming out as a plea rather than a command.

Aria stopped inches from him. She remembered the helicopter. She remembered Damien’s voice in the dark, rewriting the script, turning a weak moment into a declaration of war.

She channeled every ounce of the ”Scarlet Queen,” every ounce of the woman who had faced down Grandfather Sinclair and slapped Lydia Laurent.

She leaned in, her lips brushing Lucas’s ear.

”Burn it down,” she improvised, using Damien’s words. ”I would rather rule the ashes with you than a kingdom without you.”

The silence on set was absolute.

Lucas stared at her. His pupils dilated. The line was terrifying, romantic, and completely unhinged. It wasn’t something a normal person said. It was something a monster said to another monster.

And for a split second, Lucas looked at her not with regret, but with a terrifying, twisted adoration. ℴ

”Cut!” the Director screamed, jumping out of his chair. ”Genius! The tension! The chemistry! That was... holy shit, that was dark! Print it! Moving on!”

The spell broke.

Aria stepped back, her expression instantly shifting to boredom.

”You’re welcome,” she muttered to Lucas.

Lucas stood there, panting slightly. ”That line... where did you get that?”

”From a better writer,” Aria said.

She turned and walked off the set, leaving him standing there in the dust of her performance.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of retakes, lighting adjustments, and camera shifts. Lucas didn’t fumble another line; he was too busy staring at her with that new, unsettling intensity, treating every word she spoke like gospel. It was suffocating.

By the time the Assistant Director finally yelled ”That’s a wrap for the day!”, Aria’s head was pounding under the weight of the golden headdress. She retreated to her private trailer, collapsing onto the small sofa as the wardrobe assistants began to unclasp the heavy ceremonial robes. She closed her eyes, letting out a long breath.

She just wanted to go home.

Once she was back in her street clothes, she reached for her bag.

Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her jeans.

She pulled it out, expecting a text from Zoe asking her how the weekend went.

It was Damien.

[The Wallet: I’m at Julian’s. It’s worse than we thought. Come straight here. Do not stop for coffee.]

Aria’s blood ran cold.

”It’s never just a movie,” she whispered to herself.