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

”Denied,” Damien said, stepping over Ken’s flailing legs with the casual grace of a man who wasn’t wearing tight leather trousers and a bondage harness. ”Your resignation is rejected. Your bonus, however, is approved.”

He pulled his phone from the pocket of his leather pants. He tapped the screen three times.

Ding.

Ken’s phone buzzed where it had fallen on the rug. He stopped thrashing against the vinyl prison of his trousers and looked at the notification. His eyes widened.

”Sir,” Ken whispered, ignoring the talcum powder cloud settling on his face. ”Is that... a phone number?”

”It’s a wire transfer,” Damien said. ”Tax-free. Consider it hazard pay. Now, get up. We have a schedule.”

Ken blinked. He looked at the zeros. He looked at the vinyl pants. He hated them. He hated this. But he loved money.

”Understood, sir,” Ken said, his voice dead inside. He grabbed Coco’s hand to hoist himself up. ”Vinyl is... the fabric of the future.”

”Good. Now, the main event.”

Aria turned her predatory gaze toward the corner of the room where Julian was edging toward the hallway.

”Julian. Sit.”

”Absolutely not,” Julian said, abandoning his dignity and breaking into a run. ”I am a named partner! I have rights!”

”Get him!” Aria shouted, grabbing a makeup brush in one hand and a tube of bright pink lipstick in the other.

She sprinted after him. Julian scrambled over the back of the sofa, but he was slowed down by the sheer mesh tank top getting caught on a cushion. Aria didn’t hesitate. She launched herself off the ottoman, tackling him mid-stride.

She landed on his back, wrapping her legs around his waist and locking her ankles.

”Get off me!” Julian shrieked, spinning around, trying to dislodge her. ”This is assault! I’ll sue!”

”You will be pretty!” Aria yelled, uncapping the lipstick.

She grabbed a handful of his hair to hold his head steady and smeared the lipstick aggressively across his mouth while he flailed. It went onto his cheek, his chin, and possibly his teeth.

”Submit, Julian! Submit to the glamour!”

”Fine! Fine! I yield!” Julian gasped, slumping against the wall, defeated by a woman half his size wielding cosmetics. ”Just get off my back!”

Aria hopped down. She looked at her handiwork. Julian looked like a clown who had lost a bar fight.

”See?” she panted, grinning. ”Was that so hard?”

She grabbed a wet wipe and cleaned the smear of pink from his chin and nose, leaving his lips stained a violent fuchsia. She shoved him into the makeup chair.

”Now, stay. Or I get the glitter glue.”

Julian sat, broken. ”I hate you. I hate all of you.”

”You love us,” Aria corrected.

She went to work.

She didn’t give him a smoky eye. She gave him the full Jojo Siwa experience. She painted a streak of glittery pink across his eyelids, added rhinestones to his temples, and finished with a star stamp on his cheekbone.

”And for the hair,” she muttered, grabbing a tub of industrial-strength gel. ”We need altitude.”

She slicked his hair up into a spiky, defiant crest that defied gravity and good taste.

When she spun the chair around to face the mirror, Julian let out a sound of pure despair.

”I look like a rainbow threw up on a raccoon,” he whispered, touching his cheek. ”Aria, please, this is too much.”

Kai cackled from the couch, snapping a photo.

”But you’re too stiff,” Aria critiqued, walking around him. ”You stand like a lawyer. You need to stand like... a twink in distress. Relax your shoulders. Tilt your hip. Give me ’I’m lonely and expensive’.”

Julian tried to tilt his hip. He looked like he had a cramp.

”No, no,” Aria sighed. She grabbed his wrist and flopped it downward. ”Limp wrist, Julian. Channel your inner drama queen. Sashay. Don’t march.”

Julian stared at his own limp hand with horror. ”I am going to sue everyone in this room for emotional distress.”

”Coco!” Aria called out, ignoring him. ”I’m ready.”

Coco rushed over with a garment bag. ”The Madam is in the house!”

Aria stepped behind the privacy screen. When she emerged, the room went quiet.

She was wearing a white, tailored power suit with a plunging neckline and no shirt underneath. Draped over her shoulders was a massive, white faux-fur coat that screamed ’mob wife’. She slid on a pair of oversized sunglasses with gold frames and picked up a gold-tipped cane Coco had provided.

She looked expensive. She looked dangerous. She looked like she owned the building and everyone in it.

”Okay, team,” Aria said, tapping the cane on the floor once Coco had bustled out the door with his assistants. ”Listen up. We are not infiltrating. We are selling. I am the supplier. You are the product. We walk in, I propose a partnership with their management to feature my ’exclusive talent’, and we use the tour to access their files.”

She pointed the cane at Damien. ”You are ’The Alpha’. You don’t speak. You just look scary and expensive.”

Damien nodded, crossing his arms over the harness. The leather creaked.

”Kai, you are ’The Wildcard’. Flirt with everyone. Create chaos.”

”On it,” Kai saluted.

She looked at her team. A shirtless billionaire in a harness, a glittery information broker in leopard print, a lawyer who kind of looked like Troye Sivan if she squinted her eyes, and a depressed assistant in vinyl.

”We need a formation,” Aria said, moving a salt shaker on the counter. ”Damien and Ken on point. Julian, you stay in the back so they don’t see the straightness in your eyes—”

The front door opened.

None of them noticed. They were loudly discussing the formation.

Dr. Elias Thorne walked in.

He was wearing his lab coat, carrying a medical bag, looking exhausted. He had a key to Julian’s apartment.

”Julian, I left my stethoscope when I checked your vitals last week, and I—”

Elias stopped.

He stood in the doorway. He looked at the scene.

He looked at Damien’s harness. He looked at Kai’s crop top. He looked at the star stamped on Julian’s cheekbone. He looked at Ken squeezing his thighs into the vinyl.

He took off his glasses. He cleaned them on his tie. He put them back on.

The scene hadn’t changed.

”Right,” Elias said to the empty air. ”I’ve been awake for thirty-six hours. This is a hallucination.”

He stepped back out into the hallway.

He checked the apartment number on the door. 4B. Correct.

He looked back inside at the group of respectable men he knew since high school dressed like a high-end fetish circus.

”Nope,” Elias said.

He closed the door quietly and walked away.