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

The parking lot of The Rusty Anchor was cold, damp, and smelled faintly of sea salt and exhaust fumes.

Aria sprinted out the back exit, scanning the road.

Nothing.

Taillights faded in the distance as a sedan turned the corner onto the main highway. Lucas was gone. And he had taken Bella with him.

”Damn it,” Aria hissed, kicking a pebble.

She turned back toward the parking lot, her mind racing. If Lucas had taken Bella in his car, that meant Bella’s car was still here. And if Bella’s car was here...

Aria scanned the rows of vehicles. Amidst the sensible sedans and beat-up trucks of the crew members, one vehicle stood out like a diamond in a pile of coal.

It was a custom G-Wagon wrapped in iridescent, pearlescent pink vinyl. It looked like a Barbie Jeep that had joined a cartel.

”Subtle, Bella,” Aria muttered, marching over to it. ”Very demure.”

She reached the SUV. She tried the driver’s side door handle. Locked. She tried the passenger side. Locked.

She pressed her face against the tinted glass, cupping her hands around her eyes to block out the streetlights.

There it was.

Sitting in the center console cup holder, plugged into a USB charger, was Bella’s phone. The screen was dark, but the little lightning bolt icon on the cable connector was glowing green. It was alive. And it held the video that could change everything.

”Okay,” Aria whispered, stepping back and assessing the vehicle. ”How do I get you out without smashing the window and setting off the alarm?”

She circled the car. The windows were reinforced privacy glass. Breaking them would require a brick and would definitely summon the bouncers from the pub.

Then, she saw it.

The sunroof.

It wasn’t fully open, but it was tilted up at the back for ventilation—a sliver of open air about three inches high.

”I can work with that,” Aria decided.

She looked around. The parking lot was deserted. The party was raging inside.

She kicked off her heels, tossing them under the car so she wouldn’t roll an ankle. She grabbed the roof rack and hoisted herself up. The metal was cold and slippery. She scrambled onto the roof of the G-Wagon, her leather jacket squeaking against the vinyl wrap.

”This is dignified,” she told herself, crawling on her hands and knees across the roof. ”This is exactly what Mrs. Sinclair should be doing on a Tuesday night.”

She reached the sunroof. She curled her fingers under the glass panel and pulled. It groaned. She braced her feet and yanked. With a sickening crunch of gears, the mechanism gave way, sliding open just enough for a human body to squeeze through.

”Thank you, cheap aftermarket modifications,” Aria muttered.

She lay flat on her stomach, wiggling her upper body toward the opening. She stuck her arm through the gap. Her fingertips brushed the leather of the center console, but the phone was still six inches out of reach.

”Damn T-Rex arms,” she hissed.

She pushed harder. The glass pressed against her shoulder. She managed to wedge her head and one shoulder through the gap. Then her waist.

She slid forward, gravity taking over. She was now hanging upside down into the car, blood rushing to her head, her legs kicking uselessly in the night air above.

She stretched her fingers. She touched the phone case.

”Almost...”

”Aria?”

The voice came from the pavement below.

Aria froze. Or, she tried to freeze, but gravity was already doing its thing, and she slid another inch into the car, her ribs scraping against the sunroof frame.

”Hey, Zoe,” Aria’s muffled voice echoed from inside the cabin. ”Nice night for a drive.”

Zoe stood next to the G-Wagon, holding her strappy heels in one hand and her purse in the other. Her silver slip dress shimmered in the moonlight. She looked up at the roof, where her best friend’s legs—clad in designer denim—were currently flailing in the air like a capsized beetle.

”What are you doing?” Zoe asked. ”Are you robbing Bella? Because I support it, but why are you robbing Bella?”

”I’m retrieving evidence!” Aria grunted, wiggling her fingers. Her hand clamped around the phone. ”Got it!”

She yanked the phone free from the charger cord.

”Okay! Pull me up! Pull me up!”

Aria tried to wiggle backward. She didn’t move. Her leather jacket had bunched up around her shoulders, wedging her firmly in the opening of the sunroof.

”Uh... Zoe?”

”You’re stuck,” Zoe stated.

”I am not stuck!” Aria argued, her voice rising an octave as panic set in. ”I’m just... snug! Get up here and pull!”

Zoe sighed. She dropped her shoes on the asphalt. She climbed onto the running board, then hoisted herself onto the roof, her slip dress riding up dangerously high.

”The things I do for you,” Zoe muttered, crawling over to the sunroof. ”If I chip a nail, you owe me a pedicure.”

”I’ll buy you the salon! Just pull!”

Zoe grabbed Aria’s ankles. ”Okay. On three. One, two, shove!”

Zoe braced her bare feet against the roof rack and yanked.

Aria didn’t budge.

”My god, Aria, what have you been eating?” Zoe grunted, leaning back with all her weight.

”It’s the muscle mass from carrying this friendship!” Aria shot back from inside the car. ”Pivot! Twist my hips!”

It was a scene of absolute chaos. Zoe, heaving with all her might on the roof of a pink SUV. Aria, half-consumed by the vehicle, clutching a stolen iPhone like the Holy Grail, kicking her legs.

”One! Two! Heave!” Zoe shrieked.

With a loud shhhhuuuck sound and the tearing of a zipper, Aria popped out of the sunroof like a cork from a champagne bottle.

She landed in a heap on top of Zoe. They sprawled across the roof of the G-Wagon, breathless, disheveled, and tangled in limbs.

Aria held the phone up to the moonlight.

”Success,” she wheezed.

Zoe pushed Aria’s hair out of her face. ”You ripped your jacket.”

”Collateral damage.”

They lay there for a second, staring up at the stars, laughing at the absurdity of their lives.

”Let’s get out of here before someone catches us,” Aria chuckled.

They scrambled off the roof, sliding down the hood of the car and hitting the pavement. They grabbed their shoes and ran back toward the heavy wooden doors of the pub, giggling like teenagers who had just TP’d a house.

Neither of them noticed the flash.

Deep in the shadows of the tree line bordering the parking lot, a figure lowered a long-lens camera.

He checked the digital display.

The image was crisp. It showed Zoe Chen in a silver dress hauling Aria Sinclair out of the sunroof of a pink G-Wagon. Aria’s face was clearly visible, flushed and laughing. And in her hand, the stolen phone was perfectly framed.

The figure smiled.