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

The private VIP wing of St. Jude’s Hospital was a sterilized vacuum of white walls, beige linoleum, and deafening silence.

Outside the glass partition of ICU Room 1, Damien Sinclair refused to sit down.

He had been pacing the length of the corridor for over an hour. His bespoke suit trousers and white dress shirt were stiff with dried mud and river water, his silver hair a chaotic, tangled mess.

Through the glass, Aria lay on the hospital bed. She was buried under a mountain of thermal blankets, an IV line taped to her pale hand, a nasal cannula delivering steady oxygen. She looked painfully small, but her chest was rising and falling in a steady, unbroken rhythm.

Damien stared at her through the glass, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle feathered in his cheek.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her falling. He saw the black van, the open door, the blindfold.

’The Vipers.’

They had ambushed his wife in a public place. And then, as a final, taunting act of arrogance, they had thrown her off a bridge.

Damien was currently, methodically plotting the absolute, scorched-earth eradication of every single breathing member of their organization. He was going to paint the streets with French blood.

The soft ding of the elevator broke his violent reverie.

Julian and Kai stepped out into the quiet hallway. Julian looked immaculate, wearing a perfectly tailored three-piece suit. Kai, however, was shivering slightly in just a thin designer t-shirt.

Damien stopped pacing. He turned his golden, bloodshot eyes on them.

”We found the van,” Kai said, his usual playful demeanor entirely absent. ”Or rather, the police found it. It was crashed into a concrete barrier under the I-95 overpass, completely abandoned.”

”And?” Damien demanded.

”Ghost vehicle,” Julian answered, adjusting his glasses. ”No license plates. The VIN number was filed off the dashboard and the engine block. The interior was wiped down with industrial bleach. No fingerprints, no DNA, no breadcrumbs. They must’ve swapped cars under the bridge and vanished into the city grid.”

Damien’s eyes darkened. ”They are professionals. But professionals leave digital trails. Tear the city’s traffic grid apart. I want every camera on that overpass pulled.”

Before Kai could respond, the heavy door to the ICU clicked open.

Dr. Elias Thorne stepped out.

The brilliant, highly sought-after physician looked like he had aged five years in the span of two hours. He pulled a stethoscope from his ears, draping it around his neck, and let out a long, heavy exhale.

Damien was in his space instantly. ”Tell me.”

”She is stable,” Elias said, holding up a hand to stop Damien from pushing past him into the room. ”Her vitals are strong. Her core temperature is rising steadily, and there’s no sign of permanent hypoxic brain injury.”

Damien didn’t say anything, but his entire body reacted.

The rigid, terrifying tension that had locked his spine in place finally snapped. His broad shoulders dropped.

’She’s okay.’

”However,” Elias continued, his tone softening with professional empathy. ”The physical shock to her system was massive. We’ve placed her in a medically induced twilight sleep.”

”A coma?” Julian asked sharply.

”A deep sleep,” Elias clarified. ”To let her body heal without the stress of consciousness. She will likely be unresponsive for a few days. But she will wake up. And she will be okay.”

As soon as the medical reassurance set in, the relief vanished from Damien’s face. The mask snapped back into place, harder and colder than before.

”Keep a private security detail on her door,” Damien ordered, his mind immediately pivoting back to murder. ”No one enters this wing without my authorization.”

Elias took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked around the hallway, his exhausted gaze sweeping over the imposing figures of the three billionaires.

Then, his eyes caught movement in the far corner of the waiting area.

Standing near a potted ficus, trying very hard to be invisible, was Zoe Chen.

She was completely barefoot, her toes curling against the cold linoleum. And she was drowning inside a massive, heavily studded Saint Laurent leather motorcycle jacket that hung halfway down her thighs.

Elias blinked.

”Excuse me,” Elias mumbled, pointing a tired finger toward the corner. ”Who is the muddy civilian?”

Zoe froze.

She had been standing there for an hour, silently panicking about her best friend’s life. But with Elias’s question, a horrifying, crushing wave of self-awareness crashed over her.

Zoe slowly looked around the room.

Standing in the pristine, brightly lit hospital corridor were Damien Sinclair, Julian Cross, Kai Vane, and Dr. Elias Thorne.

It was a literal GQ cover shoot. Four of the city’s wealthiest, most powerful, most devastatingly handsome men were currently looking directly at her.

And she looked like a feral bridge troll who had just crawled out of a swamp.

’Oh my god,’ Zoe thought, a high-pitched ringing starting in her ears. ’Of all the days to look a mess! Oh God, why?!’

She looked down at her muddy toes. She looked at the incredibly expensive men.

”I...” Zoe squeaked. Her voice sounded like a stepped-on dog toy. ”I need water. Thirsty. Vending machine. Hydration!”

She didn’t wait for a response. She spun on her heel and literally sprinted down the hallway.

The sound of her bare feet hitting the floor echoed loudly as she fled the scene as fast as her legs could carry her, the oversized leather jacket flapping wildly behind her.

The heavy silence returned.

Elias stared down the empty hallway for three seconds. He let out another deep, soul-weary sigh.

”I’m going to get a coffee,” Elias muttered, turning around.

Julian slowly adjusted his glasses. He looked down the empty hallway where the girl had just vanished. Then, he turned his head and looked at Kai.

Kai was leaning against the wall, watching the empty space where Zoe had been with a ridiculously dopey smirk playing on his lips. He was completely oblivious to Julian’s stare.

Julian thought about the oversized, heavily studded Saint Laurent jacket that had just sprinted away. A jacket he had seen Kai wear before.

Julian narrowed his eyes, his expression flattening into one of absolute, deadpan judgment.

”Kai.”

Kai blinked, snapping out of his daze. ”Yeah?”

”Are you fucking Aria’s best friend?”