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

At 9:00 AM the following morning, ICU Room 1 was functioning entirely as a high-budget Hollywood film set.

Aria was back in the hospital gown. She sat cross-legged on the mattress while Zoe aggressively beat her face with a damp Beautyblender.

”Tilt your chin up,” Zoe commanded, squinting as she swiped a grey-toned contour stick under Aria’s cheekbones.

”More setting powder under the eyes,” Aria instructed, looking into the handheld mirror Zoe had provided. ”I look too rested.”

”Got it. Serving absolute ghost,” Zoe muttered, uncapping a translucent powder and caking it on.

While Zoe handled the special effects makeup, Aria turned her attention to the rest of the room. Two highly trained nurses were currently rearranging a tangle of plastic tubing.

”Excuse me, Sarah?” Aria called out, gesturing to the heavy metal IV pole. ”Can we move that about six inches to the left? It’s casting a really harsh shadow across my face. I need the overhead fluorescents to hit me directly so I look sufficiently angelic.”

The nurse blinked, holding a bag of saline. She looked to the corner of the room, where Dr. Thorne was currently rubbing his temples as if trying to massage away an impending aneurysm.

Elias gave the nurse a defeated nod.

The nurses, both of whom had signed terrifying, iron-clad Sinclair Corporation non-disclosure agreements, dutifully shifted the IV pole six inches to the left.

”Perfect,” Aria beamed.

She reached over to her bedside table and picked up a piece of paper. She held it out to Elias.

”Here are your lines, Doctor,” Aria said cheerfully.

Elias slowly took the paper. He read the neatly typed bullet points. He looked back up at her, his expression utterly deadpan.

”You want me to tell them that you have suffered irreversible neural decay?” Elias read aloud, his voice flat. ”And that there is a zero percent chance of you ever waking up?”

”Yes,” Aria nodded enthusiastically. ”You really need to sell the ’zero percent’. Lean into the tragedy. Maybe let your voice crack a little on the word ’irreversible’.”

”Mrs. Sinclair,” Elias sighed, dropping the paper to his side. ”I am a Chief Medical Officer. I took the Hippocratic Oath.”

She offered him a sickeningly sweet smile.

”Didn’t Damien specifically ask you to help me with this?”

Elias’s jaw tightened. He closed his eyes.

Damien had cornered him in his office at 6:00 AM: ’My wife is playing a game today. You are going to give her whatever she wants, even if it violates every ethical code in your handbook. If she wants you to tell the press she is turning into a pumpkin, you will tell the press she is turning into a pumpkin.’

Elias opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling as he accepted his fate.

”Fine,” Elias muttered. ”Irreversible neural decay. Zero percent chance. I’ll practice my sad face in the mirror.”

”You’re a lifesaver, Elias,” Aria blew him a kiss.

”Alright, the monitors are hooked up,” the lead nurse announced, stepping back from the control panel.

The heart monitor next to the bed began to chime. The nurses had altered the machine’s telemetry to display a weak, erratic heartbeat, accompanied by alarmingly low blood pressure readings on the digital screen.

”I’m so talented,” Zoe said, stepping back to admire her makeup work. ”You actually look dead. I’m a little creeped out.”

Zoe’s phone buzzed in the pocket of her tailored, charcoal-grey power suit. She pulled it out, her eyes scanning the text message. Her heart instantly kicked into a faster rhythm.

”It’s the Director,” Zoe announced, looking up at Aria. ”They’re here. They just walked into the main lobby.” ℯℯ𝘭.

Zoe swallowed hard. ”Aria, are you sure about this? If anyone figures out you’re faking, the backlash is going to be apocalyptic.”

Aria grabbed the clear plastic oxygen mask resting on the pillow.

”I am a professional actress, Zoe,” Aria said. ”I can pull off a comatose woman in my sleep. Literally.”

She slipped the oxygen mask over her face, the elastic band securing it tightly to her head.

”Showtime,” Aria’s voice was muffled behind the plastic.

She lay flat on her back. She closed her eyes, letting all the tension drain from her facial muscles. She went completely, terrifyingly limp, letting her breathing grow shallow and weak. Instantly, she transformed into a tragic, broken victim hovering on death’s door.

”Wow,” Elias murmured, genuinely impressed despite his earlier objections.

The glass doors slid open.

Six of Damien’s largest, most heavily armed private military contractors marched into the room. They didn’t speak. They moved with mechanical precision, forming a solid, intimidating wall of Kevlar and muscle around three sides of Aria’s bed, leaving only a small viewing gap at the foot of the mattress.

Zoe took a deep breath, smoothing the lapels of her blazer.

”Okay,” Zoe said, squaring her shoulders. ”I’m going down to greet the guests.”

She stepped out of the ICU and took the elevator all the way down to the general hospital lobby.

The moment the doors opened on the ground floor, the noise hit her.

It was a total circus.

A small, carefully selected group of paparazzi were clustered near the reception desk, their cameras flashing.

In the center of the chaos stood the cast and production team of The Empress’s Shadow.

Lucas Sinclair was wearing a somber black turtleneck, holding an offensively large, wildly performative basket of white lilies that looked like it belonged at a state funeral.

Beside him, Bella Vale was in her element. She was wearing designer mourning chic, holding her phone up on a selfie stick, broadcasting live to her millions of followers. She was dabbing at her dry eyes, completely ignoring the hospital staff trying to get past her.

”We’re just so worried,” Bella sniffled to her Instagram Live audience, panning the camera to catch Lucas looking sad. ”We brought her favorite flowers. We just want to remind her that she is loved, no matter what her husband says.”

Zoe’s upper lip curled in disgust.

She composed her features into a mask of solemn, professional grief and marched right into the center of the crowd.

”Good morning,” Zoe announced, her voice projecting clearly over the chatter.

The paparazzi pivoted, their lenses instantly snapping toward her. Bella lowered her selfie stick slightly, looking annoyed by the interruption.

”I am Zoe Chen,” she introduced herself, her expression grave. ”Aria Sinclair’s publicist. We appreciate you coming to show your support during this incredibly difficult time.”

”Zoe!” Bella gasped, immediately shoving her phone back up to catch Zoe in the frame. ”How is she? Can we see her?”

Zoe ignored her.

”There are strict security protocols in place,” Zoe announced. ”For Aria’s safety.”

”Of course,” Lucas nodded earnestly, adjusting his massive basket of lilies. ”Whatever she needs.”

Zoe took a step back and gestured gracefully to the left side of the lobby.

”Please proceed to the checkpoint,” Zoe instructed.

The cast and the paparazzi turned their heads.

Standing in front of the elevators leading to the VIP wing was a line of six mercenaries. They were dressed in black tactical gear, holding heavy, military-grade metal detector wands. Arranged on a series of folding tables in front of them were dozens of clear, plastic bins.

It looked exactly like an airport TSA checkpoint, but significantly more lethal.

”What is this?” the Director asked, looking alarmed.

”Security inspection,” Zoe stated, her voice dropping into an icy, unyielding tone. ”All cell phones, smartwatches, cameras, and recording devices must be surrendered into the plastic bins. You will be patted down. You will be wanded. If you refuse, you do not get on the elevator. No exceptions.”

Bella’s jaw dropped. She clutched her phone to her chest. ”My phone? I can’t give you my phone! I’m live!”

Zoe tilted her head, her gaze boring into Bella’s panicked eyes.

”Then I guess you aren’t going upstairs, Bella,” Zoe said simply. ”Are you here for your sister? Or are you here for the content?”

The paparazzi murmured, turning their lenses directly onto Bella’s panicked face, capturing her hesitation in real-time.