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

Two pairs of heavy combat boots stepped onto the pristine marble of the penthouse foyer, one immediately after the other.

”This is a stupid idea. A very bad, stupid idea,” a burly security operative whispered harshly out of the corner of his mouth. ”We are dead men walking.”

”What were we supposed to do?” his partner whispered back, his face sweating as he hoisted a massive, monogrammed Louis Vuitton steamer trunk. ”Send her away? She said he knew she was coming.”

”Does this look like an apartment expecting guests?!” the first guard hissed, gesturing to the pitch-black, silent living room. ”We’re fucking dead.”

”Are you expecting me to carry my own luggage?” an irritated, sharp female voice snapped from the elevator cabin behind them. ”Less whispering, more lifting. The leather on that trunk is worth more than your combined annual salaries.”

”Of course not, Ms. Sinclair,” they mumbled in unison.

Diana Sinclair stepped out of the private elevator.

She didn’t care that it was 2:00 AM. She didn’t care that she hadn’t been invited. She was wearing a flawless cream trench coat over silk pajamas, holding a Birkin bag in the crook of her arm, and radiating the kind of unchecked, toxic audacity that only generational wealth could buy.

The guards had purposely left the living room lights off to avoid waking their terrifying boss, hoping to drop the bags and flee.

But Diana had zero intention of tiptoeing.

”Siri, turn the lights on. Thirty percent. I have a migraine,” Diana commanded the empty air the second her designer heels clicked onto the tile.

The smart-home system obediently hummed to life, bathing the sprawling, open-concept living room in a soft, warm glow.

Diana pulled her dark, oversized sunglasses off her face, sighing dramatically as she watched the two massive men struggle to carry her insanely heavy trunks toward the guest corridor.

”Careful with that,” she hissed, pointing a manicured finger at the corner of a bag. ”Now go back down. There are still four bags and three shoe trunks in the garage. Try to have it done before sunrise.”

”Yes, ma’am,” they responded breathlessly, hitting the elevator button and practically diving inside to escape her.

As the doors slid shut, Diana marched directly into the center of the living room. She dropped her Birkin onto the chic, minimalist coffee table and flopped onto the plush white sofa. She immediately kicked off her heels and threw her bare feet up onto the table.

She let out an exhausted huff, cricking her neck side to side as she looked around her brother’s domain.

”It’s so... small,” Diana critiqued aloud to the empty room.

Compared to the sprawling, vastness of the Estate, the multi-million-dollar, two-story penthouse felt restrictive to her. Where was she supposed to put her five hundred pairs of shoes? The walk-in closet in the guest room couldn’t possibly accommodate her seasonal wardrobe shift.

’Damien will just have to clear out a room for me,’ she decided comfortably. ’He always makes space for me.’

Diana pulled her phone from her trench coat pocket.

She pulled up her text thread with Damien. It was a solid wall of blue bubbles. She had been trying to call and text him for the past eight hours to inform him that she would not be staying in a hotel room. She would be staying with him.

Of course, Damien hadn’t answered a single one of her calls.

He was currently at the center of the largest, most chaotic media firestorm of the decade. The news of Aria’s ”coma” and the circulating rumors about her tragic, desperate jump off the East River bridge were dominating every single news cycle on the planet.

Diana smiled, a slow, deeply satisfied smirk curving her lips.

She didn’t care about Aria. Honestly, she was thrilled the little actress skank was finally out of the picture.

Nature was taking its course.

Diana’s excuse for breaking into the penthouse at 2:00 AM was to ”comfort” her grieving baby brother. To be his rock. To resume her rightful, unchallenged position as the absolute number one woman in his life.

It was time to steer him back in the right direction.

For the longest time, Diana had genuinely believed her brother was either gay or completely asexual. He had treated the beautiful women throwing themselves at him like annoying, buzzing gnats. He never dated. He never brought anyone home.

Then came the unforgettable afternoon when Damien was twenty. Diana had burst into his bedroom at the estate unannounced, only to catch the stoic heir jerking off while staring intensely at a vintage Playboy magazine.

Diana had quietly backed out of the room, absolutely thrilled.

He was straight! He had a sex drive! She had immediately tried to track down the centerfold model to set them up on a blind date, only to discover the woman had tragically overdosed in the late nineties.

It was a setback, but it gave her a blueprint.

She spent years trying to set him up with women who fit his apparent ”type,” only to fail miserably. He ignored them all.

And then, he moved to Europe for university.

That was where he met Vittoria.

Vittoria was a smart, beautiful and sexy woman who came from good stock. More importantly, Vittoria was reasonable. She had absolutely no problem accepting her position as the second most important woman in Damien’s life, right behind his beloved older sister.

Diana had the perfect, glamorous family reunion planned. She was going to casually fly Vittoria into New York, arrange a coincidental run-in at a charity gala, and watch the sparks re-ignite. ℯ

But then Damien had suddenly married Aria Vale.

Diana wanted to scream in irritation just remembering it. Aria was a child playing dress-up. She was disrespectful, loud, and she had completely stolen all of Damien’s attention.

’But not anymore,’ Diana thought, looking toward the dark hallway that led to the master suite.

Aria was a vegetable. And Damien was surely lying in his bed right now, broken, vulnerable, and in desperate need of his big sister to guide him. He needed a woman on his level. Someone mature. Someone like Vittoria.

The soft ding of the elevator echoed in the foyer.

Diana rolled her eyes as the two sweating guards lugged three more heavy bags into the apartment.

”Take everything straight to the guest bedroom,” Diana ordered them dismissively without looking up from her phone screen. ”And be quiet. My brother is sleeping.”

”Yes, ma’am,” they panted, disappearing down the opposite hall.

Diana tapped her phone against her chin.

Damien thought he could ignore her calls all night? She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face in the morning when he woke up to find his big sister had come to his rescue.

Actually... why wait for morning?

Diana stood up from the sofa, leaving her shoes on the rug.

She tiptoed down the long, dark corridor toward the master bedroom. She just wanted to peek. She wanted to see her untouchable, terrifying brother looking human for once. She fully expected to find him curled up alone in his massive bed, crying into a pillow over the loss of his ridiculous little wife.

She reached the oak door of the master suite.

Diana gripped the brass handle. She turned it with agonizing slowness, wincing as the internal mechanism clicked softly.

She pushed the door open just a few inches.

A thin, sharp sliver of warm light from the hallway spilled into the pitch-black bedroom, cutting directly across the center of the massive mattress.

Diana peered through the crack, holding her breath.

The bed wasn’t empty.

Damien was there. He was lying on his back, fast asleep, his bare, muscled chest rising and falling in a steady, deep rhythm.

But he wasn’t alone.

Diana’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp.

Wrapped securely in Damien’s arms, her face buried intimately in the crook of his neck, was a woman.

Because of the angle and the darkness of the room, Diana couldn’t see the woman’s face. She could only see the smooth slope of a woman’s back and her messy hair.

Diana’s brain completely flatlined.

Her perfect baby brother... was having an affair?!

In his bed. While his wife was currently hooked up to life support machines?!

’He didn’t care about Aria at all!’ Diana realized, vibrating with excitement. ’The marriage really was just a sham! He already has a mistress!’

Diana didn’t hesitate for a single microsecond.

She whipped her iPhone out of her trench coat pocket. She quickly checked to ensure the flash was turned off, held the lens up to the crack in the door, and tapped the shutter button.

Snap.

Diana carefully, silently pulled the oak door shut, letting the latch click back into place without making a sound.

She stood in the dark hallway, staring at the photo on her screen of Damien holding his mystery woman. A vicious, triumphant smile stretched across her face.

She couldn’t wait for breakfast.