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

Aria held her breath, her eyes squeezed shut behind the messy curtain of her rose-gold hair.

She stood frozen in the quiet hotel corridor, her bare feet aching against the carpet, her trembling fist still hovering in the air after knocking.

’Please be the right room,’ she chanted in her head like a desperate mantra. ’Please, please, please.’

She heard the muffled thud of footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. The handle turned.

The door slowly swung open.

Aria didn’t move.

”Are you method-acting for a Samara reboot, Mrs. Sinclair?”

It was Damien’s voice.

Aria instantly flipped her hair backward with both hands, letting out a massive, shuddering exhale.

”Oh, thank God,” Aria gasped, pushing right past him and marching directly into the room.

The room was a standard, high-end executive suite, featuring a small, modern living space. Aria threw herself onto the plush grey sofa, letting her head fall back against the cushions with a tragic sigh.

”I lost him,” Aria confessed, staring bleakly at the ceiling. ”I chased him all the way down the stairs, but he hit the main lobby. It was packed. I couldn’t risk stepping out there.”

Damien closed and locked the door. He walked over to the mini-fridge, pulled out a bottle of chilled Fiji water, and cracked the cap open.

He walked over to the sofa, handing her the bottle before taking a seat on the opposite end of the cushions. Without a single word, he grabbed her bare feet and pulled them into his lap.

Aria drank the water greedily, the icy liquid soothing the dry, burning scrape in her throat from the sprint.

When she lowered the bottle, she felt Damien’s large, warm hands wrap around her arches. His thumbs pressed firmly into the soles of her feet, working out the sharp, stinging cramps she had accumulated from running full speed on solid concrete.

Aria wanted to cry. It just felt so unfair. She had gone through all this effort, orchestrated this meticulous fake-coma stunt, just to be undone by a random teenager.

”My master plan is ruined,” Aria mourned, throwing her arm over her eyes. ”By tomorrow morning, the photo is going to be on the front page of TMZ. Bella is going to go on The View and cry about how I’m a psycho who faked my own death for attention. The internet is going to cancel me faster than a problematic YouTuber.”

She peeked out from under her arm, looking at Damien with a deeply sad, apologetic expression.

”Your beautiful, tragic performance in the hospital room was completely wasted,” she sighed, genuinely gutted that his Oscar-worthy acting was going to be for nothing. ”But... I will still reward you as promised.”

Damien’s hands paused their massage for a fraction of a second.

He raised a single eyebrow.

He certainly hadn’t forgotten about the blank-check reward she had promised him, but since she hadn’t brought it up, he assumed she had forgotten about it.

He was very curious about what exactly she had planned. But he kept his mouth shut, his face a mask of serene calm as his thumbs resumed their slow, deep pressure into her heels.

Aria let out another pathetic whine, officially saying goodbye to all the fun she was going to have at the movie premiere, already predicting the fiery death of her acting career.

When she finally ran out of breath to complain, Damien reached into his pocket.

He pulled out a Google Pixel phone, encased in a bright red, Deadpool-themed case. He handed it across the cushions to her.

Aria frowned, sitting up slightly. She took the phone.

Damien reached over, tapping a four-digit PIN into the screen to unlock it. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ

The screen illuminated brightly.

There it was.

The photograph of her, wrapped around Damien in the hotel hallway.

Aria’s breath hitched.

She looked at the glowing screen, and then she slowly dragged her eyes up to look at her husband. Damien was watching her, a small, thoroughly satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

”When did you...” Aria stuttered, her brain completely short-circuiting. ”How did you... you never left the room!”

Her mind frantically tried to piece the timeline together. The kid ran. She gave chase. She came back up. And now, Damien had the kid’s phone?!

A horrifying realization suddenly dawned on her.

Aria’s eyes blew even wider in sheer terror.

”Damien,” Aria asked, her voice dropping to a panicked, breathless whisper. ”Did you... did you kill him?”

Damien let out a rich laugh.

He didn’t confirm or deny it. He just sat there, massaging her foot, highly amused by her assumption.

Aria slapped a hand over her mouth, absolutely horrified.

”Oh my god, you killed him!” Aria gasped through her fingers. ”Over a stupid PR stunt?!”

”Damien!” she whined his name, kicking her foot lightly against his stomach when he refused to answer her right away. ”Tell me you didn’t kill him!”

”I didn’t kill him, Aria,” Damien finally laughed, shaking his head.

Aria released a breath of relief, dropping her hand from her mouth. ”Oh, thank God.”

”I gave the kid fifteen million dollars in a tax-free offshore account, and I ordered him a custom Lamborghini Revuelto directly from the factory,” Damien added.

Aria froze.

The blood completely drained from her face.

She stared him. He had said it so casually, so effortlessly, as if he had just handed the boy a piece of candy and a Hot Wheels toy car.

”You did what?!” Aria shrieked, her jaw hitting the floor. ”Fifteen million dollars?! And a Lamborghini?! For a blurry hallway photo?!”

”It’s a very clear photo, actually,” Damien corrected smoothly, tapping the bottom of her foot.

”Oh my God, my husband is insane!” Aria scolded. ”Are you out of your mind?! You can’t give a kid fifteen million dollars!”

She was incredibly thankful that her master plan was saved, but wasn’t this a bit much?

”Why did you let me sit here and sulk for ten minutes when you already had the phone?!” Aria ranted, gesturing wildly with her hands, tossing the Deadpool phone onto the cushions. ”You are a sadist, Damien Sinclair!”

Aria continued to rant, listing off every single thing he could have offered instead of giving the kid that much money.

But as she spoke, her voice began to slowly fade.

Damien wasn’t listening to a single word she was saying.

He had stopped massaging her feet. His golden eyes were fixed entirely on her face. He was watching the way her lips moved, the way her emerald eyes sparked with fiery, animated life, the way the flush of her rage painted her cheeks.

He looked completely, utterly mesmerized, as if he were taking a mental photograph of her and permanently burning it into the back of his eyelids.

Aria placed her hands on her hips, trying to maintain her indignant posture.

”Are you even listening to me?” Aria asked, a soft frown pulling at her lips.

Damien smiled. It was a slow, devastatingly handsome look that completely stripped the air from her lungs.

”No,” Damien murmured, his voice low. ”I couldn’t focus on a single word.”

He reached out, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her effortlessly across the sofa cushions until she was straddling his lap.

”You’re so beautiful,” Damien breathed, his hands sliding up her bare thighs to rest on her hips. ”It’s completely distracting.”

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her lips.

”My pretty wife,” Damien whispered. ”Can I make love to you?”