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

The inside of the chateau looked like a rich person’s house that had been left out in the rain for twenty years.

Aria stepped over the threshold and paused, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light.

The foyer was massive. A sweeping stone staircase curved up toward the second floor, and a crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling. But half the crystals were missing, and the ones that remained were furry with dust. The silk wallpaper was a faded, water-stained green, peeling at the seams like old sunburn. Someone had taped a row of crayon drawings over the worst of the damage. Stick-figure families. Lopsided suns. A purple horse with six legs.

In the corner, a plastic bucket sat on the marble floor, collecting a slow, steady drip from the ceiling.

Plink.

Plink.

Plink.

’Broke,’ Aria thought, her chest tightening. ’Jade wasn’t exaggerating. They’re actually broke.’

The house smelled like woodsmoke, fresh bread, and damp stone.

”Les enfants,” the woman rasped, rubbing her bruised throat. ”En haut. Maintenant.”

(Children. Upstairs. Now.)

An older girl of maybe twelve, with a serious face and a messy braid, immediately started herding the crying kids toward the staircase. They went reluctantly, sniffling and throwing wet, betrayed glares over their shoulders at the giant silver-haired man who had tried to strangle their Madame.

Every single one of them glared at Damien.

Every single one except for the small boy who had punched Damien’s leg on the porch. He didn’t go upstairs at all. He planted himself on the third step, crossed his skinny arms over his chest, and stared at Damien with the concentrated hatred of a tiny war criminal.

Then, very slowly, he dragged his thumb across his throat.

Damien stared back at him.

He didn’t blink.

The boy didn’t blink either.

Aria looked between them, her jaw slowly dropping. ”Are you seriously having a staring contest with a six-year-old right now?”

”He started it,” Damien said flatly, not breaking eye contact.

”Théo,” the woman snapped sharply. ”En haut.”

The boy, Théo, apparently, held Damien’s gaze for one more defiant second. Then he stuck his tongue out, spun around, and stomped up the stairs with the dramatic flair of a teenager who had just been grounded.

”I like him,” Aria muttered.

”I don’t,” Damien replied.

The woman led them down a long hallway into a sitting room. It had the same tired grandeur as the foyer: high ceilings, tall windows streaked with rain, and velvet furniture worn completely bald on the armrests. A fire crackled weakly in a stone fireplace. On a low table sat a chipped porcelain tea set, painted with faded blue flowers.

The woman gestured to a sofa.

Aria sat down. Jade sat on the very edge of an armchair, clutching her hoodie sleeves.

Damien didn’t sit.

He positioned himself directly behind Aria’s end of the sofa, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his broad frame blocking out half the window light. He looked like a bodyguard.

”Sit down, Damien,” Aria murmured.

”No.”

”You’re making everyone nervous.”

”Good.”

Aria sighed. She decided to pick her battles.

The woman sat down across from them. With steady, elegant hands, she poured tea into three mismatched cups. She slid one toward Aria. She slid one toward Jade. She did not slide one toward Damien.

Damien noticed. His golden eyes narrowed into slits.

Aria picked up the teacup, but she didn’t drink. She just held it, letting the heat seep into her freezing fingers, and made herself look at the woman’s face.

Up close, the resemblance was unbearable.

It was her mother’s face. The same high cheekbones. The same delicate nose. The same emerald eyes that Aria saw in the mirror every morning. But up close, Aria could also see the differences. A thin, pale scar split the woman’s left eyebrow in half. There were deep lines bracketing her mouth that her mother had never lived long enough to earn. And her hands... her hands were rough. Chapped knuckles. A burn scar across the back of one wrist.

Her mother’s hands had been soft. Aria remembered them brushing her hair every night. Smelling like hand cream and garden soil.

Aria swallowed the lump in her throat.

”What’s your name?” Aria asked quietly.

The woman lifted her cup, taking a slow sip. ”Séverine.”

Jade opened her mouth to translate.

”I got that one, Jade,” Aria said.

Jade closed her mouth.

”Séverine,” Aria repeated, testing the name. It felt strange in her mouth. ”Okay. Séverine. Who are all these kids?”

Séverine set her cup down on its saucer with a soft clink.

”Des orphelins,” she answered. ”La plupart viennent de l’orphelinat de Lyon. Quand Viktor Martin est mort, l’État a fermé l’établissement. Personne n’est venu les chercher. Alors, je suis venue.”

Jade translated in a small, careful voice. ”Orphans. Most of them are from the orphanage in Lyon. When Viktor Martin died, the state closed the facility. Nobody came to get them. So... she did.”

Behind the sofa, Damien shifted his weight.

”Viktor Martin,” Damien repeated slowly, his deep voice cutting through the room. ”The director who got shot in a back alley two years ago.”

Séverine’s fingers stilled on the handle of her teacup. Just for half a second.

And across the room, Jade went rigid in her armchair.

Nobody said anything.

The fire popped loudly in the hearth.

’Okay,’ Aria thought, filing that away in the rapidly growing folder in her brain labeled ’Deeply Suspicious Things I Will Absolutely Be Revisiting.’

Aria set her teacup down. She folded her hands in her lap. She took a deep breath.

”Why did you throw me off the bridge?”

Séverine looked at Aria with tired patience.

”Parce qu’une fille morte ne possède rien,” Séverine said simply. ”Les Vipères étaient à deux jours de te prendre. Si tu mourais, la clé mourait avec toi. Ils n’auraient plus aucune raison de te chercher.”

”She says... because a dead girl owns nothing,” Jade translated, her voice trembling. ”The Vipers were two days away from taking you. If you died, the Key died with you. They would have no reason to keep looking for you.”

”So your solution to them wanting to kill me,” Aria said slowly, ”was to kill me first.”

”Mes hommes attendaient sous le pont,” Séverine continued. ”Un bateau. Des couvertures. Un médecin. Tu devais disparaître pendant un an, peut-être deux. Une nouvelle vie. Un nouveau nom.”

Her emerald eyes slid past Aria, landing squarely on the man looming behind the sofa.

”Mais ton mari est arrivé trop vite.”

”She says her men were waiting under the bridge. A boat. Blankets. A doctor. You were supposed to disappear for a year, maybe two. A new life. A new name.” Jade swallowed hard. ”But... your husband got there too fast.”

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.