After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 42: A Hangover Without the Fun

The recovery suite at Dr. Elias’s clinic was nicer than most five-star hotels, but it still smelled like antiseptic and regret.

Damien woke up feeling like his brain had been removed, put in a blender, and then shoved back into his skull sideways. The neurotoxin had left him with a migraine that made his usual chronic pain feel like a gentle tickle.

He groaned, trying to sit up.

"Don’t," a voice commanded from the chair beside the bed.

Aria was sitting there, her legs tucked under her, reading a medical journal she had clearly stolen from Elias’s office. She looked tired—dark circles under her eyes, hair messy—but she was alive.

"You look terrible," Damien rasped, his throat dry as sandpaper.

"You look worse," Aria countered, closing the journal. She stood up and poured him a glass of water. "Drink. Elias says your kidneys need flushing. Which sounds gross, but apparently keeps you alive."

Damien took the glass, his hand shaking slightly. He downed it in one gulp. The cool water helped, but the pounding in his head persisted.

"Status?" he asked, his voice strengthening.

"You didn’t die," Aria listed off on her fingers. "I didn’t die. The car is totaled. Julian is handling the police."

She paused, her expression turning serious.

"And we found the leak. It wasn’t Ken."

Damien’s eyes narrowed. "You’re sure?"

"I checked his pulse myself while Kai was... questioning him," Aria said. "He was terrified, but innocent. The leak came from the gambling den. The floor manager, Iron Tooth. He sold us out the moment we walked away from the table."

Damien gripped the sheets. "Iron Tooth. I should have broken his hand at the table."

"Kai is handling it," Aria assured him. "He went back to Chinatown last night."

As if summoned, the door opened.

Kai Vane walked in. He looked fresh—showered, changed into a crisp white shirt and jeans, smelling of expensive soap. But his eyes were hard.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," Kai said, leaning against the doorframe. "How’s the head?"

"Throbbing," Damien muttered. "Aria says you handled the trash."

Kai nodded, his playfulness gone. "Iron Tooth is... retired. My boys found him trying to board a fishing boat to Macau. We had a conversation."

"Did he talk?" Damien asked.

"He sang," Kai confirmed. "Like a canary in a coal mine. He didn’t call Lydia directly. He called a broker. A fixer who handles ’sensitive disposals’ for the elite."

Kai pulled out his phone, scrolling to a photo. He showed it to Damien.

"This guy. The Ghost."

The photo showed a blurry figure in a grey hoodie, face obscured.

"He’s a myth," Damien said, frowning. "A digital legend. No one knows who he is."

"Iron Tooth had a number," Kai said. "A burner phone he used to coordinate the trap. I traced the signal. It bounced off three satellites, but it originated from a specific location."

Kai looked at Aria.

"It came from inside the Vale Estate."

Aria went still. "Inside the house? But I cleared the house. It’s empty."

"Not empty," Kai corrected. "The signal didn’t come from the main house. It came from the guest cottage. The one near the stables."

Aria’s eyes widened. "The gardener’s cottage? No one has lived there for years. My father uses it for storage."

"Someone is using it now," Kai said. "And they used it to coordinate a hit on the most powerful man in the city."

Damien sat up straighter, ignoring the pain. "Lydia isn’t just hiring muscle. She has a tech expert on payroll. Someone good enough to hack my schedule and set a trap in real-time."

"We need to go back," Aria said instantly. "We need to raid that cottage."

"No," Damien said. "If The Ghost is as good as they say, he’ll have traps. Digital and physical. We don’t go in blind."

He looked at Kai.

"Send a drone. Thermal imaging. I want to know how many heat signatures are in that cottage. And get Julian to pull the blueprints of the estate. I want to know every exit, every tunnel, every drainpipe."

"On it," Kai said, turning to leave.

"Kai," Damien called out.

Kai stopped.

"The car," Damien said. "Was it really totaled?"

Kai winced. "Let’s just say... it’s now a convertible. A very flat convertible."

Damien sighed, closing his eyes. "Put it on my tab."

When Kai left, the room fell silent again.

Aria sat on the edge of the bed. She reached out, taking Damien’s hand. His skin was cool now, the fever broken.

"We’re getting closer," she whispered. "The Ghost. Lydia. The poison. It’s all connecting."

Damien opened his eyes. He looked at her hand in his. He remembered the feeling of her body shielding his in the gas chamber. He remembered her refusing to leave.

"You stayed," he murmured, his thumb brushing her wrist. "You could have climbed out the vent."

"I told you," Aria said, her voice soft but fierce. "I don’t leave my partners behind. Especially not the ones who jump in front of bullets for me."

She squeezed his hand.

"We’re going to find this Ghost, Damien. And we’re going to make him wish he really was one."

Damien looked at her. The "Black-Belly Queen" was back, her eyes burning with emerald fire.

And God help him, he had never wanted to kiss anyone more in his life.

"Come here," he rasped.

Aria leaned in. "Do you need treatment? Is the pain back?"

"No," Damien whispered, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. "Just... maintenance."

He pulled her down.

Aria didn’t resist. She let herself fall forward, her hands landing on his shoulders as his mouth captured hers.

His lips were warm, firm, and tasted of the water she’d just given him and the lingering shadow of the antiseptic air. But beneath that, there was just him—a dark, intoxicating flavor that made her head spin faster than any neurotoxin.

He groaned low in his throat, a vibration she felt against her own chest. His tongue swept along her lower lip, demanding entrance, and she granted it without a second thought. The kiss deepened, becoming wet and heavy.

One of his large hands tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, holding her in place, while the other slid down her back, pressing her closer until she was practically lying on top of him.

Heat pooled in her belly, a sharp, aching want that had everything to do with the man beneath her.

She pulled back slightly, gasping for air, her lips swollen and tingling.

"Maintenance?" she whispered, her voice wrecked.

Damien looked up at her, his golden eyes dark with a hunger that terrified and thrilled her. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, dragging it down.

"Extensive maintenance," he rasped. "Come back here."