After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 46: A Queen with Claws

The makeup trailer smelled of hairspray, cheap coffee, and panic.

Coco stood behind the salon chair, holding a pair of ornate, gold-filigree finger guards—the kind worn by Qing dynasty concubines to protect their nails. He looked from the guards to Aria’s heavily bandaged hands, then back to the guards.

"Honey," Coco said, popping his gum. "I can work miracles. I once hid a pregnancy in a corset for six months. But I cannot hide mummy hands in these. Unless Consort Li suddenly decided to take up boxing, this look isn’t going to fly."

Aria winced as she tried to flex her fingers. The pain was a sharp, throbbing reminder of the glass shards Damien had pulled out the night before. The painkillers Elias had prescribed were dulling the edge, but her dexterity was shot.

"We can’t cut the bandages," Aria said, looking at her reflection. Her face was pale, but her eyes were determined. "Damien would fire you, fire me, and then burn the studio down."

"Your husband is terrifying," Coco noted, grabbing a pot of concealer. "I like him. He tips well."

"He is," Aria agreed, a faint smile touching her lips as she felt the weight of the ruby ring—now worn on a chain around her neck because it wouldn’t fit over the gauze. "That’s one of his better qualities."

"Right. Husband. The man who shut down a city block because you got a paper cut," Coco drawled. He rummaged through a drawer of accessories. "Okay, pivot. If we can’t hide the bandages, we dress them up. We go full ’Injured Queen’."

He pulled out a pair of long, black lace gloves.

"These were for the funeral scene in Episode 40, but we’re moving them up. We’ll layer the gold guards over the top. It’ll look gothic and dangerous. Very ’don’t touch me or you’ll die’."

Aria smiled. "Perfect."

Walking onto the set felt like walking into a gladiator arena. The crew was bustling, setting up the lighting for the day’s main event: The Imperial Tea Ceremony.

It was a scene that required precision. Consort Li was supposed to perform a complex, traditional tea pouring to demonstrate her cultural superiority over the clumsy, commoner Saintess.

Aria kept her hands hidden in the wide sleeves of her black robes as she took her seat on the dais. The lace gloves hidden underneath felt tight, compressing her wounds.

"Sister!"

Bella’s voice cut through the noise like a high-pitched drill. She floated over in her white Saintess robes, looking irritatingly fresh. Lucas trailed behind her, his expression a mix of sullen anger and curiosity.

"I heard a rumor," Bella said, her eyes dropping to Aria’s sleeves. "People are saying you were in an accident last night. A car crash?"

She reached out, trying to grab Aria’s hand.

"Are you hurt? Show me."

Aria pulled her arm back sharply. "Personal space, Bella. Or do you want another lesson in gravity?"

Bella’s eyes narrowed. She had seen the stiffness. She knew.

"Director!" Bella called out, turning to Spielberg. "Director, I’m worried about Aria. She seems... incapacitated. Her hands."

The Director walked over, looking stressed. "Miss Vale? Is there a problem? This scene requires a lot of close-ups on the hands. The tea pouring must be fluid."

"She can’t do it," Bella insisted, a triumphant smirk touching her lips. "Look at her. She’s hiding her hands. If she can’t pour the tea, she can’t play the scene. Maybe we should use a hand double? Or... rewrite it so the Saintess pours?"

It was a blatant power grab. If the Saintess poured, she would be the one in control of the scene. The visual language would shift from the Consort’s dominance to the Saintess’s competence.

Lucas stepped forward. "Bella is right. If Aria is injured, she shouldn’t strain herself. Uncle Damien would be furious if she dropped a hot pot on herself."

He looked at Aria, his eyes lingering on her face. "Let Bella pour. It’s safer."

Aria looked at the two of them. They thought they had her cornered. They thought a physical weakness made her weak.

’Amateurs,’ she thought.

She slowly pulled her hands out of her sleeves.

The black lace gloves, adorned with the wicked gold finger guards, caught the light. It wasn’t the traditional bare-skinned look, but it was striking. It looked like she had dipped her hands in ink and gold.

"Injured?" Aria laughed softly. She turned to the Director. "I’m not injured. I’m bored."

She gestured to the tea set.

"Consort Li is the daughter of a General. She commands armies. Do you really think she spends her afternoons pouring hot water like a servant?"

Aria leaned back against the throne, resting her gloved hands on the armrests. The gold guards clicked against the wood.

"The script is wrong," Aria declared. "Why would I demonstrate my superiority by doing manual labor? True power isn’t doing the task perfectly. True power is making someone else do it for you."

She looked at Bella.

"The Saintess wants to pour? Let her pour. But she doesn’t do it standing up. She does it on her knees."

The Director paused. He looked at the monitor, visualizing the shot. The dark, imposing Consort on the throne. The white, fragile Saintess kneeling at her feet, forced to serve her enemy.

"It... it emphasizes the hierarchy," the Director mumbled, his eyes lighting up. "It adds tension. The Saintess has to swallow her pride to survive."

"Exactly," Aria said. She looked at Bella with a cold, dead smile. "Well, Sister? You wanted to pour. Here’s the teapot."

Bella went pale. She had walked right into it. She wanted to showcase her skill, but now she was being demoted to a waitress.

"But..." Bella stammered. "The script says..."

"The script is a guideline," Aria cut her off. "Action is reality. Kneel, Bella."

It wasn’t a request. It was a command delivered with the full weight of the Sinclair Matriarch behind it.

Lucas looked at Aria, his mouth slightly open. He saw the bandages peeking out from under the lace at her wrist. He knew she was hurt. He knew she was in pain. And yet, she was terrifying.

"Do it, Bella," Lucas whispered, stepping out of the frame. "Don’t fight her today."

Bella glared at him, betrayed, but she had no choice. The crew was waiting. The Director was waiting.

Slowly, resentfully, Bella lowered herself to her knees.

"Action!"

The scene began.

"Pour," Aria commanded, her voice lazy and sharp.

Bella picked up the teapot. She was shaking with rage, but it translated as fear on camera. She poured the tea into the delicate porcelain cup.

"Higher," Aria criticized, in character. "A high pour aerates the leaves. Didn’t they teach you anything in that village?"

Bella grit her teeth and lifted the pot higher. The tea splashed slightly.

"Clumsy," Aria tutted.

She didn’t reach for the cup. She simply tapped the table with a gold-sheathed fingernail.

"Drink it."

Bella froze. "What?"

"You poured it badly," Aria improvised. "I don’t drink swill. Dispose of it."

Bella stared at the cup. In the script, they were supposed to share a drink. Now, Aria was treating her like a trash can.

"Your Highness..." Bella started, trying to salvage the scene.

"Drink," Aria hissed, leaning forward. The gold guard on her index finger trailed down Bella’s cheek, dangerously close to her eye. "Or do you think I poisoned it?"

The threat hung heavy in the air.

Bella grabbed the cup and downed it, the hot liquid burning her throat. She slammed the cup down, tears pricking her eyes—real tears of frustration.

"Cut!" Spielberg yelled. "Magnificent! The submission! The cruelty! Aria, the gloves are a stroke of genius! Wardrobe, keep those in the continuity!"

Aria sat back, exhaling a breath she had been holding. Her hands were throbbing in the tight gloves, burning like fire.

But she didn’t show it.

She stood up, sweeping her robes around her.

"Leo," she called out to the young actor who was watching from the sidelines with his jaw on the floor. "Be a dear and open my water bottle? My nails are too expensive to risk."

Leo scrambled over. "Yes, Sister! Anything for the Queen!"

Aria took the water, her hands trembling slightly as she hid them back in her sleeves.

She had won the battle. But as she looked at Bella, who was being comforted by a makeup artist, she knew the war was escalating.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

[The Wallet: I saw the dailies feed. Making your enemy serve you while you’re injured? You’re learning.]

[The Wallet: Also, Kai cracked the first layer of the phone. We have a location on the supplier. Get ready. Tonight, we go hunting.]