After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 69: A Peacock Dressed in Neon

The private fitting suite of Maison Du Ciel looked like a drag queen’s wardrobe had exploded.

Piles of tulle in electric lime, mountains of sequins that could blind a pilot, and enough ostrich feathers to stuff a mattress littered the velvet furniture.

"Okay, look at this one," Zoe shouted, emerging from the dressing room. She was wearing a jacket made entirely of safety-pin chains and a skirt that appeared to be constructed from recycled disco balls. She struck a pose, vogueing aggressively. "It’s giving ’Cyberpunk Marie Antoinette’."

Aria, currently drowning in a voluminous, hot pink tulle gown that took up three chairs, laughed until her stomach hurt.

"It’s hideous," Aria gasped, wiping a tear from her eye. "I love it. Put it in the ’maybe’ pile."

"Maybe?" Zoe scoffed, attempting to sit down and realizing the disco balls made it impossible. "This is a definite yes. Imagine the sound it makes when you walk. Clink-clink-clink. You’ll sound like a walking chandelier. Grandfather Sinclair will hate it."

The sales associates were having the time of their lives. Usually, they dealt with old money matrons who whispered about beige cashmere. Today, they were catering to two young, wealthy women with a Black Centurion Card and a vendetta against subtlety. They ran back and forth with trays of champagne, macaroons, and increasingly ridiculous accessories.

"Try the neon green boots," Aria commanded the nearest associate, pointing to a display. "And the sunglasses with the diamond frames."

"Right away, Madame!"

Aria leaned back in the pink cloud of her dress, watching Zoe struggle out of the chain jacket. A sudden, sharp pang of emotion hit her chest— a deep, aching gratitude.

In her past life, the five years in the asylum had been depressing. No laughter. No champagne. And definitely no Zoe. She had missed her best friend so much it felt like a phantom limb. Seeing Zoe here, alive, happy, and complaining about sequins, felt like a miracle.

"You’re staring at me," Zoe said, catching her eye in the mirror. "Do I have glitter on my face?"

"You have glitter on your soul," Aria smiled softly. "I just... missed you. That’s all."

Zoe paused. She walked over, still half-stuck in the disco skirt, and poked Aria’s nose.

"I’ve been here the whole time, weirdo. And I’m not going anywhere. Unless this skirt cuts off my circulation, in which case I’m going to the hospital."

"Hold still," Zoe said, whipping out her phone. "This lighting is criminal to waste. Documentation is required."

She switched to the front camera and squeezed next to Aria, throwing up a peace sign while making a ridiculous duck face. Aria laughed, ruining the shot by burying her face in Zoe’s shoulder, but Zoe snapped it anyway.

"Video time," Zoe announced, switching modes. "Walk for me, Queen. Give me ’I just divorced my third husband and kept the yacht’."

Aria stood up, the pink tulle rustling like a storm. She strutted across the fitting room, exaggerating her hip sway, flipping her hair with a dramatic flair that nearly knocked over a mannequin.

"Work!" Zoe screamed, filming from a low angle. "Yes! Serve me bankruptcy! Serve me alimony!"

They collapsed onto the velvet sofa, watching the replay. In the video, Aria spun around, tripped on her own hem, and recovered with a bow. They were laughing so hard they were breathless, heads leaning together, surrounded by a fortress of expensive, ridiculous fabric. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated joy—a snapshot of the girls they should have been allowed to be if the world wasn’t trying to eat them.

"I’m keeping that one," Zoe wiped a tear away. "It’s going in the ’Blackmail’ folder."

"Go change," Aria said, giving her a playful shove. "I want to see the purple latex number next."

Zoe went back into the dressing room, still humming a runway beat. Aria turned to the mirror, adjusting the tulle. She looked ridiculous. She looked happy.

"Madame?" A sales associate approached with a tray of sunglasses. "Would you like to try these?"

"Yes, thank you." Aria reached for a pair of oversized, rhinestone-encrusted shades.

As she put them on, looking past her own reflection to the large plate-glass window at the front of the store, she saw Zoe emerge from the dressing room, frowning.

Zoe wasn’t looking at the clothes. She was looking past Aria, toward the street.

"Hey," Zoe said, her voice dropping the playful tone. "Don’t look now, but there’s a guy staring at you through the window. And not in a ’wow, she’s hot’ way. In a ’I collect skin’ way."

Aria froze. Her hand instinctively went to the ruby ring on her finger—a nervous tic she was developing.

She turned around slowly.

Through the display of mannequins and gold lettering, the street outside was busy with shoppers. But there, standing near a lamppost, was a figure.

He was wearing a dark hoodie, the hood pulled low despite the mild weather. His hands were in his pockets. He wasn’t moving. He was just... watching.

As Aria’s gaze locked onto him, he didn’t flinch. He simply turned and melted into the crowd, his movements smooth and practiced, disappearing like smoke.

"Did you see him?" Zoe asked, walking over to the window. "Creepy, right? Probably just a stalker fan. Since the #KingsMark thing, the weirdos are coming out of the woodwork."

Zoe turned back to the clothes, dismissing it with a shrug. "Anyway, latex. Let’s do it."

Aria stared at the spot where the man had been.

’A fan?’

No. Fans took photos. Fans waved. Fans screamed.

A cold shiver snaked down her spine, piercing through the warmth of the champagne.

’The Vipers?’

Was that one of them? A scout? A cleaner?

She looked around the store. She knew Damien had a security detail shadowing her. Somewhere in that crowd outside, there were men in casual wear watching her back. She was safe.

But then her eyes landed on Zoe, who was currently holding up a pair of neon yellow gloves and laughing at the phone screen, replaying their silly video.

’Zoe isn’t protected.’

The thought hit Aria with the force of a physical blow. What if they decided she was too hard to touch? What if they went for the soft targets?

What if they used Zoe to get to her?

"Aria?" Zoe waved a glove in her face. "Earth to Queen. Is the latex too much?"

Aria blinked, forcing a smile onto her face. It felt brittle.

"No," she lied. "Just... thinking about the dinner. Let’s buy the purple one."

"Yes!" Zoe cheered.

Aria turned back to the mirror, but the joy was gone, replaced by a gnawing anxiety.

What did they want?

Silence? The Ledger? Her life?

Or did they want something else entirely?

’How much longer, Kai?’ Aria wondered, her fingers tightening on the tulle fabric of her dress. ’How much longer until you crack that phone?’

She resolved to ask Damien tonight. She needed to know and not just for her sake.