After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 71: Private Fashion Show For My Hubby

The Master Suite of the penthouse looked like a Skittles factory had detonated inside a hurricane.

Clothes were everywhere. Piles of neon mesh, mountains of sequins, and fabrics that probably glowed in the dark covered the bed, the floor, and the chaise lounge.

Damien sat in the armchair by the window, a mug of coffee in his hand, looking like a king presiding over a circus. He checked his watch.

"We leave in forty minutes," he announced. "At this rate, you’re going to arrive naked."

"Patience is a virtue, Mr. Sinclair," Aria called from the walk-in closet. "Art cannot be rushed. Especially when the art is designed to induce a stroke in an eighty-year-old man."

"I’m starting to feel sorry for my grandfather," Damien muttered, taking a sip of coffee.

"Ready?"

"Brace me."

Aria stepped out.

She was wearing a neon green sundress she had purchased from Maison Du Ciel. It was... aggressive. A slip of fabric in radioactive lime, it featured a plunging neckline and a hemline trimmed with oversized ostrich feathers that fluttered manically with every breath. It was something an influencer would wear to Coachella to annoy everyone behind them.

She spun around. The dress swished with a soft fwoosh.

"Well?" Aria asked, striking a pose. "Does it say ’Matriarch’?"

Damien stared at her. He blinked once, slowly.

"It says ’radioactive Big Bird on spring break’," he responded dryly.

"Perfect," Aria grinned. "It’s blinding. It’s loud. It’s everything he hates."

"It’s certainly... distinctive," Damien admitted, setting his mug down. "If we get stranded in a blizzard, rescue planes will spot you from space. Next."

Aria ran back into the closet. "Okay, Option B. The ’Disco Casual’."

Two minutes later, she emerged in a silver sequined t-shirt dress. It was shapeless, blindingly reflective, and short enough to be illegal in three states.

"No," Damien said instantly. "You look like a walking migraine. And you can’t sit down in that without flashing the staff."

"Option C!"

She came out in a hot pink vinyl mini-dress with cutouts at the waist. It squeaked when she walked.

Damien rubbed his temples. "Aria...no. Go back to the green feathers. It was the most... decent?"

"Green feathers it is," Aria declared triumphantly. "The ’Nuclear Lime’. It’s decided."

She turned to go back into the closet to change, but Damien’s voice stopped her.

"Not so fast, Mrs. Sinclair."

The tone of his voice had dropped. It wasn’t the bored judge anymore.

Aria froze, her hand on the doorframe. She looked back. Damien was leaning forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees, his golden eyes dark and focused.

"We had a deal," he reminded her softly.

Aria swallowed hard. Her bravado, usually so solid, suddenly felt very thin. The air in the room grew heavy.

"Right," she squeaked. "The... underneath part."

"The underneath part," Damien confirmed. "I believe I get to choose."

He gestured to the closet.

"Proceed."

Aria disappeared into the closet. Her hands were shaking slightly as she reached for the lingerie drawer. She had bought a few new sets with Zoe—things that Zoe had called "weapons of mass seduction"—but holding them up now, knowing Damien was waiting outside, felt terrifying.

She took a deep breath. She stripped off the vinyl dress and put on the first option.

"Option One," she called out, her voice trembling.

She stepped into the bedroom.

She was wearing a pale blue silk set. It was pretty, modest, with delicate lace trim. It was the kind of thing the "old" Aria would have worn.

Damien looked at her. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. His gaze traveled from her toes up to her flushed face.

"Sweet," he assessed. "Innocent. It matches your eyes."

Aria let out a breath. "So, this one?"

"No," Damien said. "It’s too safe. Next."

Aria retreated, her face burning. ’Too safe.’

She grabbed the next one. Red. Lace. Strappy.

She walked out, wrapping her arms around herself self-consciously. "Option Two."

Damien sat up straighter. His eyes flared. "Better. But the straps... they’ll show under the sundress. Impractical."

"It’s lingerie, Damien," Aria argued, trying to find her voice. "It’s not supposed to be practical."

"Next," he ordered, though his voice was rougher now.

Aria went back in. She looked at the last option. It was the one Zoe had thrown into the bag while cackling. Black. Sheer. Minimalist.

She put it on. She looked in the mirror. Her face was scarlet.

"I can’t wear this," she whispered to herself.

"Aria," Damien called out. "We’re losing time. Don’t make me come in there."

She took a breath. She grabbed her silk robe, wrapped it around herself tightly, and walked out.

"Option Three," she mumbled, clutching the robe closed.

"Open it," Damien said.

Aria bit her lip. She looked at him. He was waiting.

Slowly, she loosened the belt. She let the robe fall open.

Damien stopped breathing.

The black lace contrasted starkly against her pale skin. It was high-cut, daring, and incredibly revealing. It showed the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, the softness of her breasts.

The room went dead silent.

Damien stood up. He walked over to her. He didn’t touch her—he seemed to be restraining himself with physical effort. He stopped inches away, his heat radiating into her.

"That one," he rasped.

"It... it’s a bit much," Aria stuttered, unable to meet his eyes. "Isn’t it?"

Damien reached out. He placed one finger under her chin, tilting her face up until she was forced to look at the hunger in his eyes.

"It’s perfect," he said. "It’s a secret. You’ll be wearing that hideous green bird costume on the outside, looking like a disaster... and underneath, you’ll be wearing this."

He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear.

"And all night, while my grandfather is lecturing us about dignity, I’m going to be thinking about how good you look in black lace. And how much I want to take it off."

Aria’s knees buckled. She grabbed his arms to steady herself.

"Damien," she breathed.

He pulled back, tying her robe for her with efficient, shaky hands.

"Go," he ordered, turning her toward the closet. "Put on the feathers. If you stand here in that for one more minute, we aren’t making it to the estate. And I refuse to give my family the satisfaction of thinking I’m scared to show up."

Aria fled into the closet.

Five minutes later, she emerged wearing the neon green feather sundress. She looked ridiculous. She looked like a radioactive bird of paradise.

Damien was waiting by the door, his suit jacket on, checking his phone. He looked up.

He smirked.

"Ready to go to war, Little Bird?" he asked, holding out his hand.

Aria took it. Under the gaudy dress, the black lace felt like a secret brand against her skin.

"Ready," she said. "Let’s go blind some old men."