After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 80: Boring Late Night Reading
Inside the East Wing suite, the only sound was the soft, rhythmic breathing of Aria. She was sound asleep on the high side of the broken bed, curled into a ball under the warm duvet.
Damien stood on the stone balcony, the glass doors cracked open just enough to hear her if she stirred. He was shirtless and dressed in a pair of black sweatpants that hung low on his hips, the cool night air biting at his skin, a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.
He couldn’t sleep. The adrenaline of the sex had faded, but his mind was a distinct, sharp blade that refused to sheath itself.
In his other hand, he held his phone. Ken had sent the scans of the journals Aria had recovered from the Vale Estate.
Damien scrolled through the pages, the blue light illuminating the hard planes of his handsome face.
He had expected secrets. Codes. Maybe a mention of the man in the Paris photo or the Vipers.
What he found was... suburbia.
February 14, 2005: Raymond forgot Valentine’s Day again. I made a roast. He came home late. He smelled of perfume, but he said it was a client. I believe him. I have to believe him.
March 3, 2005: Aria took her first steps today. She looks just like him. She has his eyes. I bought groceries. Milk, eggs, bread.
April 10, 2005: The gardener looked at me strangely. Is my slip showing? I need to be more careful.
Damien frowned, flicking ash over the balcony railing before bringing the cigarette back to his lips.
It was boring. It was aggressively, suspiciously boring.
Almost every entry painted Eleanor Vale as a devoted, anxious housewife obsessed with her mediocre husband. There was no mention of her life before Raymond. No mention of family, friends, or the past. It was as if she had popped into existence the day she married him.
He thought of the photo on the phone—Eleanor in Paris, 2003, looking radiant and powerful next to a man who definitely wasn’t Raymond.
"You were painting a picture," Damien whispered to the handwriting on the screen.
She wasn’t just writing a diary; she was creating an exhibit. She knew that if anyone found these—Raymond, Lydia, or whoever she was running from—they needed to see a woman who was completely domesticated.
It frustrated him. He was hitting a dead wall of performative normalcy.
He switched apps and dialed Julian. It was 2:00 AM, but he knew Julian’s schedule didn’t include sleep.
The phone rang once.
"Sinclair," Julian’s voice answered. It was breathless, tight, but carried that trademark regal drawl. "Is the house on fire? Or did you just kill someone?"
"Neither," Damien said, taking a drag of his cigarette. "I’m reading the journals. I need to know if the forensic team found anything incriminating in the ledger about Lydia."
"The... the ledger..." Julian paused. He cleared his throat loudly.
There was a muffled sound in the background. A giggle. High-pitched and feminine.
"Julian," Damien said, his voice flat. "Am I interrupting?"
"No," Julian lied instantly, his voice straining. "Just... late night filing. Paperwork."
"You’re such a tease, Julian," a sultry, female voice purred near the receiver, clear as a bell. "You can’t just pull out so suddenly. Finish what you started."
Another voice—different, huskier—laughed. "Let him take the call. It’s probably his boss."
Damien pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it with a look of dry amusement.
He wasn’t surprised. He knew Julian Cross—the man who wore three-piece suits to breakfast and spoke in legal citations—had a penchant for "exclusive networking events" that usually involved high-end escorts and very little clothing. It was the only way the man decompressed.
"Sounds like a lot of paperwork," Damien noted.
"It’s a... complex case," Julian gasped. "Damien, is this urgent? Or can I call you back when I’m... less occupied?"
Damien looked back through the glass doors. Aria was shifting in her sleep, her arm reaching out across the empty space where he should be.
He didn’t want to be the reason Julian stopped his fun. And frankly, he didn’t want to think about Julian’s fun right now.
"It can wait," Damien said. "Finish your... filing, Julian."
"You’re a good friend," Julian breathed. "Talk tomorrow."
The line went dead.
Damien scoffed, shaking his head. He put out his cigarette on the stone railing.
’Dead ends and degenerates,’ he thought.
He stepped back inside, sliding the glass door shut and locking the latch.
He walked into the bathroom, the harsh fluorescent light reflecting off the white tiles. He caught his reflection in the mirror—eyes dark, jaw tight. He smelled like smoke and frustration.
He grabbed a bottle of Listerine, swishing the minty liquid around his mouth to scrub away the taste of tobacco before spitting it into the sink. He didn’t want her to taste the ash on him. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢
A dull throb began to pulse behind his eyes—the warning sign of a migraine building in the dead of the night. He opened the cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Vanax. He shook two pills into his palm and dry-swallowed them, gritting his teeth against the bitter aftertaste. It wasn’t the cure Aria was, but it would keep the demons at bay until morning.
He went back to the room. He watched Aria for a moment. She looked peaceful.
He didn’t have answers for her yet. The journals were a bust. The only thing he could do right now was keep her from thinking about her mother, Lydia and the Vipers.
Super easy.
They were stuck here until Monday with his family and the corporate vultures.
He slid the glass door open and stepped back into the warmth of the room. He locked the balcony, shutting out the world.
He walked to the bed, climbing carefully onto the high side of the mattress to avoid sliding down the slope. He pulled Aria into his arms. She sighed, her body relaxing instantly against his heat.
"Damien?" she mumbled, half-asleep.
"I’m here," he whispered, kissing her hair. "Go back to sleep."
He would distract her. He would keep her busy with the estate, with the family feud, and with him. The mystery of her mother could wait until they were back in the city.
For now, he just needed to be her husband.
