After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 122: Dying is Easy

The set of the "Cold Palace" was a masterpiece of set design. It was stark, grey, and freezing—mostly because the air conditioning was cranked up to keep the fake snow from melting, but also because the vibe was currently being ruined by a woman in a pastel pink dress.

"Cut!" the Director screamed, throwing his hat onto the ground. "Bella! For the love of cinema, get out of the frame!"

Bella Vale blinked, her hands frozen in mid-air where she had been reaching out to ’comfort’ Aria.

"I was just adding emotional depth!" Bella argued, her voice wobbling with misunderstood genius. "The Saintess would naturally want to comfort the dying Consort. It shows my benevolence."

"It shows your back!" the Director shouted. "You are blocking the camera! This is Consort Li’s death scene. She dies alone. That is the point. She is abandoned. You are not there. No one is there."

Aria sat on the hard wooden floor in her white mourning robes, her makeup done to look pale and gaunt. She rested her chin in her hand, watching her sister try to rewrite the script in real-time.

"She’s right, Director," Aria drawled. "The Saintess is benevolent. Maybe she can be benevolent from the craft services table? Far away from the lens?"

"Excellent idea," the Director pointed to the exit. "Bella, off. Now."

"But—"

"Go!"

Bella huffed, gathering her skirts and stomping off the set, shooting a glare at Aria that could have curdled milk.

"Finally," Aria muttered.

She adjusted her robes. This was it. The final scene. The death of the villainess.

In the script, Consort Li drinks the poisoned tea sent by the Emperor and delivers a monologue about regret. But Aria knew better. Regret was for people who had hope.

"Okay, reset!" the Director called. "Action!"

The clapboard snapped.

The room went quiet.

Aria looked at the cup of tea in front of her. It was cold water with food coloring, but to her, it looked like the cracked plastic cup in the asylum.

She didn’t act. She remembered.

She let the walls of the soundstage dissolve. She was back in the white room. The smell of bleach and mold filled her nose. The cold seeped into her bones—not the AC, but the deep, marrow-freezing chill of starvation and neglect.

She picked up the cup. Her hand trembled—not a theatrical shake, but the weak, spastic tremor of nerve damage she had lived with for five years.

She looked into the camera, but she wasn’t seeing the lens. She was seeing the empty future she had died in.

"You win," she whispered.

It wasn’t a grand declaration. It was a surrender.

She drank.

She set the cup down. She didn’t clutch her throat. She didn’t gasp or flail. She simply... stopped.

She leaned back against the cold wall. Her eyes stayed open, staring at nothing. The light slowly drained out of them, layer by layer—hope, anger, fear—until there was nothing left but a vast, empty silence. She looked like a doll that had been broken and tossed aside.

It was terrifying. It was the face of a woman who had died a long time ago.

Behind the monitors, the crew was dead silent. The script supervisor had her hand over her mouth.

And Lucas...

Lucas stood by the video village, watching the screen. He was wearing his street clothes, but he felt like he was suffocating in the Emperor’s armor.

He watched Aria die.

He saw the resignation in her eyes. He saw the loneliness. It felt too real. Too raw.

His breath hitched.

’She’s good,’ he thought, panic clawing at his throat. ’She’s too good.’

On set, Aria let out one final, soft exhale. Her head lolled to the side.

Stillness.

"Cut," the Director whispered, wiping a tear from his cheek. "Check the gate. That was... perfect."

Suddenly, Leo burst through the silence. The young actor rushed onto the set, his eyes wide and shining with admiration.

"Sister Aria!" Leo gushed, dropping to his knees beside her. "That was incredible! I actually thought you died! My heart stopped! You looked so... empty. How did you do that? Can you teach me?"

Aria sat up, the dead look vanishing instantly as she patted Leo’s head. "It’s called method acting, Leo. And a lack of caffeine."

"Now, reset for the Funeral. Scene 83."

They moved to the Great Hall set.

Aria lay on a raised dais, surrounded by white lilies. She had to hold her breath, keeping her eyes shut, playing the corpse of the woman who had terrorized the palace.

"Action!"

Bella stepped into the frame, clutching Lucas’ arm. They were supposed to look down at the dead Consort with a mix of pity and relief, then share a passionate kiss to signify the new era of peace.

"She looks peaceful," Bella said, delivering her line with maximum melodrama.

"She is gone," Lucas replied woodenly.

"Kiss her!" the Director shouted. "Kiss the Saintess, Lucas!"

Lucas leaned in. He pressed his lips to Bella’s, but his eyes... his eyes were open. He was staring down at Aria’s face.

Bella tried to deepen the kiss, moaning theatrically, but Lucas was stiff as a board. He pulled back after two seconds.

"Cut!" The Director groaned. "Lucas! You’re kissing the love of your life, not your aunt! Again!"

They did four takes. Every time, Lucas pulled away too fast, his gaze snapping back to Aria. Bella was furious, her face turning redder with every rejection.

"Just look at me!" Bella hissed between takes.

"I am!" Lucas lied.

"Final take!" the Director yelled. "Make it count!"

Lucas kissed Bella. It was dry, awkward, and devoid of chemistry. He pulled away, looking relieved.

"Good enough," the Director sighed, clearly giving up. "That’s a wrap on The Empress’s Shadow!"

Confetti cannons fired.

Aria sat up on the dais like the Undertaker rising from the grave. She dusted a lily petal off her shoulder.

"Finally," she muttered. "I was getting stiff."

She hopped off the platform, ignoring Bella’s glare and Lucas’s lingering stare. She grabbed an iced coffee from the craft table and toasted the air.

"Wrap party tonight!" the Director announced into his megaphone. "Drinks are on production at The Rusty Anchor! Be there at eight!"