After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 95: Who Invited the Evil Stepmother?

Thirty minutes before Aria walked down the hallway, Damien was sitting in the library, staring at a laptop screen that had just gone black.

The international merger was done. The sharks in Tokyo had signed.

He sat back, exhaling a long breath. The silence of the library was heavy. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his personal phone. It was still powered down from the night before—a rare lapse in discipline that spoke to just how distracting his wife could be.

He pressed the power button. The Apple logo flared to life.

Before the phone could even finish booting, a notification pinged on his laptop. It was a call from Julian Cross.

Damien frowned. He tapped the key to accept the video call.

Julian’s face filled the screen. The usually immaculate lawyer looked like he had been dragged through a hedge backward. His hair was messy, his tie was gone, and there was a frantic, wild look in his eyes that Damien had never seen before.

"Don’t kill me," Julian said immediately.

"Are you going to give me a reason to want to?" Damien questioned, amused, setting his glass of scotch down.

"The Ledger," Julian whispered, glancing over his shoulder as if he expected the walls to have ears. "It’s gone. The Apothecary book."

The temperature in the library dropped to zero.

"Explain," Damien said, his voice dangerously soft.

"Last night... I had company," Julian started, adjusting his glasses. "Three women from The Velvet Room. I’ve used the agency for years. I ran the background checks myself, Damien. They were clean. Employment history, credit checks, medical records. They were my regulars."

He swallowed hard, looking genuinely baffled.

"None of them acted strange. They were... professional. I woke up and the ledger was gone."

"So, you were robbed," Damien concluded, his jaw tightening.

"The safe wasn’t forced," Julian said, running a hand through his messy hair. "Someone used a digital bypass. But who? Which one? I don’t know, Damien. I don’t know if one of them was a plant, or if someone... Lydia... got to one of them."

"Lydia," Damien murmured. "That book proved she bought neurotoxins. Without it, Aria can’t tie her to her mother’s murder."

"She must have bribed one of them," Julian said miserably. "I vetted them, but everyone has a price. If she destroys that book, the murder case is dead."

Just then, the phone in Damien’s hand buzzed violently.

It was Kai. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Damien sighed, typing a quick command on his laptop to bridge the cellular call into the video feed. "Kai is on the line."

The screen split.

Kai Vane appeared. He was sitting on a beige sofa in a very modern apartment, wearing a sheet mask and eating noodles out of a carton.

"Damien," Kai mumbled around a mouthful of noodles. "And Julian? You look like hell, man. Rough night?"

"Kai," Damien said, his patience thinning. "Why are you calling?"

"I was just scrolling through the timeline, enjoying my Sunday off," Kai said, waving his chopsticks. "And I saw a post that confused me. The Sinclair Estate official account posted about a ’Harvest Charity Ball’ at 2:00 AM last night. Why is the evil stepmother invited and I’m not?"

Damien furrowed his brows in genuine confusion.

"Lydia Laurent," Kai said. "She just posted a selfie from First Class. Caption says: ’Landing in twenty minutes. Can’t wait to support the Sinclair Harvest Charity Ball. Family first.’ She must have hopped a plane the second the event went live."

Damien went still. "Lydia is coming here?"

"Looks like it," Kai peeled the sheet mask off his chin to take a sip of soda. "She’s bold, I’ll give her that. Coming back into the lion’s den while the IRS is sniffing her bank accounts? That’s kind of crazy."

Kai’s expression sobered slightly.

"You might want to be careful, Damien, she might not be coming alone. We still don’t know who her friends are."

"The Vipers," Damien said.

"Maybe," Kai shrugged. "Or maybe she just hired some local muscle. Either way, keep an eye on Sister-in-law. Lydia has a grudge."

Damien didn’t wait to hear more. The pieces were falling into place.

She was coming for Aria.

He slammed the laptop shut, severing the connection.

He looked at his phone. He dialed Aria’s secure line immediately.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

Voicemail.

He dialed her personal cell.

Voicemail.

"Pick up," he snarled, standing up and heading for the door.

He dialed the secure line again as he strode across the library, his heart rate spiking. She never missed a call on that phone.

He sent multiple messages.

Damien threw the heavy oak door open—and almost collided with his grandfather.

The patriarch was standing there, leaning on his cane, blocking his path. He was dressed for the gala in a sharp tuxedo.

"Move," Damien snarled, trying to step around him.

Grandfather Sinclair blocked him with the cane, his face set in a grim mask of disapproval. "We need to talk, boy. About the future of this family."

"I don’t have time for this," Damien snapped.

"You make time for the Sinclair legacy!" Grandfather barked. "I have tolerated your little rebellions all these years, Damien. I tolerated that actress in my home. But this marriage? It is a stain. A joke."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

"You need a proper wife. A woman of breeding and substance, like Catherine. Not a loud, little girl playing dress-up."

Damien stared at him. The irony was almost funny. His actress wife had blackmailed the Trust into submission more times than once.

"Divorce her," Grandfather Sinclair commanded. "End this childish nonsense tonight. Announce the separation at the Gala. Think of this family’s bloodline."

"I don’t give a fuck about your bloodline," Damien said, shoving the cane aside. "Now, get out of my way," he added as calm as possible. "I need to find my wife."

Grandfather Sinclair opened his mouth to argue but Damien cut him off.

"Get out of my way," Damien roared.

He shoved past the patriarch, leaving the old man stumbling against the doorframe, sputtering indignantly about respect.

Damien ran, taking the stairs two at a time. He tore through the corridors of the estate, ignoring the startled servants.

He reached the East Wing corridor. It was empty.

He burst into his bedroom.

"Aria!"

The room was empty. The bed was made.

But on the nightstand, next to the water carafe, sat two phones. Her personal phone. And the secure black phone he had given her.

She had left them.

Damien stared at the devices. A cold, sick feeling washed over him. She was defenseless. She was untrackable. And she was somewhere in this massive, unsecured house while a woman who wanted her dead was walking through the front door.

He grabbed the secure phone. The screen lit up with his own missed calls and messages.

"Damn it, Aria," he whispered.

He grabbed both phones and ran back out into the hallway.

He had to find her.

He turned left toward the ballroom, his shoes skidding on the floor.

If he had turned right, he would have seen her.

Just a few seconds after Damien vanished down the West Staircase, Aria turned the corner from the North Hallway, wearing the blue velvet dress, humming to herself as she reached for the library door handle.

They had missed each other by a heartbeat.