After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 100: Hangover Cures for the Useless

Diana woke up with a groan that sounded like a dying bagpipe.

She tried to sit up, but the room spun violently. She collapsed back onto the pillows, clutching her head. "I’m dying," she announced to the ceiling.

"Stop being so dramatic," Aria’s voice cut through the fog, crisp and unsympathetic. "You’re hungover."

Diana cracked one eye open. Aria was standing over the bed, looking annoyingly fresh in a familiar blue velvet dress. Damien was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking concerned but exasperated.

"Water," Diana croaked.

"Information first," Damien said.

"I can’t think," Diana whined. "My brain is throbbing."

Aria sighed. She reached up to her hair, pulling out a long, thin silver needle. It glinted in the lamplight.

Damien raised his brows. "How do you hide those in your hair?"

"YouTube tutorial," Aria lied smoothly. "It’s a hack for volume. Now, hold still, Diana."

Before Diana could protest, Aria leaned down and drove the needle into a specific point between Diana’s eyebrows—Yintang.

Diana gasped, her body going rigid for a second. Then, she slumped.

"Oh," Diana breathed. The pounding in her skull receded instantly, replaced by a strange, cool clarity. "That’s... better."

"It’s temporary," Aria warned, stepping back. "Now, look at your wrist."

Diana lifted her arm. She stared at the black ink drawing of the viper.

"I... I remember a man," she murmured, frowning. "In the hallway."

"What did he look like?" Damien demanded, stepping forward.

"He was... charming," Diana said vaguely, her brow furrowing. "He had a French accent. I remember he stopped me to compliment my sweater."

"And then?" Aria pressed.

"And then..." Diana squeezed her eyes shut. "Nothing. It’s blank. We were talking, and then I woke up here."

"He must’ve drugged you," Aria concluded grimly. "Or you were already drunk out of your mind. Either way, he got close enough to touch you."

"Did he say anything strange?" Damien asked gently.

"No," Diana whispered, looking scared now. "Just... small talk."

Damien exchanged a look with Aria.

"It’s okay, Diana," Damien said, patting her shoulder. "Just... stay in bed. And maybe switch to a water diet for a few days."

The helicopter ride back to the city was loud and tense.

Aria sat buckled in next to Damien, watching the lights of the Sinclair Estate fade into the darkness below.

"So," Aria shouted over the rotor noise. "Diana was charmed by a hitman. The Vipers were in the house. And we have no idea who they are."

"We know they have a sense of humor," Damien shouted back, his face grim. "Drawing a snake on my sister? That’s arrogance."

He reached for her hand, interlacing their fingers.

"There’s something else," he said.

Aria looked at him. "What?"

"The Ledger," Damien said.

"What about it?"

"It’s gone."

Aria’s stomach dropped. "Gone? What? How? Why?"

"Julian had it," Damien admitted, looking pained. "And apparently, he had... company last night. Three women. One of them must’ve cracked his safe and walked out with the book."

Aria stared at him. She blinked. Then she let out a hysterical, incredulous laugh.

"You’re joking," she yelled. "Julian Cross? The man who looks like he irons his socks? He lost the most important piece of evidence in a murder investigation because he was having a threesome?"

"A foursome," Damien corrected dryly.

"Men," Aria shook her head, leaning back against the seat. "Unbelievable. So we have no leverage?"

"We have the tax fraud," Damien reminded her. "The IRS investigation is still active. She can’t access her money."

"That’s hardly a win," Aria said, her voice tight. "If the Vipers are involved, poverty is the least of her problems."

She rubbed her temples. The stress was hitting her now. Even in her past life, she had never dealt with anything this dangerous and annoying.

Aria felt a tremor in her hands and clenched them into fists to hide it. She had to keep it together.

"I have a call time at 6:00 AM," she groaned, realization hitting her. "We have a major scene tomorrow. The confrontation between Consort Li and the Emperor."

She fumbled in her bag, pulling out the crumpled script.

"I haven’t even looked at my lines," she muttered, flipping through the pages.

Damien watched her switching gears—from mafia target/detective to actress in seconds. He saw the tension in her jaw, the way she was holding herself too stiffly.

He reached over and plucked the crumpled script from her hands.

"Give it here," he said.

"Damien, I need to—"

"Scene 82?" he asked, scanning the page under the dim cabin light. "The Throne Room Confrontation?"

"Yes, but—"

"I’ll read for the Emperor," Damien said, his voice dropping into a register that was less ’sitcom actor’ and more ’actual sovereign’. He didn’t look at the paper; he looked at her. "’Li, do you think your silence protects you? In this court, silence is an admission of guilt.’"

Aria blinked. He wasn’t just reading; he was projecting. The authority in his voice sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. It was commanding, cold, and utterly convincing.

She straightened her spine, the reflex of a professional kicking in. She met his gaze, slipping into the skin of the Consort. "’My silence is not guilt, Your Majesty. It is mercy. Because if I spoke the truth, your empire would crumble.’"

Damien leaned forward, invading her personal space. The helicopter seemed to fade away.

"’Then speak,’" he challenged, improvising the tone with a dark, velvet threat that Lucas could never pull off. "’Burn it down. I would rather rule the ashes with you than a kingdom without you.’"

Aria stared at him, her heart skipping a beat. The line on the page was just ’Then speak.’ He had added the rest. And god, it worked. It was terrifyingly romantic.

"That..." Aria breathed, breaking character. "That wasn’t in the script."

"I improved it," Damien said, handing the script back with a smirk.

Aria laughed softly, taking the paper. "You’re a better actor than your nephew is."

"I’m better at everything than he is," Damien stated as if it were a scientific fact.

He leaned back, watching her with a look of possessive pride.

"You won’t blow it," he said. "You’re Aria Sinclair. You don’t fail."

"I might fail if I fall asleep tonight," she sighed. "Drop me at the studio? I need to get into hair and makeup before the sun comes up."

"I’ll drop you," Damien promised. "And then I’m going to meet Julian. We need to find that book."

The helicopter banked, the city lights rising up to meet them.

"Welcome back to the real world," Aria whispered to herself, clutching the script like a shield. "Let’s hope the drama on set is less lethal than the drama at home."