After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 133: Basic Bitch Passcodes

A construction crew was currently remodeling the inside of Aria’s skull using exclusively jackhammers.

She opened one eye. The morning sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains felt like a personal attack. She groaned, burying her face into the cool silk of the pillow, inhaling the lingering scent of cedar and mint.

She was wearing an oversized black t-shirt. Damien’s t-shirt.

Memory returned in a series of horrifying, fragmented flashes.

The sunroof. The tequila. The club. The elevator...

Oh god. The elevator.

Aria clamped a hand over her eyes, a fresh wave of nausea hitting her stomach that had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with mortification. She had thrown up in a private, multi-million-dollar elevator.

"I need to fake my own death," she whispered to the empty room.

She forced herself to sit up. On the bed next to her was empty and cold.

Aria dragged herself out of the mattress, her legs heavy. She padded barefoot out of the master suite, following the faint scent of freshly brewed coffee.

She found Damien in the kitchen.

He was standing at the massive marble island, fully dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his silver hair perfectly styled. He was reading something on his tablet, a steaming mug of black coffee in his other hand.

He didn’t look up when she entered.

"Damien," Aria croaked, her voice gravelly.

"There is a liquid IV packet mixed into the glass of water on the counter," Damien said. His voice was a flat, corporate baritone. It was the voice he used for board meetings, entirely devoid of the low, rumbling warmth from the night before. "And two Advil next to it."

Aria paused, pulling the oversized t-shirt down over her thighs. She walked to the counter and picked up the glass.

"Thank you," she mumbled, downing the salty, sweet liquid in three massive gulps. She swallowed the pills dry.

She looked at him. He was still staring at his screen. The air around him was freezing. He had built an impenetrable wall of ice overnight, and Aria was standing on the outside of it in her bare feet.

"Listen," Aria started, wrapping her arms around her waist. "About last night... I am so, so sorry. About the elevator. And the mess. I was a complete disaster. It won’t happen again."

Damien finally looked up. His golden eyes were guarded, unreadable shields. He looked at her pale face, the messy hair, the shirt that swallowed her frame. His jaw ticked, a brief flash of something agonizing crossing his features before it vanished behind the ice.

"The staff handled the elevator," Damien said evenly, taking a sip of his coffee. "It’s fine. Don’t worry about it."

"Are you sure?" Aria pressed, shifting uncomfortably. "Because you seem... mad."

"I’m not mad," Damien lied effortlessly, looking back at his tablet. He wasn’t mad. He was guarding his chest. He couldn’t look at her without hearing her whisper ’I love you’ and knowing it meant absolutely nothing. "I’m just reviewing the Tokyo contracts."

Aria frowned. It felt like a dismissal. The hangover was making her sluggish, but she could tell she had crossed an invisible line. Did she do something else? Did she say something stupid? 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

Before she could ask, Damien reached into his suit jacket pocket. He pulled out a sleek, rose-gold iPhone with a glittery case and set it on the marble island with a sharp clack.

"I pulled this out of your jacket yesterday," Damien said, changing the subject. "You want to explain why you’re carrying a stolen phone?"

Aria’s hangxiety vanished, instantly replaced by the sharp thrill of the hunt.

"That," Aria said, walking over and tapping the glittery case, "is the Holy Grail. Or, well, Bella Vale’s phone."

Damien’s brow furrowed. "Your sister? Why did you steal her phone?"

"Because of what’s on it," Aria leaned against the counter, her mind sharpening as the Advil began to kick in. "Yesterday, when I was on the phone with you, I was leaving the backlot. I heard screaming. I hid behind a lighting rig and watched Bella and Lucas have a full-blown meltdown."

Damien set his tablet down, his full attention finally locking onto her. "About what?"

"Lucas is cheating on her," Aria grinned, the pettiness bleeding through. "But not just with anyone. Bella was screaming that she tracked his location two or well...three days ago now—the same night the ledger was stolen from Julian. She followed Lucas to an alleyway on 5th Street."

Damien’s eyes narrowed. "And?"

"And she caught him handing a thick envelope to a woman," Aria finished, leaning closer. "A red-haired woman who works at The Velvet Room."

The air in the kitchen shifted.

"A redhead from the agency," Damien repeated, his voice dropping an octave. "Chloe?"

"My thought exactly," Aria nodded eagerly. "It’s too big of a coincidence. But it gets better. Bella filmed the handoff. She has a clear video of the woman’s face on this phone."

Damien stared at the device on the marble.

"I got her drunk at the pub," Aria explained, feeling very smug. "I convinced her that she needed to send me the video so I could ’leak’ it to TMZ and ruin Lucas’s life. But she passed out, and the phone was locked in her G-Wagon."

"So you somehow broke into the G-Wagon," Damien concluded, shaking his head slowly. "You’re incredible."

"Yes, I am," Aria agreed. She grabbed the phone and tapped the screen.

It lit up, demanding a passcode.

"Okay," Aria said, cracking her knuckles. "Time to hack a hoe."

Damien sighed, walking around the island to stand beside her. "It’s an Apple device. The encryption is solid. If we input the wrong code too many times, it wipes the hard drive. We need to call Kai. He has brute-force software that can bypass the biometric—"

"Damien, stop thinking like a cyber-security expert," Aria interrupted, holding the phone up. "You’re dealing with Bella Vale. She’s a stage-five clinger with a room-temperature IQ. She doesn’t use algorithmic encryption."

"People use complex codes for their banking apps," Damien argued.

"Not Bella. She uses passcodes that validate her ego," Aria said, staring at the number pad. "She’s deeply insecure, obsessed with her image, and currently defining her entire self-worth by her relationship with your nephew."

Aria tapped her chin. "It’s a six-digit numerical code."

"Her birthday?" Damien suggested.

"Too obvious. Plus, she hates getting older," Aria mused. "My birthday? To remind her she’s younger? No, she wouldn’t want to look at my numbers."

Aria smiled, a slow, wicked realization dawning on her face.

"I know what it is," she whispered. "She’s a pick-me girl. And a pick-me girl’s password is always her man."

Aria’s thumbs flew across the screen.

0-8-1-2-9-9.

August 12, 1999. Lucas Sinclair’s birthday.

The little lock icon at the top of the screen shivered, popped open, and vanished. The home screen appeared, displaying a heavily filtered selfie of Bella and Lucas.

Damien stared at the unlocked screen, genuinely stunned.

"She’s hilariously predictable," Aria chuckled, tapping on the Photos app.

She opened the gallery. It was a wasteland of selfies, iced coffees, and mirror body-checks. Aria tapped the ’Albums’ tab and scrolled down to ’Hidden’.

It required a passcode again. Aria rolled her eyes and typed in Lucas’s birthday a second time.

The folder opened.

There was only one file inside. A video thumbnail, blurry and dark, timestamped from three nights ago at 11:45 PM.

Aria’s pulse spiked. This was it. This might be the face of the woman who had stolen the ledger. Or, it could just be a random sex worker, and they were back to square one.

She held the phone so Damien could see the screen. They stood shoulder to shoulder.

"Ready?" Aria asked, her thumb hovering over the glass.

"Play it," Damien commanded, his eyes locked on the screen.

Aria tapped the play button.