After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 136: Seriously, Beware of Intense Delusion

The line rang three times before the call connected.

Aria leaned back against the plush cushions of the white sofa, crossing her legs. She held the phone to her ear, listening to the faint background noise of traffic on the other end.

"Aria," Lucas’s voice came through the speaker.

He sounded... smug. There was a heavy, exasperated sigh layered into his tone—the kind of sigh a celebrity gives a persistent, annoying fan.

"I figured you’d call eventually," Lucas drawled. "Look, I know you probably saw the DeuxMoi posts. Yes, Bella and I had brunch at Balthazar this morning. We talked things through."

Aria stared at the ceiling, biting the inside of her cheek. He actually thought she was calling out of jealousy. The delusion was almost scientifically fascinating.

"I told you before, Aria," Lucas continued, his voice dropping into that husky, faux-sympathetic register he used on camera. "There is no ’us’ anymore. You made your choice when you married my uncle. You can’t just call me because you’re having regrets now that Bella and I are back on track."

Aria let him finish. She let the silence stretch for three agonizingly long seconds before she let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"First of all, Nephew," Aria said, her voice dripping with condescension. "It’s Aunt Aria to you. Second, I would rather gargle battery acid than have ’regrets’ over a man who has the emotional depth of a teaspoon. Get over yourself, Lucas. You are not the main character."

Lucas stuttered, caught completely off guard. "What are you—"

"Anyways," Aria cut him off smoothly, her voice dropping into a deadpan chill. "Are the unlicensed therapy sessions helping with your mommy issues?"

The line went dead silent.

Aria inspected her manicure. "Because if you’re paying a thousand dollars an hour for a sex worker in a dark alley, she must be damn good. And ruining a woman’s silk blouse with your snot? That’s just bad manners, Nephew."

A sharp, strangled intake of breath echoed through the receiver. It sounded like Lucas was choking on a cocktail olive.

"H-How..." Lucas stammered, all the smooth, practiced arrogance vanishing in an instant. His voice cracked violently. "How do you know about that?"

"I have Bella’s phone," Aria said cheerfully. "She filmed you. Crystal clear HD, Lucas. The lighting in that alley is terrible, but your guilty face really pops on camera. It’s a very raw, emotional performance. Much better than your work in the Empress’s Shadow."

"You... you stole her phone?!" Lucas hissed, his panic escalating into full-blown hysteria. "Aria, you can’t have that! That’s illegal! If that video gets out—my career—my endorsements—"

"Will go up in smoke," Aria agreed pleasantly. "The internet loves a toxic bad boy. They do not, however, love a pathetic man-child who pays agency girls to watch him cry about his feelings."

"Please," Lucas begged, the transition from smug heartthrob to groveling intern taking less than sixty seconds. "Aunt Aria, please. What do you want? Money? I can wire you—"

"I don’t want your allowance, Lucas," Aria cut him off, her tone turning to absolute ice. "I want an unpaid PR intern. And congratulations. You got the job."

She stood up, pacing slowly across the living room rug.

"Listen to me very carefully. I just posted a photo from TMZ on my Instagram of me and Zoe breaking into Bella’s G-Wagon. The caption clearly states that it was a hilarious, pre-planned sisterly prank to retrieve my favorite lip gloss. Are you following?"

"A... a prank?" Lucas echoed dumbly.

"Yes. A prank," Aria enunciated. "I know you two just finished your little avocado toast date, which means Bella is awake and probably turning her purse inside out looking for her phone. When she realizes it’s missing and wants to call the police, you are going to stop her. You are going to show her my Instagram post. And you are going to convince her that she needs to play along with the joke, comment a laughing emoji, and drop the entire thing."

"She’s stubborn, Aria. I can’t just tell her to drop it—"

"You will," Aria promised, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Because if Bella breathes a single word to the cops, or the press, or her mother about a ’break-in’... I press send."

Lucas was breathing heavily into the microphone. He was trapped, and he knew it.

"And her passcode, by the way, is your birthday," Aria added, twisting the knife. "081299. It’s pathetic. Tell her to change it to something secure, like her childhood pet or maybe the date her dignity died."

"Okay," Lucas whispered, utterly defeated. "Okay. I’ll handle her. Just... don’t leak it."

"Get to the Sinclair Tower lobby in exactly thirty minutes," Aria ordered. "I’ll leave her phone with the front desk concierge under the name ’Lip Gloss’. Don’t be late."

She hung up.

Aria lowered the phone. A heavy, triumphant sigh escaped her lips. The crisis was averted. Lucas Sinclair was firmly tucked into her back pocket, right next to the rest of her blackmail.

It was a flawless victory.

Aria looked at the kitchen island. Damien’s coffee mug still sat there, half-full and cold.

Aria crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at his abandoned mug.

She wasn’t going to stand here and pine. She wasn’t going to let him hot-and-cold her into an anxiety spiral. If he thought he could just scramble her brain with a kiss and then shut her out, he was deeply mistaken.

"You’re hiding something, Damien Sinclair," she muttered to the empty room. "And I’m going to pry it out of you."

She marched into the master suite and headed straight for the closet.

Aria stripped off his oversized t-shirt. She quickly washed her face, applying a light layer of concealer to hide the dark circles of her hangover, and pulled her hair back into a sleek, severe ponytail.

She pulled on a pair of high-waisted, wide-leg black trousers and a fitted, black silk camisole. She slipped her feet into a pair of sharp, pointed-toe Louboutins. It was casual chic.

**

As the private elevator began its rapid descent to the lobby, she stared at her own reflection in the mirrored doors.

She looked put-together.

And as the numbers ticked down, she couldn’t stop checking her phone, hoping for a text from him that hadn’t come.