After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 15: Tears Don’t Work on 8K Cameras

The sea of reporters parted instantly as the Rolls Royce glided to a halt. The engine was silent, but the presence of the car felt like a physical weight pressing against the garden.

The door was opened by a man in a sharp grey suit—Julian Cross, the Legal Shark, looking like a man who was about to dismantle their entire legal standing in five minutes or less. He adjusted his glasses, his eyes scanning the podium with clinical detachment.

Then, a leg emerged.

A long, pale leg, accented by a stiletto heel the color of fresh blood.

Aria stepped out of the car.

The cameras flashed so rapidly the garden was plunged into a strobe-light frenzy. The reporters gasped, several of them dropping their notebooks. This wasn’t the "drugged, terrified" victim Bella had described.

Aria looked like a goddess of vengeance. The scarlet Valentino dress hugged her curves with lethal precision, its structured collar framing her face like a crown. The rose-gold of her hair looked like spun fire in the morning sun, held in place by the ruby-encrusted pins that glinted dangerously. Her emerald eyes weren’t red from crying; they were clear, sharp, and dripping with an icy disdain that made the reporters closest to her take a step back.

Damien stepped out after her.

He didn’t touch her. He didn’t need to. He stood half a step behind her, his silver hair gleaming like platinum, his golden eyes scanning the crowd with the predatory boredom of a lion watching a pack of hyenas. His presence was so heavy it seemed to suck the air out of the garden.

Aria walked toward the podium, her heels clicking a rhythmic death toll on the stone path. Every step she took, Bella’s face turned a shade paler, her "innocent" white dress looking suddenly cheap and washed out against Aria’s vibrant red.

"Sister," Aria said, her voice clear and carrying to the very back of the lawn. "I heard you were worried about me. It’s so touching. Truly. I didn’t realize you cared so much about my ’medical needs’."

She reached the bottom of the podium and looked up at Bella, who was frozen like a deer in headlights.

"But I’m confused," Aria continued, tilting her head with mock-curiosity. "You said I was being ’abused’? You told the world I was struggling for my life in a dark basement? Does this look like abuse to you?"

She gestured to her archival gown, the rubies in her hair catching the light with every slight movement.

"Aria!" Lucas snapped, trying to regain control of the narrative. "Don’t be fooled by the clothes he bought you! We saw the photos Sarah took! We know he was hurting you on that roof! You were gasping for air!"

Aria turned her gaze to Lucas. It was a look of such profound, soul-deep pity that he actually flinched.

"Lucas," she said softly. "You’ve always had such a limited imagination. You think a man like Damien Sinclair needs to use force to get what he wants?"

She turned back to the press, her expression shifting to one of chilling professional calm.

"You mentioned photos," Aria said. "Sarah, your assistant, was very dedicated in taking them. She spent quite a bit of time on that fire escape. But it’s a shame she used such a... cheap lens. It really distorted the ’chemistry’ of the moment."

Aria looked back at the car. Julian Cross stepped forward, holding a sleek black tablet.

"If the members of the press would check their devices now," Julian announced, his voice clinical and loud, "you will find a link to the 8K, high-definition RAW files of that exact same moment. Taken from The Obsidian’s own high-security surveillance system."

The reporters scrambled for their phones. The sound of rapid typing and murmurs filled the garden.

On the LED screen behind Bella, the grainy photo was suddenly replaced by a crystal-clear, slow-motion video.

In 8K resolution, there was no room for interpretation. The world saw Aria’s hand reaching up. They saw her grabbing Damien’s tie and yanking him down. They saw the way her fingers tangled in his silver hair, not in a struggle, but in a frantic, desperate need to pull him closer. Most importantly, they saw the expression on Aria’s face—not terror, but a hunger so raw and honest it made several reporters turn away in embarrassment.

And then, they saw the kiss. It wasn’t an assault. It was a mutual destruction of two souls who couldn’t wait another second.

The garden went deathly silent. Even the birds seemed to stop singing.

Aria looked up at the screen, then back at Bella.

"Does that look like ’domestic violence’ to you, Sister?" Aria asked, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that vibrated through the microphones. "Or does it look like I’m finally being treated the way a woman should be treated?"

Bella’s mouth opened and closed. Her "Nation’s First Love" mask was shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. She looked less like an angel and more like a cornered rat caught in a spotlight.

"You... you’re drugged!" Bella shrieked, her voice losing its melodic quality and turning shrill. "He’s brainwashed you! Father, do something! She’s crazy!"

Raymond Vale stepped forward, his face purple with a mixture of humilation and rage. He forgot the cameras. He forgot the "disciplined father" act he had practiced all morning. He only saw the daughter who was slipping through his fingers, taking his reputation with her.

"Aria! Shut up and get over here right now!" Raymond roared, reaching out with his unbandaged hand to grab her arm and drag her off the stage.

He didn’t even get close.

Aria didn’t move. Damien didn’t move.

Instead, a massive wall of black-suited muscle appeared in front of Aria. A Sinclair bodyguard caught Raymond’s reaching hand in mid-air, the sound of the grip—the grinding of bone—echoing through the silent garden.

"Mr. Vale," the bodyguard said, his voice a low, mechanical growl. "Back away from the Matriarch. This is your final warning."

Raymond was forced to his knees by the sheer pressure, his face contorted in a mask of agony.

Aria stepped around the bodyguard, looking down at her father with eyes that held no warmth, no regret, only a cold, clinical boredom.

"Father," she said, her voice amplified by the dozens of microphones pointed at her. "I’m afraid the ’Aria’ you knew died a long time ago. The one standing before you? She doesn’t take orders from people who spike her drinks and sell her to the highest bidder. From now on, if you want to speak to me, you can make an appointment with my lawyers."

She looked at the press, her smile turning sharp and brilliant, a flash of white teeth against the scarlet of her dress.

"Thank you for the conference, Bella. It was a lovely way to announce my engagement."

She turned to Damien, who was watching her with a look of dark, satisfied pride. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side, and led her back to the car.

They left the Vale family standing in the ruins of their own reputation, while the world watched the "Demon King" and his "Scarlet Queen" drive away into the morning sun.

As the car door slammed shut, the privacy partition stayed down. Aria looked at the estate disappearing in the rearview mirror. Her heart was finally still. The first debt was paid, and the true game of power had finally begun.

"What’s next?" Damien asked, his golden eyes scanning her face.

Aria leaned back against the leather seat, a cold, calculating light in her emerald eyes.

"Next? We go to the film set," she said. "I don’t want to be late for my first scene."