After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 159: Defamation is a Mother-Daughter Bonding Activity

Chapter 159: Defamation is a Mother-Daughter Bonding Activity

Four more days had passed.

Zoe had basically moved in at the lounge. The glass coffee tables were littered with half-empty Venti iced coffees, discarded protein bar wrappers, and legal pads. She sat cross-legged on a velvet sofa, her thumbs flying across her laptop keyboard with the speed and aggression of a woman possessed.

"To the legal department of GossipGoblin," Zoe muttered out loud, her eyes bloodshot behind her blue-light glasses. "If you do not immediately retract the article stating Damien Sinclair is holding his wife hostage in a medically induced coma to control her voting shares, we will sue you into the Stone Age. Cease, desist, and choke. Sincerely, Zoe Chen."

She hit send with a vicious stab of her finger.

It was a drop of water in an ocean of fire. The internet was a relentless, ravenous beast, and without a statement from the Sinclair camp, the conspiracy theories had mutated into full-blown public hysteria.

And the clock was ticking. Loudly.

The worldwide premiere of The Empress’s Shadow was in exactly two weeks. Fourteen days until the biggest red carpet of Aria’s careeer!

Zoe grabbed a lukewarm iced coffee and took a desperate pull from the straw. She turned her attention to the large flat-screen TV mounted on the lounge wall, which was currently muted on a national morning broadcast.

Suddenly, a familiar face flashed on the screen. Then another.

Zoe’s blood ran cold. She scrambled for the remote, aggressively smashing the volume button.

"...joining us live in the studio this morning are Lydia Laurent and Bella Vale," the chipper morning show host announced.

The camera panned to a plush, butter-yellow sofa.

Sitting there, looking impeccably styled and radiating a sickening aura of faux-vulnerability, were Lydia and Bella. Lydia wore a soft, demure pastel suit. Bella was in a conservative floral dress. They were holding hands, their fingers interlaced tightly to paint the picture of a strong, healing family unit.

"Thank you so much for having us," Lydia said, her voice dripping with maternal sorrow. She gently patted Bella’s hand. "It has been an incredibly dark week for our family. But we are leaning on each other for strength."

"The entire world has seen the drone footage of Aria falling from that bridge," the host said, leaning forward sympathetically. "And the silence from Damien Sinclair’s camp has been deafening. As her family, how are you coping with the allegations that Aria was trying to escape her marriage?"

Bella looked down at her lap, letting out a perfectly timed, delicate sniffle.

"It’s just... it’s heartbreaking," Bella whispered, looking up at the camera with wide, glossy eyes. "Aria and I have had our differences, but she’s still my sister. Nobody deserves to feel so trapped that they would... resort to jumping. We just pray every day that she finds the light and escapes this dark situation."

"We just want her safe," Lydia added, dabbing her perfectly dry eyes with a tissue. "And we want the truth to come out."

Zoe stared at the screen. The sheer, unadulterated audacity of the gaslighting happening on national television was staggering. They were sitting there, soaking up the sympathy, actively portraying themselves as the loving family trying to rescue Aria from the big, bad billionaire.

Something inside Zoe simply snapped.

"No," Zoe whispered, her hands shaking. "Absolutely fucking not."

She slammed her laptop shut. She stood up, her exhausted, iced-coffee-fueled rage boiling over. She marched out of the lounge and stormed down the quiet, heavily guarded corridor toward ICU Room 1.

She bypassed the two massive military contractors at the door, pushing the heavy glass open with both hands.

The room was dim, illuminated only by the glow of the medical monitors.

Damien was exactly where he had been for the last seven days. He was sitting in the plastic chair beside Aria’s bed. He was wearing the same dress shirt from yesterday, the sleeves rolled up, the collar open.

He was just sitting there, completely still, holding Aria’s pale, limp hand between both of his.

"Mr. Sinclair," Zoe said, her voice sharp and trembling with fury.

Damien didn’t turn his head. "Not now, Ms. Chen."

"Yes, now," Zoe insisted, stepping further into the room. "You need to turn on the television. Right now. Lydia and Bella are on national morning television, playing the grieving, supportive family. They are publicly accusing you of driving Aria off that bridge."

Damien’s thumb slowly stroked Aria’s knuckles. "Let them talk. It doesn’t matter."

"It does matter!" Zoe yelled, the frustration tearing out of her throat. She pointed a shaking finger at the door. "Mr. Sinclair, her movie premieres in exactly two weeks! This is the biggest role of her life! She poured her blood, sweat, and tears into playing Consort Li, and your silence is actively destroying her career!"

Damien finally turned his head.

Zoe froze, the rest of her rant dying in her lungs.

Damien looked hollow. The dark circles under his golden eyes were bruised and heavy. His face was drawn, the sharp aristocratic angles prominent and sharp from a lack of sleep and food.

"She loves acting," Damien rasped, his voice gravelly and stripped of all its usual, vibrating power.

He looked back down at Aria and thought for a long moment.

"I won’t let them take that from her," Damien said softly.

He looked back at Zoe.

"Book the interview, Ms. Chen," Damien commanded quietly. "Put me on whatever magazine or broadcast you want. I’ll read your script. I’ll clear her name."

Zoe stood there, the anger draining out of her body, replaced by a profound, suffocating sorrow.

She realized, looking at the untouchable billionaire, that he was just as broken as she was. He wasn’t ignoring the PR crisis out of arrogance; he was ignoring it because his entire universe was currently restricted to the slow, steady rise and fall of Aria’s chest. Nothing else existed for him.

Zoe’s vision blurred. A hot tear spilled over her eyelashes, tracking down her cheek.

She walked slowly around to the other side of the hospital bed. She didn’t speak. She reached out, her hands shaking, and gently picked up Aria’s other hand, resting limp on the mattress. It was warm, but terrifyingly still.

Zoe sank into the chair opposite Damien. She gripped her best friend’s hand tightly, resting her forehead against the edge of the mattress as a wet, ragged sob tore free from her chest.

"Please come back to us," Zoe cried, her tears soaking into the pristine white hospital sheets. "Wake up, Aria. Please wake up."

Across the bed, Damien sat in silence, holding his wife’s hand, staring blankly at the wall.