After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 182: Broadcasting Live from ICU Room 1

Damien sat slumped in the plastic visitor’s chair, his face buried against Aria’s pale, limp hand, playing the role of the shattered, grieving husband with Oscar-worthy perfection.

The burly paparazzo with the neck tattoo leaned over and nudged Zoe hard in the ribs.

"Hey," the paparazzo whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "Are you getting all this?"

Zoe rolled her eyes so hard. "I am literally pointing a glowing rectangular lens directly at his face. Yes, Brad, I am getting this."

Hearing the whispering, Damien’s head snapped up.

His golden eyes, usually sharp and terrifying, were wild and bloodshot. He glared at the small crowd standing at the foot of the bed, his chest heaving with fabricated panic.

"She’s going to be okay," Damien barked, his voice cracking with delusional, desperate denial. "She’s strong. She’s fighting it. Do not write her off! She is going to wake up!"

For exactly one and a half seconds, a fleeting, unfamiliar sensation pinched Bella’s chest. Pity. Seeing the Demon King of New York reduced to a frantic, begging shell of a man over her sister was genuinely jarring.

But the pity was instantly suffocated by a massive, overwhelming wave of toxic opportunity.

’He’s broken,’ Bella realized, her eyes tracking the sharp line of his jaw and the way his dress shirt clung to his broad shoulders. ’He’s completely shattered. He needs someone to put him back together. Someone who isn’t a vegetable.’

The paparazzo, sensing the dramatic tension peaking, couldn’t help himself. Deprived of his heavy DSLR camera and microphone, he tightly rolled up the yellow legal pad Zoe had given him, gripping it like a makeshift microphone.

He thrust the paper tube toward Director Spielberg.

"Director!" the reporter stage-whispered. "Any words for the fans? How is the production handling this tragedy?"

’Oh my god. They are literally holding a press junket in an Intensive Care Unit. This is the trashiest thing I have ever been a part of.’

Director Spielberg cleared his throat, looking incredibly awkward. He leaned toward the rolled-up notepad.

"It is... a devastating blow to cinema," the Director said solemnly. "But her performance as Consort Li? Unparalleled. We owe it to Aria to make sure The Empress’s Shadow breaks box office records next week. Go see it. In theaters."

’Capitalist pig,’ Aria commented in her thoughts.

The reporter shifted the paper microphone to Coco.

Coco was a mess. He was clutching his designer shirt, tears actively ruining his meticulously blended contour.

"It’s just so unfair!" Coco sobbed into the fake mic. "Why do bad things happen to pretty people?! Look at her bone structure! It shouldn’t be allowed to just expire!"

Leo was next. The nineteen-year-old actor had his bucket hat pulled down over his eyes, openly weeping. "She was my idol," Leo cried, his voice cracking. "I’m going to dedicate my first TikTok dance of the day to her memory. No cap."

The reporter then thrust the yellow notepad toward Lucas.

Lucas adjusted his black turtleneck, puffing his chest out to ensure he caught his best angle on Zoe’s iPhone camera. He looked at Aria’s pale face, summoning a single, perfectly glistening tear.

"We dated since high school," Lucas confessed, his voice dropping into a husky, tragic whisper. "She was my first love. And honestly... seeing her like this? Part of me still loves her. I think a part of me always will."

Damien’s performance nearly broke.

Aria felt his large hand tighten around hers with bone-crushing force. His knuckles turned pure white. He was fighting the overwhelming urge to stand up, leap over the bed, and rip his nephew’s vocal cords straight out of his throat.

Bella, furious that Lucas was trying to steal the tragic spotlight, violently shoved him out of the way. She grabbed the reporter’s paper microphone and pulled it toward her own face.

"We grew apart because she was just so jealous of me," Bella fabricated seamlessly, wiping a dry eye. "It was hard for her. She always liked the exact same guys I liked. She wanted my life. But I never hated her! We’re sisters! Honestly, if I could trade places with her right now... I would."

’I am grading this performance a D-,’ Aria snarked in her head.

"And what about you?" the reporter asked, turning the notepad toward Zoe. "You’re her publicist and best friend. You must be destroyed."

Zoe blinked.

She stared at the yellow paper tube.

"Uh," Zoe deadpanned, her face completely blank. "I prefer to grieve in private. I have, like, a lot of emails to send. And a zoom call at four."

Aria almost choked on her own spit. ’Zoe, you are the worst actress in this entire room. You literally just told the press you have to go check your inbox instead of mourning me.’

"Alright, that’s enough," Zoe announced loudly, rapidly recovering and stepping forward to wave her arms. "Visiting hours are officially over. The patient needs rest. Everyone out."

"Wait, I didn’t get to finish my tribute!" Bella protested.

"Out!" Zoe barked, pointing to the door.

Damien slowly stood up from the plastic chair. He gently placed Aria’s hand back onto the mattress. His face was a hollowed-out mask of grief, but the sheer size of him was enough to instantly silence the room.

"I will escort you to the elevators," Damien said, his voice a low, empty rumble.

He wasn’t doing it out of politeness. He was doing it to ensure the parasites actually got off his floor.

The production team and the reporters eagerly backed out of the room, intimidated by his looming presence. The glass doors slid open, and the crowd spilled back into the hallway.

"Wait, what about the photos?!" the neck-tattoo paparazzo complained as the guards began to herd them toward the lift. "You promised us the files!"

"I will AirDrop them to you in the lobby!" Zoe shouted from the doorway. "Patience is a virtue, Brad!"

She watched Damien march the entire circus down the corridor. Once they were safely loaded into the elevator, Zoe stepped back into the ICU and pulled the glass door shut.

The lock clicked loudly.

The room was instantly plunged back into pristine quiet.

Zoe let out a massive exhale, dropping her phone onto the bedside table. She walked over to the edge of the mattress and poked Aria right in her pale, powdered cheek.

"You can stop holding your breath, Meryl Streep," Zoe sighed. "They’re all gone now."