After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 231: Murder is a Little Too Ghetto For Me

Diana adjusted her Celine sunglasses, her perfectly manicured fingers drumming an impatient, irritated rhythm on the glass coffee table.

"Next," Diana drawled, not even bothering to look up.

A young woman walked over and took a seat on the edge of the uncomfortable chair opposite the velvet sofa.

Diana peered over the rim of her sunglasses, performing her signature, agonizingly slow visual sweep.

The woman was dressed in a tailored, pale pink Chanel tweed suit. It was undeniably expensive, but Diana’s eye caught the subtle, fatal flaws instantly. It was from three seasons ago. The edges of the cuffs were slightly frayed, and the matching heels had undeniable scuff marks on the soles.

It was the wardrobe of a woman trying desperately to cling to a tax bracket she had clearly fallen out of.

"Ms. Elena Sterling," Diana read from the iPad Ken had handed her earlier. She dropped the tablet onto the table with a dismissive clack. "You have absolutely zero qualifications. No medical background, no physical therapy credentials, not even a basic CPR certification. Why are you wasting my time?"

Elena didn’t flinch. Unlike the weeping, terrified women who had sat in that chair before her, she exuded a desperate kind of confidence.

"I am not a nurse, Ms. Sinclair," Elena stated, her voice tight but steady. "But I am the daughter of Richard Sterling. The former banking tycoon who sat on the Sinclair Corp board of directors. Damien and I actually played together a few times as children at the Hamptons estate."

Diana paused.

She didn’t know the girl personally, but she absolutely knew the name. Richard Sterling had been spectacularly, publicly ruined a few months ago. He was exposed, stripped of his assets, and thrown into federal prison for massive fraud and embezzlement. It had been a front-page scandal.

"I know your father," Diana said, leaning back into the plush velvet, her lips curving into a mocking smirk. "So, what is this? A charity case? Are you so desperate for a paycheck that you’re begging to wipe my forehead? Or are you hoping my brother will take pity on his childhood playdate and set you up in a condo?"

Diana was sure she had this tragic, fallen socialite completely figured out.

Elena clenched her fists, her knuckles turning stark white against the tweed of her skirt.

"I don’t want his pity, and I don’t want your money," Elena said, her voice dropping into a dark hiss. "I want revenge."

Diana’s eyebrows shot up behind her dark lenses. An amused, highly intrigued smile spread across her face.

"Revenge?" Diana echoed, leaning forward. "On Damien?"

"On his wife," Elena spat. "Aria Sinclair. She is the one who exposed my father. She ruined my life. Because of that bitch, my mother and I lost absolutely everything. Our home, our accounts, our standing. My mother was a housewife; she has no idea how to work. I have to sell my vintage Birkins on The RealReal just to keep the lights on in our disgusting, one-bedroom apartment."

Diana grinned.

This was exactly what she wanted. This woman hated Aria Vale just as much as she did. She was angry, she was motivated, and she had a personal vendetta.

"Well, Ms. Sterling," Diana purred, swirling her sparkling water. "It sounds like we have a mutual enemy. I despise her as well. We could partner up. You assist me in the penthouse, and together, we make Aria’s next three weeks a waking nightmare."

Elena’s gaze met Diana’s. But the look in the younger woman’s eyes wasn’t the petty, vindictive gleam of a socialite planning a mean-girl sabotage.

It was dark.

"I don’t want to just annoy her, Diana," Elena whispered, leaning over the glass table, her eyes wide and wild. "We’re not the only ones who hate her. There is someone I can take you to. A partner. We are going to destroy her completely. We can get rid of her."

Diana froze.

The amused smile slid off her face. The sparkling water in her hand trembled slightly. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

Diana stared at Elena, a cold, creeping wave of genuine revulsion washing over her. The girl wasn’t talking about slipping laxatives into Aria’s tea or leaking a bad photo to the press. She was talking about homicide.

’Oh my god,’ Diana thought, recoiling into the sofa cushions. ’She is an actual psychopath.’

Diana was a petty, delusional, toxic narcissist, but unlike most of her family, she was not a killer. She drew the line at federal crimes.

"Are you insane?!" Diana hissed, dropping her voice so the operatives nearby wouldn’t hear. "I only want her divorced from my brother!"

Diana immediately raised her hand, snapping her fingers at the guards stationed near the elevators.

"Get her out," Diana commanded, pointing a finger at Elena. "Remove this psycho from my lobby immediately."

Two operatives stepped forward, gripping Elena firmly by the arms.

"You’re weak!" Elena scoffed, not fighting the guards as they hauled her up, but glaring down at Diana with pure disdain. "You’re playing petty, stupid games with that she-devil! She’ll ruin you too, just you wait!"

"You’re going to prison if you don’t get out of that company!" Diana shouted back, adjusting her sunglasses with a shaking hand. "Next!"

Ten minutes later, Elena was marching furiously down the crowded Manhattan sidewalk.

Her stomach let out a loud growl. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday. She was starving, her feet were killing her in the scuffed Chanel heels, and she was utterly humiliated. She was heading toward the subway station, forced to take public transit like a commoner because she couldn’t even afford an UberX.

"Stupid bitch," Elena muttered to herself, pulling her coat tighter against the biting wind.

She turned the corner onto a less populated side street, her head down.

Suddenly, a massive, gloved hand clamped violently over her mouth.

Elena didn’t even have time to scream.

A thick, muscular arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her completely off the pavement. She was yanked backward with terrifying force, dragged seamlessly into the pitch-black shadows of a narrow, garbage-strewn alleyway between two towering brick buildings.

She thrashed, her heels kicking uselessly against the air, panic exploding in her chest.

She was slammed hard against the brick wall. The massive, hooded man pinned her there, his forearm pressing against her collarbone.

Elena’s breath hitched, a whimper dying against the leather glove over her mouth as the metal barrel of a handgun was pressed directly into the center of her chest.

From the shadows of the alley, a second figure stepped forward.

It was a woman, cloaked entirely in black.

Just before a rough cloth blindfold was slapped over Elena’s eyes, she caught a brief, gleaming flash of metal resting against the woman’s collar.

It was a pendant. A silver viper, its eyes crafted from two glittering, blood-red rubies.

The blindfold was tied tight.

"If you scream, you die," a woman’s voice commanded softly.

Elena went completely rigid. She recognized that voice immediately. Her terror tripled, freezing the blood in her veins. She nodded her head frantically, tears of panic prickling against the blindfold.

The hooded man slowly removed his hand from her mouth, though the gun remained pressed firmly against her chest.

Elena gasped for air, her chest heaving. "I—I was just—"

SMACK.

Elena’s head whipped sideways. A sharp, metallic taste instantly flooded her mouth as her teeth cut into the inside of her cheek.

"Stupid, fucking bitch," the woman hissed, grabbing Elena violently by the chin and jerking her face back forward. "Who told you to go off-script? Who told you to try to recruit Diana Sinclair?"

"I thought... I thought she could help us!" Elena sobbed, trembling so hard her knees threatened to give out. "She hates Aria! She has access to the penthouse! I was trying to be proactive!"

The woman’s gloved fingers dug ruthlessly into Elena’s jawbone, bruising the skin.

"Your impatience is going to get us killed," the woman spat. "Damien Sinclair is not a man you provoke recklessly."

Elena choked on a sob, tasting her own blood.

"I already leaked the audio of Aria confessing to faking her coma to the press," the woman whispered coldly, her breath ghosting over Elena’s face. "We are going to break her down slowly. We strip her of her public support, we isolate her, and then we strike. We do not gamble our operation on a delusional socialite who throws tantrums for attention."

The grip on Elena’s chin tightened painfully.

"If you ever improvise again," the woman promised, "you will be reflecting on your stupidity in the afterlife. Do you understand me?"

"Yes!" Elena wept, nodding frantically against the iron grip. "Yes! I understand! I’m sorry!"

The woman let go.

The hooded man roughly shoved Elena forward.

She hit the filthy, wet asphalt of the alleyway hard, scraping her hands and tearing the knees of her Chanel suit. She cried out, curling into a ball as she waited to be hit again.

But there was only silence.

Elena frantically clawed at the knot on the back of her head, pulling the blindfold off.

She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light.

The alleyway was completely empty.

Elena pulled her knees up to her chest, ignoring the smell of stale garbage and the blood in her mouth, and sobbed uncontrollably into the dark.