After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 140: The Demon Queen Walks the Palace

The journey to sub-level three was a royal procession of terror.

Because the private elevator to the gym was currently undergoing routine maintenance, Ken had to lead Aria down to the lower executive mezzanine to use the secondary lift.

The moment the doors slid open on the bustling corporate floor, the atmosphere underwent a violent shift.

Aria stepped out, her posture impeccably straight, her sleek ponytail swishing behind her. The sharp click-clack, click-clack of her pointed-toe Louboutins echoed across the marble floor like a metronome of doom.

The staff’s reaction was visceral. It was as if Moses had just walked into the room and ordered the Red Sea to part. Junior executives flattened themselves against glass partitions. Interns scrambled out of the central walkway, clutching their tablets to their chests.

"G-Good afternoon, Mrs. Sinclair," a nervous woman stuttered from her desk, bowing her head slightly as Aria passed by.

"Good afternoon," Aria replied smoothly, her gaze fixed straight ahead, not even turning her head to look at the woman.

She kept her chin tilted up, embracing the flurry of whispers echoing in her wake.

"She is absolutely stunning," a man murmured near the printers. "No wonder she won over the Demon King."

"Did you see her eyes?" a woman hissed from a cubicle. "She looks just as scary as him. I heard she fired the night secretary in under ten seconds."

"Honestly?" a petty, defensive whisper came from the water cooler, full of obvious jealousy. "She’s not even all that. It’s just the clothes and the money."

Aria didn’t break stride. A slow, wicked smirk curved her lips. ’Not even all that? Okay, Brenda from accounting. Let’s see your contour.’

She loved it. She loved the fear, the jealousy, and the awe. For a girl who had spent a lifetime being pushed into the corners of rooms, owning the center of this corporate fortress was intoxicating. If they wanted a Demon Queen to match their Demon King, she was more than happy to wear the crown.

After the elevator ride down, they reached the heavy, reinforced steel doors at the end of the hall.

Ken swiped his keycard over the biometric scanner. The lock disengaged with a heavy, metallic clunk.

Ken pushed the door open an inch, but he didn’t step inside. He looked at Aria, sweat beading on his forehead.

"The gym is all yours, Mrs. Sinclair," Ken said, his voice strained. "I will be... anywhere but here."

He turned and practically sprinted back toward the elevators, desperate to escape the blast radius of whatever marital warfare was about to occur.

Aria pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.

The private executive gym was massive, industrial, and completely empty. The air hit her instantly—a sharp, heavy cocktail of polished leather, ozone from the high-end air purifiers, and the distinct, primal scent of male sweat.

In the center of the matted floor hung a massive, three-hundred-pound Kevlar heavy bag.

It was swaying gently on its thick steel chain. Aria stared at it. The sheer, violent force required to leave a bag that heavy swinging like a pendulum told her everything she needed to know.

From the far end of the gym, the muffled, steady roar of water crashing against tile echoed from the executive locker room.

Aria’s face shifted into a look of absolute, lethal focus.

She walked toward the locker room, her heels silent on the rubber mats. She pushed through the swinging doors. The room was clouded with thick, heavy steam that immediately began to curl the edges of her sleek ponytail.

She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t announce herself.

She kicked off her Louboutins. They hit the damp tile with a soft thud.

She reached for the side zipper of her high-waisted black trousers, pulling it down and letting the expensive fabric drop to the floor. She stepped out of them. She grabbed the hem of her black silk camisole and pulled it over her head, tossing it carelessly onto the pile of pants and shoes.

She stripped off her underwear, kicking it aside.

She stood completely naked in the humid air, her skin flushing from the heat of the room.

Through the dense fog of steam, she could see the silhouette of the massive, glass-enclosed shower in the center of the wet room. The water was running at full blast.

Aria was done playing games with this man. He thought he could simply summon his assistant to brush her off?

She walked up to the heavy glass door of the enclosure and pulled it open.

The heat of the water hit her instantly, plastering her hair to her collarbones and trailing down the curves of her breasts and hips.

Damien was standing under the massive rainfall showerhead, his back to the door. His hands were braced flat against the slick black tile, his head bowed as the scalding water beat down onto the corded muscles of his shoulders and the silver scars crisscrossing his ribs.

He hadn’t heard the door open over the roar of the water.

Aria stepped fully into the enclosure, walking right into the center of the spray.

She stepped directly into his line of sight. She crossed her arms under her breasts, lifting them slightly, popping one hip to the side in a stance of pure, unapologetic defiance.

She stood there, dripping wet, naked, and radiating an aura of total command.

Damien opened his eyes, wiping a hand down his wet face to clear the water. He turned his head slightly.

He froze.

"So," Aria demanded, her voice slicing cleanly through the heavy roar of the shower. "Are we talking at home, or are we talking right here?"

Every single muscle in Damien Sinclair’s body locked into stone.

His golden eyes blew wide, the pupils expanding so fast they nearly swallowed the irises entirely. He stared at her, the water cascading over his face, completely and utterly paralyzed by the shock of his gorgeous, furious, and entirely naked wife materializing in the steam.

The impenetrable ice wall he had built to protect himself didn’t just crack. It shattered into a million pieces.