After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 211: It’s Giving Chic Mummy

Aria was sprawled flat on her back across the center of the massive bed, still completely naked.

She was munching casually from a tin of roasted cashews resting on her stomach. In her hands, her phone was currently showing a deep-dive, investigative article from a pop-culture conspiracy blog.

The headline read: Inside the Golden Cage: Damien Sinclair’s Dark Hold on Aria Vale.

Aria popped a cashew into her mouth, chewing happily as she scrolled through the piece.

According to the "anonymous sources" quoted in the article, she wasn’t just a trophy wife; she was a terrified hostage trapped in a loveless, controlling nightmare, completely isolated from the outside world by a terrifying billionaire who monitored her every move.

The internet was so beautifully wrong.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated, an incoming call screen hijacking the article.

My darling hubby

Aria swallowed her cashew, a warm, affectionate smile automatically blooming on her face. She tapped the green icon, fully expecting him to tell her that his meetings were running late or that he was on his way home now.

"Hey," Aria answered sweetly, rolling onto her side and tangling her legs in the silk sheets.

"Aria."

Damien’s voice was deep and low with tension.

"Damien? What’s wrong?" Aria asked, her smile fading instantly as she sat up.

"I need you to pack a bag," Damien gritted out, the irritation clear in his tone.

Aria blinked, utterly confused. "Pack a bag? Why? Are we going somewhere?"

Damien let out a heavy sigh.

"You are going to a hotel," he explained. "I have already arranged a secure, private suite under a shell corporation."

Aria’s brows pulled together in a deep frown. "Damien, you’re not making any sense. Why do I have to leave our house?"

"Because Diana is moving in."

"Excuse me?" Aria gasped, her voice pitching up in pure disbelief.

"She saw you," Damien confessed, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "She didn’t realize it was you, though. She thinks I have a mistress."

Aria’s jaw dropped.

"And she took a photo," Damien continued. "She threatened to leak it to TMZ unless I agreed to let her stay in the penthouse for her recovery. I had to agree to her terms. She is staying for three weeks."

Aria sat frozen on the mattress.

A fiery spike of annoyance flared in her chest. She wanted to scream. She wanted to shave Diana’s eyebrows off while she slept.

But then, Aria took a breath.

She heard the profound frustration in her husband’s voice. The only reason a man as ruthless and powerful as Damien Sinclair would ever bow to his sister’s ridiculous demands was to protect her.

He was swallowing his pride and jumping through burning hoops solely to keep her petty secret a secret.

Aria forced her shoulders to drop. The irritation melted, instantly replaced by a deep, protective wave of love and gratitude.

"Okay," Aria said, her voice calm and sweet. "It’s fine, Damien. I’ll pack right now."

Damien exhaled a breath. "Okay."

"I am taking Diana to an Italian restaurant for dinner right now," Damien told her. "I will stall her through a five-course meal so you have plenty of time to pack your things and clear the penthouse without crossing paths. I will come find you at the hotel later."

"I’ll be gone before the appetizers arrive," Aria smiled.

"I am so sorry about this, Aria. I will explain the rest later."

"It’s fine. I’ll see you tonight, Husband," Aria murmured.

"See you soon."

The call clicked off.

Aria lowered the phone. The sweet, understanding, perfect-wife facade instantly slipped from her face.

"I am going to strangle her," Aria muttered, tossing the phone onto the bed. "She better sleep with one eye open."

She rolled off the mattress and marched directly into the master bathroom. She took a record-breaking, three-minute shower, scrubbing the residual sweat and body oil from her skin, and quickly towel-dried her hair.

She walked into the sprawling closet and grabbed her sleek Louis Vuitton weekender bag. She threw in leggings, silk camisoles, underwear, and her favorite skincare products.

As she zipped the main compartment, her eyes landed on the antique wooden box sitting on the bottom shelf.

Her mother’s journals.

Aria paused. She was going to be stuck in a hotel room for days, entirely alone and unable to show her face in public. It was the perfect opportunity to do a deep dive.

She grabbed the box and carefully tucked it into the bottom of her bag.

Just as she threw the strap over her shoulder, her phone rang.

It was an unknown number.

Aria accepted the call, holding the phone to her ear without saying a word.

"Mrs. Sinclair," Richard’s deep voice came through the speaker. "It’s Richard. I am in the parking lot."

Aria released a long breath she didn’t know she had been holding, her shoulders relaxing entirely.

"I’ll be down in two minutes," Aria said.

She hung up.

Aria still had one major problem. She needed a disguise.

She dropped her bag in the living room and detoured into the guest bathroom, popping open the fully stocked first-aid kit mounted on the wall.

She grabbed two rolls of thick, white medical gauze.

Standing in front of the mirror, Aria expertly and tightly wrapped the pristine white bandages around the lower half of her face, covering her jaw, her chin, and sweeping up to cover her hairline. She secured it with medical tape, leaving only her nostrils and eyes visible.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a pair of oversized, dark polarized Tom Ford sunglasses, sliding them onto her face.

Finally, she topped the entire look off with an absurdly large, floppy, wide-brimmed straw hat she had found in the back of the closet.

Aria stepped back, inspecting herself in the mirror.

"Celebrity recovering from a botched rhinoplasty," Aria critiqued her reflection, nodding in approval. "No one is going to look twice."

She walked back into the living room and grabbed the handles of her weekender bag.

Aria looked around the pristine, sprawling, multi-million-dollar penthouse. The setting sun was casting long, beautiful shadows across the imported Italian marble floors.

"I didn’t even get to do thar tour I had planned," Aria sighed tragically.

She hoisted the bag onto her shoulder, turned on her heel, and stepped into the private elevator.