After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 222: A Slice of Cake

The interior of the sleek Aston Martin was dead silent.

Diana sat in the plush leather passenger seat, her head bowed, her perfectly manicured hands resting limply on top of the ribbon-tied bakery box containing her coconut chiffon cake.

She was quietly sniffling.

Her mascara was slightly smudged, and her eyes were puffy and red from the humiliated, angry tears she had been shedding since they left the hotel plaza. She genuinely could not believe what had just happened. Her own brother had stood in front of a swarm of national media and branded her an unstable, aging, attention-seeking alcoholic.

She didn’t think she deserved to be treated so harshly. He had left her alone in the car for over an hour! He wasn’t answering her calls! He was completely ignoring her! What else was she supposed to do to get his attention?

Diana looked out the tinted window, dabbing her nose with a tissue.

They had been heading in the direction of St. Jude’s Hospital, but a few blocks ago, Damien had abruptly whipped the steering wheel, making a sharp, aggressive U-turn to head entirely in the opposite direction.

Diana had seen the sea of red brake lights and the gridlock of traffic up ahead. The entire city was at a standstill because of the breaking news.

Aria had woken up.

Diana scowled in the dark, her nails digging into the cake box. She hoped with all her bitter, twisted heart that the little actress was currently a drooling vegetable. If it wasn’t for that D-list skank, her brother wouldn’t be acting so cruelly toward her. Even when Damien used to lose his patience with her in the past, he had never, ever publicly humiliated her like this.

The silence dragged on for another three blocks.

Diana finally couldn’t take it anymore.

"Are you not going to apologize?" Diana broke the silence, her voice trembling with wounded entitlement.

Damien smoothly shifted gears, his golden eyes flicking briefly to the rearview mirror before refocusing on the neon-lit road ahead.

"For what?" Damien deadpanned.

Diana’s breath hitched. She clenched her fists, her acrylic nails sinking painfully into her own palms.

"For embarrassing me in front of everyone!" Diana snapped, her voice rising in pitch as she tried to maintain her calm. "Do you not realize what you have just done, Damien? You destroyed my reputation! I am a socialite! I sit on charity boards! And now I am a national laughingstock! My days in this city will be absolutely miserable from now on. Do you even care?!"

"Did you honestly think," Damien responded coldly, "that I wouldn’t hold a grudge over what you said about my wife in that restaurant?"

Diana opened her mouth to argue. "I apologized for that! I told you it was the wine! You are being incredibly p—!"

SCREEECH.

Damien slammed his shoe down onto the brake pedal.

The Aston Martin came to a violent, neck-snapping halt right on the side of the avenue.

Diana screamed, her body jerking forward. The seatbelt locked, violently biting into her chest and saving her from eating the dashboard. The coconut chiffon cake box flew off her lap, slamming onto the floor mats.

Diana pressed a hand to her pounding heart, completely breathless.

"Why did you stop?!" Diana asked nervously, her eyes darting around the dark street. "Are you... are you letting me off on the side of the road?!"

Damien didn’t answer. He threw the car into park and stepped out into the chilly night air.

Just a few feet away, idling on the opposite side of the curb, a dark, heavily tinted SUV had already pulled up.

Damien walked around to the trunk of his Aston Martin, pulled out her folded wheelchair, and snapped it open on the sidewalk. He opened her passenger door, leaned in, and effortlessly lifted her out, depositing her squarely into the wheelchair.

He reached back into the car, grabbed her discarded cashmere shawl, the cake box and her Prada purse, and unceremoniously dumped them onto her lap.

"Why are we switching cars?" Diana demanded, clutching her purse as two of Damien’s stone-faced operatives stepped out of the black SUV.

"You are switching cars," Damien corrected, shutting the passenger door of the Aston Martin with a solid thud.

Diana blinked, panic flaring in her chest. "Wait. Where are you going? Are you trying to go to the hospital? Damien, look at the traffic! It’s completely gridlocked. You won’t get there tonight. You should just come home to the penthouse with me and wait until morning."

Damien stopped.

He slowly turned his head to look at her. A dark smirk curved his lips.

"My wife just woke up," Damien drawled smoothly, adjusting his cuffs. "Doesn’t that mean I should spend one last night with my mistress?"

Diana gasped loudly.

Her face flushed a violent red. She genuinely did not know her younger brother could be so entirely, unapologetically shameless with his affair. He was openly admitting it!

"Damien!" Diana scolded, completely scandalized. "Have you no shame?! You are being reckless! You should return home with me! Plus, I need help getting up to my room and into bed!"

"My men will assist you," Damien said dismissively, gesturing to the two towering operatives standing like brick walls beside the SUV.

"You are going to make strange men handle your own sister?!" Diana shrieked, clutching her cashmere shawl tightly around her shoulders as if to protect her modesty.

"I am not a babysitter," Damien stated coldly. "And my men are trained professionals." 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

"But what if they take advantage of me?!" Diana argued, desperate for any excuse to make him stay.

Damien looked at her. "Then I will kill them."

The threat was delivered with such certainty that Diana actually felt a warm thrill of happiness bloom in her chest. ’He doesn’t hate me,’ she thought, feeling validated. ’He still wants to protect me.’

But the thrill wasn’t enough to appease her. She wanted him home. She wanted him to herself for just a little bit longer, knowing that the little vixen was probably going to be returning to the penthouse as early as tomorrow morning.

"Damien, please," Diana tried a different tactic, her voice taking on a desperate, commanding edge. "The contract! We signed a legally binding agreement! It states that we have to live together for three weeks! Doesn’t that mean we have to stay together?!"

Damien let out a low, dark chuckle.

"The contract states that you stay at the penthouse," Damien corrected flawlessly.

He leaned in closer to her, raising his right hand. He extended his index finger and slowly, mockingly drew a small circle in the air right in front of her face.

"Loophole," Damien whispered.

Diana’s mouth opened and closed. Her brain stalled.

He was right. She had mandated her own residency. She hadn’t included a single clause forcing him to sleep in the penthouse while she was there. She had completely played herself.

Unable to come up with a single, logical legal counterargument, Diana reverted to a sheer, childish tantrum.

"I want to go with you!" she blurted out.

Damien simply chuckled again, shaking his head. He turned his back on her and walked toward his Aston Martin.

"Damien! Come back here!" Diana shrieked, struggling uselessly as the two operatives stepped forward, gripped the handles of her wheelchair, and effortlessly lifted her into the back of the SUV. "Do not leave me with these people!"

Damien ignored her screams.

He slid into the driver’s seat of the Aston Martin, pulling his new phone from his pocket. The little pink heart emoji was resting stationary, glowing brightly over the exact coordinates of the hotel.

Satisfied, Damien put the car in gear and tore away from the curb, leaving his sister in the dust.

Inside the back of the SUV, Diana was fuming.

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, glaring fiercely out the tinted window as the vehicle merged into the terrible Manhattan traffic.

Nothing was going as she had planned.

She couldn’t fight Aria on her own. The girl had too much power over him, and Damien was far too willing to do anything for her. Diana needed a heavier hitter. She needed someone on Damien’s level to break that spell.

Diana unclasped her Prada purse. She pulled out her phone, her thumb aggressively swiping through her contacts list until she reached the ’R’ section.

Her thumb hovered over the call button for the contact: Vittoria Rossi.

A slow, vicious smile spread across Diana’s face.

She pressed Call and lifted the phone to her ear.