After Rebirth, I Became My Ex-Mate's Gravedigger

The phone's shrill ring cut through the pre-dawn silence like a blade. Damien's name flashed across the screen, accompanied by that practiced smile that had once made my heart flutter. Now it just made my stomach churn with the bitter taste of betrayal yet to come.

In my first life, I would have answered before the second ring, breathless with excitement, eager to hear his voice on the morning of what I believed would be the happiest day of my life. I would have giggled like a schoolgirl, told him how much I loved him, how I couldn't wait to be his wife.

What a fool I'd been.

I let it ring. The sound echoed off the walls of my childhood bedroom, each tone a small act of rebellion against the script I was supposed to follow. When it finally went to voicemail, I could almost picture his face—that slight frown of confusion when his perfect little puppet didn't dance to his tune.

The voicemail notification appeared, and curiosity got the better of me. I played it, steeling myself for the performance I knew was coming.

"Hey, beautiful." His voice was warm honey, practiced and perfect. "Just wanted to hear your voice before the big day. I know you're probably nervous, but don't be. Tomorrow is going to be perfect. We're going to be perfect. I love you, Aria. Sweet dreams."

I love you. Three words that had once meant everything to me. Three words that had been nothing but lies from the very beginning.

The phone rang again almost immediately. This time, I answered on the fourth ring, my voice carefully neutral.

"Hello, Damien."

"Aria?" His voice carried a note of surprise. "You sound... different. Are you okay?"

"I'm tired," I said simply, letting the words hang in the air between us.

"Tired? But sweetheart, you should be excited. In a few hours, you're going to be Mrs. Steele. We've been planning this for months."

The endearment that once made me melt now felt like acid on my skin. "I said I'm tired, Damien."

A pause. In the silence, I could hear the wheels turning in his head, trying to process this deviation from the script. "Aria, what's wrong? You're scaring me."

Scaring him? If only he knew what real fear felt like. If only he knew what it was like to discover that your entire life had been a lie, that the man you loved had never seen you as anything more than a business transaction.

"Nothing's wrong," I said, my voice flat. "I just need sleep. Goodnight, Damien."

I hung up before he could respond, cutting off his protests mid-syllable. The phone immediately buzzed with a text, then another. I didn't bother reading them. Instead, I turned the phone face down and reached for my laptop.

Time to set the first pieces of my revenge in motion.

Marcus Webb answered on the second ring, his voice gravelly with sleep. "This better be good."

"Mr. Webb, this is Aria Blackwood. I need your services. Immediately."

"Ms. Blackwood." His tone shifted, becoming more alert. "It's five in the morning."

"I'm aware of the time. I'm also aware that you charge fifteen hundred dollars an hour and that money talks louder than sleep. I need a prenuptial agreement reviewed and completely rewritten. The wedding is today."

A pause. "That's... ambitious. What exactly are we talking about here?"

I walked to the window, looking out over the manicured grounds where, in a few hours, white tents would bloom like expensive flowers. "Complete financial protection. Infidelity clauses with severe penalties. Asset protection that makes Fort Knox look like a piggy bank. I want every loophole closed, every angle covered."

"I can do it. But Ms. Blackwood, if you're having second thoughts about this marriage—"

"I'm not having second thoughts, Mr. Webb. I'm having better thoughts. Much better thoughts. I'll email you the original agreement. I want your team at your office in one hour. We have work to do."

The law offices of Webb & Associates occupied three floors of a gleaming Manhattan high-rise. At seven AM on a Saturday, the building should have been empty. Instead, it hummed with activity as Marcus Webb's team worked to craft what would become Damien's legal nightmare.

I sat at the head of the conference table, flanked by four of the city's most ruthless lawyers, watching them tear apart the prenup that would have destroyed me in my first life. The original document was a masterpiece of legal manipulation—every clause designed to leave me powerless and penniless.

This time would be different.

"Here's what I want," I said, my voice cutting through the morning air like steel. "Complete financial independence. All assets acquired before and during the marriage remain separate property. I want thirty percent of Steele Group's annual dividends paid directly to me. And if there's any infidelity—any at all—I want a fifty billion dollar penalty clause."

One of the younger lawyers choked on his coffee. "Fifty billion? Ms. Blackwood, that's—"

"That's exactly what I said." I fixed him with a stare that could have frozen hell. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Marcus Webb leaned back in his chair, a predatory smile spreading across his weathered face. "I like your style, Ms. Blackwood. This is going to be beautiful."

The conference room doors burst open at exactly nine AM, and Damien stormed in like an avenging angel, his perfectly styled hair slightly mussed, his usually immaculate suit wrinkled from what I assumed was a sleepless night. Behind him trailed his own legal team, looking harried and confused.

"What the hell is this, Aria?" He slammed his hands on the conference table, his Alpha aura flaring with barely contained rage. "My lawyers are telling me you want to completely rewrite our prenup? Today? What's gotten into you?"

I remained seated, my posture relaxed, my voice calm. "Hello, Damien. I see you got my message."

"Your message?" His voice climbed an octave. "You call demanding a complete overhaul of our agreement a message? We had everything settled!"

"You had everything settled," I corrected, sliding the new agreement across the polished table toward him. "I had nothing. That changes now."

He grabbed the papers, his eyes scanning the terms with growing disbelief. "Fifty billion dollars? Are you insane?"

"I'm practical." I stood slowly, meeting his gaze with ice-cold composure. "Sign it, or the wedding is off. Your choice, Damien."

The color drained from his face. "You can't be serious."

"I've never been more serious about anything in my life." I gestured toward the window, where the city sprawled below us. "Your stock price has been volatile lately. What do you think will happen when the market opens Monday morning and the news breaks that Damien Steele's wedding was canceled at the last minute? How much do you think Steele Group will lose in the first hour alone?"

His jaw worked silently, fury and calculation warring in his dark eyes. I could see the exact moment when his business instincts overrode his pride.

"This is blackmail," he said through gritted teeth.

"This is business," I replied smoothly. "You taught me well."

My phone buzzed with a text from Isabella: "Can't wait to help you get ready! See you soon! 💕"

I smiled, a cold expression that made Damien take an involuntary step back.

"Oh, and Damien?" I said as he reluctantly reached for a pen. "Tell your cousin I'm looking forward to our little chat."