After My Rebirth, My In Laws Regretted Everything

Testing The Waters

Victoria yanked her hand free the moment they were through the ballroom doors. Her face had transformed from shocked bride to furious wife in seconds flat, her cheeks flushed red beneath her carefully applied makeup.

"What the hell was that?" she hissed, looking back toward the ballroom where confused voices still echoed. "Have you lost your mind?"

Marcus turned to face her, really seeing her for the first time in five years. In his first life, he would have been apologizing already, stammering excuses, begging her forgiveness. He would have been terrified of her anger, desperate to make things right.

Now he just felt tired.

"I said what needed to be said," Marcus replied calmly.

"You said—" Victoria sputtered, her hands clenching into fists. "You embarrassed me! You embarrassed my entire family! In front of everyone!"

"Did I?"

"'I'm not who you think I am'?" Victoria mimicked his voice mockingly. "What does that even mean? You sounded like a crazy person!"

Marcus shrugged. "Maybe I am crazy."

"This isn't funny!" Victoria's voice rose to a near shriek. "Do you have any idea what you've done? My father is going to kill you! My mother—God, my mother looked like she was having a heart attack!"

"Your mother looked mildly inconvenienced at best," Marcus said. "Trust me, I know what she looks like when she's actually upset."

Victoria stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "Who are you right now? This isn't—you're not acting like yourself."

"Maybe you never knew who I was."

"Stop talking in riddles!" Victoria snapped. She took a breath, visibly trying to compose herself. When she spoke again, her voice was harder, more controlled. "Listen to me very carefully, Marcus. You're going to go back in there. You're going to apologize to my parents. You're going to explain that you were overcome with emotion, that you misspoke, that you're just a nervous groom who said something stupid."

"No."

The word hung in the air between them.

"What did you just say to me?"

"I said no," Marcus repeated. "I'm not apologizing."

Victoria's eyes went wide, then narrow. "You don't get to say no to me."

"Actually, I do."

"We just got married! We've been married for less than an hour!"

"And already you're giving me orders," Marcus said. "Interesting."

"That's not—I'm not—" Victoria's composure cracked further. "You're being impossible!"

The ballroom doors burst open and Richard Ashford stormed out, his face the color of raw meat. Marcus's father-in-law was a big man—six feet tall, broad-shouldered, with silver hair slicked back and a permanent expression that suggested everyone around him was beneath his notice. Right now, that expression had shifted to pure rage.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" Richard demanded, his voice a low growl. He jabbed a thick finger into Marcus's chest. "You think you can humiliate my family? Embarrass my daughter at her own wedding?"

Marcus didn't step back. In his first life, he would have retreated immediately, apologizing, cowering. Now he stood his ground.

"I didn't say anything untrue," Marcus said evenly.

"Don't give me that philosophical bullshit," Richard snarled. "You stood up there and made us look like fools!"

"I made a promise to be the son-in-law you deserve. How is that making you look foolish?"

Richard's jaw worked, clearly searching for a response that wouldn't sound damning. Behind him, Catherine Ashford emerged from the ballroom, her face pinched with fury. Marcus's mother-in-law was a thin woman, all sharp angles and expensive clothes. She had the kind of face that looked like it had forgotten how to smile genuinely years ago, frozen in perpetual disapproval. Her gray eyes were cold as winter ice.

"Richard, don't waste your breath," Catherine said, her voice dripping with disdain. "I told you from the beginning this boy had no class. No breeding. You can't teach these people how to behave properly."

"These people," Marcus repeated. "You mean people like me?"

"I mean people from your background," Catherine said, each word clipped and precise. "People who don't understand their place. People who should be grateful for the opportunities they're given instead of biting the hand that feeds them."

"The hand that feeds me," Marcus said slowly. "That's an interesting choice of words, Catherine."

Her eyes flashed. "That's Mrs. Ashford to you."

"We're family now," Marcus replied. "Isn't that right? You're my mother-in-law. We should be on a first-name basis."

"You entitled little—" Catherine started forward, but Richard caught her arm.

"Not here," Richard said quietly. "People are watching."

Indeed, several guests had wandered into the hallway, curiosity written on their faces. Marcus recognized some of them—business associates of Richard's, society friends of Catherine's, people who thrived on gossip and scandal.

Victoria grabbed Marcus's arm again, her nails digging deep enough to hurt. "Smile," she commanded through clenched teeth. "Smile and act normal or I swear I will make you regret this for the rest of your life."

Marcus looked at her—his wife of less than an hour, already threatening him—and almost laughed. She had no idea. She couldn't possibly understand that he'd already lived through the worst she could do. He'd already experienced the full extent of what the Ashford family was capable of.

What more could they do to him that they hadn't already done?

"Of course, darling," Marcus said, loud enough for the onlookers to hear. "Whatever you say."

He smiled. It was not a nice smile.

Catherine's face went even paler. "Richard, I want him out. I want him gone from this wedding, from this family, from our lives. I don't care what it costs, I want a divorce lawyer on the phone tomorrow."

"Mom!" Victoria gasped.

"Your mother's right," Richard said, his voice cold. "This was a mistake. We'll handle it quietly. Annulment on the grounds of—we'll figure something out. Mental instability, maybe."

"You can't annul the marriage," Marcus said. "We're legally married. It's done."

"Everything can be undone with enough money," Richard said. "And I have plenty of money."

"Actually, you don't."

The words slipped out before Marcus could stop them. He knew—God, he knew—that the Ashford company was teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. That Richard had spent the last six months hiding the extent of their financial problems from everyone, including his own family. That in three months, everything would collapse unless someone stepped in with capital.

In his first life, that someone had been Marcus. He'd drained his savings, sold his mother's apartment, and handed over everything to keep the company afloat.

This time would be different.

Richard's expression shifted, just for a moment. A flicker of something—panic, maybe, or fear—crossed his face before the angry mask slammed back down.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing," Marcus said. "My mistake."

"No, you said something about money," Richard pressed, stepping closer. "What do you know?"

"I know a lot of things," Marcus replied. "I know more than you think I do."

Catherine was staring at him now, her eyes calculating. She was the smart one, Marcus remembered. Richard was all bluster and ego, but Catherine was the one who actually understood how business worked. She was the one who'd orchestrated much of their downfall in his first life.

"What does that mean?" Catherine demanded. "What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything," Marcus said. "I'm just stating facts. I know things. About your company. About your finances. About a lot of things."

"Are you threatening us?" Richard's voice dropped dangerously low. "At your own wedding? Are you actually threatening your new family?"

"I'm not threatening anyone," Marcus said calmly. "I'm just making conversation."

"This conversation is over," Catherine snapped. She turned to Victoria. "Take your husband somewhere quiet. Lock him in a room if you have to. We need to manage this disaster before it gets worse."

"What about the reception?" Victoria asked, her voice small. For the first time, Marcus heard genuine distress there. Not concern for him—never that—but fear for her social standing, her reputation.

"We'll make something up," Richard said. "Groom got sick. Food poisoning. Something."

"Everyone will know that's a lie," Victoria protested.

"Then we'll give them a better story," Catherine said coldly. "Nervous breakdown. Exhaustion. We'll spin it as stress from planning the wedding. People will believe it because they want to believe it. Scandal is only fun when it's someone else's family."

She said it so matter-of-factly, like manipulating public opinion was as natural as breathing. And it probably was for her, Marcus realized. Catherine Ashford had spent her entire life crafting her perfect image, her perfect family, her perfect lie.

"I'm not having a breakdown," Marcus said.

"No one asked you," Catherine replied without looking at him. She turned to Victoria. "Handle your husband. And if you can't handle him, Richard and I will."

The threat was clear. The Ashford family had ways of dealing with problems. Marcus remembered how they'd isolated him in his first life, cutting him off from friends, from colleagues, from anyone who might support him. How they'd systematically destroyed his confidence until he believed he was nothing without them.

"Come on," Victoria said, pulling at his arm. "Let's go."

"Where?"

"Anywhere but here."

Marcus let himself be led away, down the hotel corridor, away from the staring guests and the angry parents. Victoria's grip on his arm was iron-tight, her heels clicking rapidly against the marble floor. She didn't speak until they reached a small conference room, empty and dark. She shoved him inside and closed the door.

"Sit down," Victoria ordered, pointing to a chair.

"I'd rather stand."

"I don't care what you'd rather do. Sit. Down."

Marcus sat, not because she told him to, but because he was curious where this would go. Victoria paced in front of him, her wedding dress swishing with each agitated step. Even furious, she was beautiful—the kind of beauty that came from money and time and knowing exactly how to present yourself. Dark hair, perfect skin, a body maintained by personal trainers and expensive gyms.

In his first life, he'd thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Now he just saw the cruelty behind her eyes.

"Talk," Victoria demanded. "Explain to me what's going on in your head right now. Because I'm trying very hard to understand why my husband of one hour is actively trying to destroy his own marriage."

"Am I?" Marcus asked. "Trying to destroy it?"

"Yes! Obviously! What else do you call that performance out there?"

"I call it honesty."

Victoria laughed, sharp and bitter. "Honesty? You want to talk about honesty? Fine. Let's be honest. You married me because you wanted to move up in the world. You wanted the Ashford name, the connections, the social status. Don't pretend this was some great love story."

Marcus felt something cold settle in his chest. "Is that what you think?"

"That's what I know," Victoria said. "You're ambitious, Marcus. There's nothing wrong with that. But you need to understand how this works. You play by our rules. You do what we tell you. And in return, you get to be part of something bigger than yourself."

"Part of the Ashford family."

"Exactly."

"And what do you get out of this arrangement?" Marcus asked quietly. "Why did you marry me?"

Victoria stopped pacing. For a moment, something flickered across her face—an emotion too quick to read. Then it was gone, replaced by cold calculation.

"My father needed someone," she said simply. "Someone to... fill a role. You fit the requirements."

"What requirements?"

"Someone smart enough to be useful but not smart enough to be threatening. Someone grateful enough to be controlled. Someone with no family, no connections, no way to push back." Victoria's voice was flat, reciting facts. "You were perfect."

There it was. The truth. Said so casually, so easily, like it was nothing. Like his feelings, his hopes, his dreams of building a life together meant absolutely nothing.

Marcus had known this, of course. He'd known it in his first life, deep down, even though he'd refused to acknowledge it. And he knew it now with absolute certainty.

But hearing it said out loud was different.

"I see," Marcus said slowly.

"Do you? Because I'm not sure you do." Victoria crouched down in front of him, her eyes searching his face. "Marcus, I need you to understand something. My family has invested in you. Time, money, reputation. We brought you into our world. We made you somebody."

"You made me your servant."

"We made you an Ashford," Victoria corrected. "Do you have any idea what that means? The doors that will open for you? The opportunities?"

"At what cost?"

"At the cost of your pride, maybe," Victoria said. "At the cost of your ego. But isn't that a small price to pay?"

Marcus looked at her—really looked at her. At the woman he'd loved so desperately in his first life. The woman he'd died for, in a way. He'd given her everything, and she'd given him nothing but pain.

"No," he said softly. "It's not a small price. It's everything."

Victoria stood up, frustrated. "You're being ridiculous. This is just wedding day jitters. Pre-ceremony nerves hitting late. Tomorrow you'll feel better. Tomorrow we can—"

"Tomorrow I want the deed to my mother's apartment back."

Victoria froze. "What?"

"You heard me," Marcus said, standing up to face her. "The apartment in Queens. The one your father said we needed to sell to 'invest in the business.' I want the deed back."

"That's not possible."

"Why not?"

"Because it's already sold! We closed on it two weeks ago!"

Marcus stared at her. They'd been married for one hour. The apartment sale wasn't supposed to happen for six months. But they'd already sold it. They'd sold his mother's apartment—the only thing he had left of her—before the wedding even happened.

"You sold it early," Marcus said, his voice dangerously quiet.

"We needed the capital," Victoria said defensively. "The business required immediate investment. Your apartment was just sitting there, not doing anyone any good."

"It was my home."

"It was a one-bedroom in Queens," Victoria scoffed. "You were never going to live there again anyway. We live in Manhattan now. In a proper building. In a proper neighborhood."

"Your neighborhood."

"Our neighborhood," Victoria corrected. "Marcus, you need to stop living in the past. Your mother is dead. That apartment was a reminder of a life you don't have anymore. We did you a favor by selling it."

Marcus felt his hands curl into fists. In his first life, he'd accepted this logic. He'd let them convince him that selling the apartment was the right thing to do, the mature thing to do. He'd let them erase the last piece of his mother's memory because they'd told him to.

Not this time.

"I want to see the papers," Marcus said. "The sale documents. I want to see who bought it and for how much."

"That's confidential business information."

"It was my apartment. I have a right to know."

"You signed it over to the company," Victoria said. "You gave up your rights when you signed the transfer papers."

"Papers I never saw."

Victoria's eyes narrowed. "What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything," Marcus said, echoing his earlier words to her parents. "I'm stating facts. I never signed any transfer papers. I never authorized any sale."

"Yes, you did. Last month. You signed a whole stack of documents for the company. The transfer was in there."

"Buried in a stack of documents I wasn't allowed to read properly," Marcus said. "Documents your father rushed me through, saying they were time-sensitive."

Victoria's face went pale. "You're lying."

"Am I?"

"You—you can't prove—" Victoria stopped herself, but too late. The admission was already there.

Marcus smiled without humor. "I can't prove what? That you forged my signature? That you stole my property?"

"We didn't steal anything!" Victoria snapped. "You're part of this family now! What's yours is ours! That's how marriage works!"

"That's not how marriage works," Marcus said quietly. "That's how theft works."

The door burst open and Derek Ashford stumbled in, clearly drunk despite it being barely eight in the evening. Victoria's younger brother was twenty-three, fresh out of college—or rather, fresh from being expelled from his third college in five years. He had the Ashford looks—dark hair, strong features—but none of the discipline. His tuxedo was already rumpled, his tie loose, his eyes glassy.

"There's the man of the hour!" Derek slurred, pointing at Marcus with a champagne bottle. "The crazy groom! Everybody's talking about you, buddy."

"Derek, get out," Victoria said through clenched teeth.

"Why? This is fun! This is the most exciting wedding I've ever been to!" Derek took a swig from the bottle and grinned. "You really told Mom and Dad off. That was ballsy. Stupid, but ballsy."

"I said get out," Victoria repeated.

"Come on, sis, don't be like that. I'm just trying to congratulate my new brother-in-law." Derek weaved closer to Marcus, his breath reeking of alcohol. "You know, Marcus, I gotta give you credit. I didn't think you had it in you."

"Had what in me?" Marcus asked.

"The guts to stand up to them," Derek said. "To the family. Nobody ever does. Everybody just does what Mom and Dad say because it's easier. Because they've got the money and the power and all that."

"Derek, you're drunk," Victoria said. "Go sleep it off."

"I'm always drunk," Derek replied cheerfully. "Doesn't make me wrong. Marcus here might be onto something. Maybe we should all stop pretending this family isn't completely screwed up."

"Shut up," Victoria hissed.

"Why? He's family now, right? He should know the truth. Should know what he married into." Derek turned back to Marcus, his eyes suddenly more focused than they'd been a moment ago. "You want to know a secret, Marcus? We're broke. The company's going under. Has been for months. Dad's just been moving money around, trying to make it look like we're still solvent."

"Derek!" Victoria grabbed her brother's arm, trying to pull him away.

"It's true and you know it," Derek said, shaking her off. "Why do you think they were so desperate to marry you off? They need someone to blame when everything collapses. Someone who's not actually an Ashford."

Marcus felt ice in his veins. "What?"

"Oh yeah," Derek said, nodding enthusiastically. "That's the whole plan. Marry you to Victoria, get you involved in the company, then when the bankruptcy hits, blame it all on you. The outsider who ruined everything. The poor kid who didn't know how to handle real money."

"You're lying," Victoria said, but her voice was weak.

"Am I? Then why did Dad have you sign all those papers making Marcus an officer of the company? Why give him authority if not to make him liable?"

Marcus's mind raced. He remembered signing those papers. Richard had made it sound like an honor, like they were trusting him with responsibility. In his first life, he'd been grateful for the opportunity.

Now he understood. They'd been setting him up from the beginning.

"That's enough," Victoria said, her voice shaking. "Get out, Derek. Now."

"Fine, fine," Derek said, backing toward the door. "But you should tell him, Vic. Tell him about Damien. Tell him the real reason you agreed to this marriage."

Victoria's face went white. "Get. Out."

Derek laughed and stumbled out, leaving the door open. In the hallway beyond, Marcus could see guests milling around, the reception continuing without them.

"Close the door," Victoria said quietly.

Marcus didn't move. "What did he mean about Damien Cross?"

"Nothing. He's drunk. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"What about Damien?"

"I said it's nothing!" Victoria's voice cracked. "Just—just drop it, okay?"

But Marcus couldn't drop it. Because he knew. He knew exactly what Derek meant. He knew about the affair, about the two years Victoria and Damien had been together. He knew it all.

But he couldn't know it. Not yet. Not on his wedding day. There was no way he should know.

Unless...

"How long have you been seeing him?" Marcus asked quietly.

Victoria's eyes went wide. "What? I'm not—we're not—"

"How long, Victoria?"

She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. "You're insane. You're actually insane. I'm not seeing anyone. I just married you!"

"That's not an answer."

"Because it's not a question that deserves an answer!" Victoria's voice rose to a near-shriek again. "I don't know what you think you know, or what Derek's drunk rambling put in your head, but I'm not having an affair! I would never—"

"You would," Marcus interrupted. "You will. Maybe you already are."

The confession hung in the air. Victoria stared at him, her mouth open in shock. Then her expression hardened into something ugly.

"You know what? Maybe I should," she said viciously. "Maybe I should find someone who actually appreciates me. Someone who doesn't act like a crazy person at his own wedding. Someone who knows his place."

"And Damien Cross knows his place?"

"Don't—" Victoria stopped, realizing she'd almost confirmed it. "This conversation is over. We're going back to the reception. You're going to apologize to everyone. And then we're going home and never speaking of this again."

"No."

"Stop saying no to me!"

"Then stop giving me orders," Marcus replied calmly. "We're married now, Victoria. That means we're equals. Partners. Not master and servant."

Victoria laughed, high and bitter. "Equals? You really think we're equals? You come from nothing, Marcus. You have nothing. You are nothing without this family. Without me."

In his first life, those words had destroyed him. He'd believed them. He'd internalized them. He'd spent five years trying to prove he was worthy, trying to become somebody, trying to earn their approval.

Now he knew better.

"You're right," Marcus said softly. "I came from nothing. My mother worked three jobs to put me through college. She died exhausted and broke because she gave everything to give me a chance at a better life. I have nothing except what she left me—an apartment you sold without permission and memories you can't take away."

He stepped closer to Victoria, and she actually backed up.

"But you're wrong about one thing," Marcus continued. "I'm not nothing. I never was. I just let you convince me that I was."

"Marcus—"

"This marriage is going to be very different from what you expected," he said. "I'm going to be very different from what you expected. So here's what's going to happen. We're going to go back to that reception. We're going to finish the evening. And tomorrow, we're going to have a long conversation about boundaries and expectations and what kind of marriage this is really going to be."

"You don't get to dictate terms to me," Victoria said, but there was uncertainty in her voice now.

"I'm not dictating. I'm negotiating. There's a difference." Marcus moved toward the door. "Now, shall we rejoin our guests? I'm sure they're wondering where we went."

He walked out, leaving Victoria standing alone in the dark conference room, her face a mask of confusion and fear.

Marcus walked back toward the ballroom, his heart pounding but his mind clear. He'd made his first move. Established that he wasn't going to be the pushover they expected. Now he had to follow through.

But as he reached the ballroom entrance, he saw something that made him stop cold.

Damien Cross stood in the hallway, phone pressed to his ear, his back to Marcus. He was speaking quietly, but Marcus's feet carried him closer, staying silent, listening.

"—don't care what it takes," Damien was saying. "I want every piece of information on Marcus Kane. Employment history, financial records, everything. I want to know who this guy really is and what he thinks he's playing at."

Marcus's blood ran cold.

"No, tonight," Damien continued. "I want it by morning. Something's not right here. Nobody acts like that without a reason. Find out what he knows."

Damien ended the call and turned around.

He froze when he saw Marcus standing there.

For a long moment, neither man spoke. They just stared at each other across ten feet of hotel hallway—the man who would kill him and the man who'd already died once.

Then Damien smiled.

"Marcus," he said pleasantly. "Interesting speech you gave."

"You didn't like it?"

"On the contrary. I found it fascinating." Damien slipped his phone into his pocket. "You're not what I expected."

"What were you expecting?"

"Someone weaker," Damien said honestly. "Someone grateful. Someone easy to control."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"Oh, you haven't disappointed me," Damien said, his smile widening. "You've made things much more interesting."

He walked past Marcus, close enough that their shoulders almost touched, and paused.

"Fair warning," Damien said quietly. "I don't like complications. And you, Marcus Kane, are starting to look like a very big complication."

Then he was gone, disappearing into the ballroom, leaving Marcus standing alone in the hallway with ice in his veins and the certain knowledge that the war had already begun.