After My Rebirth, My In Laws Regretted Everything

The First Move

Marcus stood in the hotel hallway long after Damien disappeared into the ballroom. His hands were shaking—not from fear, but from adrenaline. The confrontation with Victoria, the threats from her parents, and now Damien's thinly veiled warning. It was all happening faster than he'd expected.

But that was good. The faster they moved, the faster he could counter.

He needed to think. He needed to plan. Most importantly, he needed to secure his assets before the Ashfords could steal everything else.

Marcus pulled out his phone—an old model, nothing fancy, because he'd always been careful with money—and scrolled through his contacts. His finger hovered over a name he hadn't thought about in years.

Sophia Chen.

His childhood friend. The girl who'd lived three doors down from his mother's apartment in Queens. They'd grown up together, studied together, dreamed about the future together. In his first life, he'd lost touch with her after the wedding. Victoria had made it clear she didn't approve of his "old friends," and like a fool, he'd let Sophia drift away.

He knew now that had been intentional. The Ashfords had systematically isolated him from anyone who might support him, leaving him completely dependent on them.

Not this time.

Marcus dialed the number, praying it still worked. After three rings, a familiar voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Sophia? It's Marcus. Marcus Kane."

There was a pause, then a surprised laugh. "Marcus? Oh my God, I didn't think you'd actually call! I sent you that wedding invitation response weeks ago but never heard back. How's married life?"

Marcus glanced toward the ballroom where his disaster of a reception was still underway. "Complicated. Listen, I know this is sudden, but I need your help."

"Of course. What's wrong? You sound stressed."

"I am stressed. I need a lawyer. A good one. Someone who specializes in property law and corporate contracts."

Another pause. "Marcus, what's going on?"

"I can't explain right now, but I need someone I can trust. Someone who isn't connected to the Ashford family. Can you help me?"

"My firm handles corporate law," Sophia said slowly. "I'm still junior associate, but my boss, Jennifer Wu, she's one of the best property attorneys in the city. She's tough. Doesn't take crap from anyone. But Marcus, if you need a lawyer on your wedding night, something is seriously wrong."

"Everything is wrong," Marcus admitted quietly. "I just need someone on my side. Someone who will look out for my interests, not theirs."

"Okay," Sophia said, and he could hear the concern in her voice. "Okay. I'll call Jennifer tonight. We'll meet tomorrow. Where are you going to be?"

Marcus thought quickly. He couldn't go to the apartment Victoria had already picked out—the expensive Manhattan penthouse that her parents had "gifted" them but would undoubtedly use as leverage. He needed neutral ground.

"Do you remember Hayes' restaurant? The old diner on Amsterdam Avenue?"

"Mr. Hayes' place? Is that still open?"

"It is," Marcus said. Mr. Hayes—the humble restaurant owner who'd given him free meals when his mother was sick, who'd treated him with more kindness than the Ashfords ever had. "Can we meet there? Ten in the morning?"

"I'll be there," Sophia promised. "Marcus, are you safe? Do you need somewhere to stay tonight?"

The question caught him off guard. Safe. Was he safe? Damien had ordered his murder in his first life. The Ashfords had been complicit. But that was five years away. Right now, they still needed him for their plan to work.

Still, Sophia's concern touched something in him. In five years of marriage to Victoria, no one had ever asked if he was safe.

"I'm fine," Marcus lied. "I'll see you tomorrow. And Sophia? Thank you."

"Always," she said softly. "We're friends, Marcus. No matter what happens, remember that."

He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Friends. He'd forgotten what that word meant.

The ballroom doors opened and Derek stumbled out again, this time without the champagne bottle but looking even more drunk. He spotted Marcus and grinned stupidly.

"There you are! Dude, you gotta come back inside. The party's getting weird."

"Weird how?"

"Mom's telling everyone you have food poisoning. Dad's telling everyone you're overwhelmed with emotion. Victoria's crying in the bathroom. And Damien keeps asking people questions about you. It's like a bad reality show." Derek laughed, finding this hilarious. "I love it."

Marcus studied his brother-in-law. Derek was a mess—spoiled, irresponsible, drowning in gambling debts he couldn't pay. In his first life, Marcus had bailed him out multiple times, draining his own accounts to cover Derek's losses. Derek had never thanked him. Had never even acknowledged the help.

But right now, drunk and loose-lipped, Derek was useful.

"You said earlier that your parents were planning to blame me for the company's problems," Marcus said. "How do you know that?"

Derek's grin faded slightly. "I heard them talking. Late one night, like two months ago. I came home drunk—shocking, I know—and they were in Dad's study. Door was open a c***k. They didn't know I was there."

"What exactly did they say?"

"Mom was worried. Said the bankruptcy would destroy the family name. Dad said not if they had someone else to pin it on. Someone with no connections, no power, no way to fight back." Derek's eyes focused on Marcus with surprising clarity. "Then he said your name."

Marcus felt cold. "What else?"

"Mom asked what if you refused to cooperate. What if you didn't sign the papers they needed. Dad laughed and said you'd sign anything if they threatened to take Victoria away. Said you were so desperate for approval, you'd do whatever they wanted." Derek's voice dropped. "He called you pathetic. Said it was almost too easy."

The words hit like physical blows. Marcus had known the Ashfords looked down on him, but hearing it confirmed—hearing that they'd discussed manipulating him so casually—made rage burn in his chest.

"Why are you telling me this?" Marcus asked. "You're their son."

"Yeah, and they treat me like garbage too," Derek said bitterly. "Just in a different way. You they use. Me they ignore. Neither one of us matters to them as people. We're just assets. Tools to be used and discarded."

It was the most honest thing Derek had ever said to him.

"So what are you going to do about it?" Derek continued, swaying slightly. "You made your big dramatic statement at the wedding. But talk is cheap. You gonna actually stand up to them? Or are you gonna fall in line like everyone expects?"

Marcus looked at this drunk, broken young man who was still perceptive enough to ask the right question.

"I'm going to stand up," Marcus said quietly. "But I need information. I need to know exactly how bad the company's finances are. I need to know what they're planning. Can you help me with that?"

Derek stared at him for a long moment. Then he laughed, but it was a different laugh this time. Darker. More bitter.

"You're serious. You're actually going to fight them."

"Yes."

"They'll destroy you. You know that, right? They've destroyed everyone who's ever opposed them. Business rivals, former employees, even family members who stepped out of line. The Ashfords don't lose. They can't afford to."

"Maybe it's time they learned how," Marcus said.

Derek studied him, and something shifted in his expression. For just a moment, Marcus saw past the drunk facade to the person underneath. Someone tired. Someone trapped.

"Dad keeps files," Derek said finally. "In his study at home. Financial records, contracts, correspondence. Everything. He's old school about that stuff. Doesn't trust digital records. Says paper can't be hacked."

"Can you get me access?"

"Maybe. If you're serious about this. If you're really going to fight them." Derek leaned closer, his breath reeking of alcohol but his eyes surprisingly focused. "But I want something in return."

"What?"

"When you bring them down—if you bring them down—I want out. I want away from this family and all their expectations. I want my trust fund early, before they can freeze it or use it as leverage. Can you do that?"

Marcus considered. Derek's trust fund was substantial. In his first life, Richard had used it to control Derek, dangling access like a carrot to keep him obedient. If Marcus could free Derek from that control, he'd have an ally inside the family.

"I can try," Marcus said. "But I need you sober. Can you do that? Can you stay clearheaded enough to help me?"

Derek laughed bitterly. "You want me to stop drinking? That's like asking me to stop breathing."

"I want you to stay functional. I don't need you completely sober, just coherent enough to be useful."

"Functional. Right." Derek rubbed his face. "Okay. Okay, I can try. But no promises. The drinking helps me forget how much I hate my life."

"What if we changed your life instead?"

The question hung between them. Derek stared at Marcus like he was seeing him for the first time.

"You really are different," Derek said slowly. "Victoria said you'd changed. Snapped or something. But this isn't a breakdown. This is something else."

"This is me taking control," Marcus said. "This is me refusing to be their victim."

"Their victim," Derek repeated, tasting the words. "Yeah. Yeah, that's what we all are, aren't we? All of us in this family. Just victims pretending to be victors."

The ballroom doors opened again and Catherine emerged, her face tight with fury. She spotted Marcus and Derek together and her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Derek, get back inside," she commanded in that clipped, precise voice that brooked no argument. "Now."

"I'm talking to Marcus, Mom."

"I don't care. I said now."

Derek shot Marcus a look—part apology, part resignation—and shuffled back toward the ballroom. Catherine watched him go, then turned her ice-cold gaze on Marcus.

"You," she said, her voice low and venomous. "What did you say to my son?"

"We were just talking."

"About what?"

"Family matters."

Catherine's lips pressed into a thin line. "You've been part of this family for three hours. Don't presume to understand our matters."

"I understand more than you think," Marcus said.

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a statement of fact."

Catherine stepped closer, and Marcus could smell her expensive perfume, something floral and overpowering. Her gray eyes studied him with cold intelligence, and Marcus was reminded that she was the dangerous one. Richard was all bluster, but Catherine was calculating. Strategic.

"I don't know what you're trying to accomplish with this little rebellion," Catherine said quietly. "But let me make something very clear. You will not embarrass this family. You will not damage our reputation. You will not poison my children against us."

"I'm not poisoning anyone. I'm just being honest."

"Honesty is a luxury people like you can't afford," Catherine said. "People like you survive by being useful. By knowing your place. By keeping your mouth shut and doing what you're told."

"People like me," Marcus repeated. "You keep saying that. What exactly does that mean, Catherine?"

Her eyes flashed. "I told you to call me Mrs. Ashford."

"We're family now. You said so yourself."

"Family is earned, not given," Catherine snapped. "And you haven't earned anything yet. Right now, you're just a charity case we took in out of the goodness of our hearts."

Marcus almost laughed. Goodness of their hearts. The Ashfords didn't have good hearts. They had calculators where their hearts should be, constantly measuring value and worth and usefulness.

"I don't need your charity," Marcus said.

"Yes, you do. You absolutely do. Without us, what are you? A mid-level programmer with a dead-end career and no prospects. We gave you Victoria. We gave you a position in the company. We gave you a future. And this is how you repay us? With disrespect and insubordination?"

"I haven't been insubordinate. I made a speech at my own wedding."

"You made a spectacle," Catherine corrected coldly. "You embarrassed us in front of our closest friends and business associates. Do you have any idea the damage you've done? The questions people are asking?"

"What questions?"

"About your stability. Your character. Your fitness to be part of this family." Catherine's voice dropped lower, more dangerous. "Richard wants you gone. He wanted to call our lawyers tonight, start annulment proceedings immediately. Do you know why we haven't?"

"Why?"

"Because I convinced him to wait. I told him you were just nervous. Overwhelmed. That you'd come to your senses once the wedding was over and reality set in." Catherine leaned in close. "Was I wrong, Marcus? Are you going to come to your senses? Or are we going to have a problem?"

Marcus met her gaze steadily. In his first life, Catherine had terrified him. Her cold intelligence, her cutting words, her ability to make him feel small and worthless with just a look. He'd lived in fear of her disapproval, constantly trying to win her over.

Now he just saw her for what she was. A bully. A manipulator. Someone who controlled through fear because she had nothing else to offer.

"I think we're going to have a problem," Marcus said quietly.

Catherine's face went very still. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. We're going to have a problem. Because I'm not going to be what you want me to be. I'm not going to be your scapegoat or your servant or your tool. I'm going to be my own person. And if that's a problem for you, then we have a problem."

For a long moment, Catherine just stared at him. Then she smiled, and it was the coldest smile Marcus had ever seen.

"You have no idea what you've just done," she said softly. "No idea what you've brought down on yourself."

"I have some idea."

"No. You don't." Catherine's smile widened. "You think you're being brave. Standing up for yourself. But all you're doing is making this harder on everyone. Especially yourself."

"Is that another threat?"

"That's a promise," Catherine said. "You want to fight us? Fine. Fight us. But understand this—we've been playing this game for generations. We know every move, every countermove, every way to win. And you? You're just a boy from Queens who thinks he's clever."

She turned to go, then paused.

"One more thing," Catherine said without looking back. "Your mother's apartment? The one you're so concerned about? We sold it to Damien Cross. He owns it now. And you signed the papers authorizing the sale. They're notarized, dated, completely legal. If you try to claim otherwise, you'll look like a liar or a madman. Either way, you lose."

She walked back into the ballroom, leaving Marcus standing in the hallway with ice in his veins.

Damien owned his mother's apartment. The Ashfords had sold it to their ally, their co-conspirator, the man who would eventually murder him. They'd taken the last piece of his mother's memory and handed it to his future killer.

Marcus felt rage building in his chest, hot and fierce and nearly overwhelming. But underneath the rage was clarity. Cold, sharp clarity.

They thought they'd won. They thought they'd tied up all the loose ends, secured all the assets, left him with no options.

They were wrong.

Marcus pulled out his phone and made another call. This one to his bank.

"Yes, I'd like to arrange a transfer," he said when someone answered. "I want to move all my funds to a different bank. Tomorrow morning. First thing."

He had about forty thousand dollars in savings—money he'd carefully set aside over the years, money the Ashfords didn't know about because he'd opened the account before he met Victoria. It wasn't much, but it was something. It was a start.

"And I want to set up a safety deposit box," Marcus continued. "I have some documents that need to be secured."

Documents like his mother's original will. Like his employment contracts. Like every email and text message he'd saved. In his first life, the Ashfords had eventually gotten access to his accounts, his files, everything. They'd used his own correspondence against him.

Not this time. This time he'd be prepared.

Marcus ended the call and looked toward the ballroom. Through the open doors, he could see the reception still going on. Guests dancing, drinking, pretending nothing was wrong. Richard holding court with his business associates. Catherine whispering to a group of society ladies, probably spinning her story about the troubled groom. Victoria still nowhere to be seen.

And there, near the bar, was Damien Cross. Watching. Always watching.

Marcus walked toward the ballroom, his mind clear, his purpose focused. He'd made his opening moves. Set boundaries. Refused to be controlled. Now he needed to follow through.

He entered the ballroom and immediately felt every eye turn toward him. The music kept playing, but conversations stopped. People stared openly, curiosity and judgment written on their faces.

Marcus walked straight to the bar and ordered a drink. Whiskey. Neat. The bartender poured with shaking hands, clearly uncomfortable serving the crazy groom everyone was talking about.

"Quite the evening you're having."

Marcus didn't need to turn to know who was speaking. Damien's smooth voice was unmistakable.

"It's been interesting," Marcus said, taking a sip of his whiskey.

Damien appeared beside him, holding his own drink. Up close, Marcus could see the calculation in his eyes, the predatory intelligence. This was a man who assessed everything, everyone, looking for weaknesses to exploit.

"I've been asking around about you," Damien said casually. "Marcus Kane. MIT graduate. Top of your class. Specialized in artificial intelligence and machine learning. Impressive credentials."

"Thank you."

"You're working on something, aren't you? Some kind of project. Something valuable."

There it was. The real reason Damien was interested. In his first life, Marcus had been developing AI algorithms for predictive analytics. Cutting-edge work that would eventually be worth millions. Damien had stolen it all, used it to build his empire while Marcus died penniless.

"I work on lots of projects," Marcus said carefully.

"But one in particular. One you've been developing in your spare time. I've heard whispers about it in the tech community. Something about pattern recognition and data processing."

Marcus's blood ran cold. How did Damien know about that? The work wasn't public. He hadn't published anything yet. Unless...

Unless someone had told him. Someone with access to Marcus's computer. His files. His work.

Richard. Or Victoria. Or both.

"I don't discuss my work at social events," Marcus said.

"Smart man. Intellectual property is valuable. Very valuable. You should protect it." Damien smiled. "In fact, I'd be happy to help with that. My company has excellent lawyers. Excellent resources. We could make sure your work is properly secured. Properly monetized."

"Properly stolen, you mean," Marcus said quietly.

Damien's smile didn't falter, but his eyes went cold. "That's a serious accusation."

"It's a serious world."

They stared at each other, and Marcus saw Damien reassessing him. This wasn't the weak, grateful son-in-law he'd expected. This was someone who saw through the polite facade to the predator underneath.

"You're different from what I expected," Damien said finally. "Richard and Catherine said you'd be easy to manage. Malleable. But you're not, are you?"

"No."

"That's going to be a problem."

"For who?"

"For you," Damien said simply. "See, Marcus, the Ashfords need you to be manageable. Their whole plan depends on it. And what the Ashfords need, I help them get. We have an understanding, them and me."

"What kind of understanding?"

"The kind where everyone wins. Everyone except you, of course." Damien took a sip of his drink. "But you don't matter. You were never supposed to matter. You were just a piece on the board. A pawn to be moved and eventually sacrificed."

"Chess metaphors. How original."

"Mock if you want, but it's true. You married Victoria thinking you'd found love. The Ashfords let you marry her thinking you'd found a purpose. But the truth is, you're just a convenience. A solution to a problem. And once you've served your purpose, you'll be disposed of."

Marcus felt his hand tighten on his glass. Damien was saying it all so casually, so openly. Like Marcus wasn't even worth lying to.

"And what's your role in all this?" Marcus asked. "Just a helpful friend?"

"I'm an investor. A partner. Someone who sees opportunity where others see problems." Damien's smile returned. "The Ashfords needed someone to blame for their company's failure. You're that person. They needed someone to transfer assets to before the bankruptcy. That's me. It's a perfect arrangement."

"Except I'm not cooperating."

"Not yet," Damien agreed. "But you will. Everyone has a price. Everyone has a weakness. I'll find yours."

"Good luck with that."

Damien laughed, a genuine sound of amusement. "You know what, Marcus? I'm starting to like you. You've got guts. Stupid guts, but guts nonetheless. It's almost a shame what's going to happen to you."

"What's going to happen to me?"

"Everything bad," Damien said simply. "Everything you fear. Everything you can't imagine. Because that's what happens to people who get in my way. They get crushed. Thoroughly and permanently."

He finished his drink and set the glass down.

"Enjoy your wedding night," Damien said. "It might be the last good night you have for a very long time."

He walked away, leaving Marcus standing at the bar with his heart pounding and his mind racing.

That was a direct threat. Not even veiled. Damien had openly admitted to the conspiracy, to the plan to destroy him, to everything.

Because he thought Marcus was powerless to stop it.

Marcus pulled out his phone and hit record on his voice memo app. Then he walked to where Richard and Catherine were talking with a group of guests.

"Excuse me," Marcus said loudly. "Could I have everyone's attention?"

The ballroom went quiet again. Richard's face darkened. Catherine looked murderous.

"I just want to say one thing," Marcus continued, his voice carrying across the room. "To my new family, to all our guests. Thank you for being here tonight. Thank you for witnessing the beginning of what I'm sure will be a very interesting marriage. And I want everyone to remember this moment. Remember what was said. Remember what was promised. Because I have a feeling we're all going to be talking about this night for a very long time."

He raised his glass in a toast.

"To new beginnings," Marcus said. "And old scores that haven't been settled yet."

The room erupted into confused murmurs. Richard started toward him, fury written on his face. Catherine grabbed her husband's arm, holding him back, calculating.

And in the doorway, Victoria appeared, her face streaked with tears and rage.

"That's it," she said, her voice shaking. "That's it. I want a divorce. I don't care if we've only been married for three hours. I want out. I want away from you."

Marcus looked at his wife—his wife of three hours—and smiled.

"No."