One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 100: Chapter 100
You are reading One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband ---, Chapter 100: Chapter 100. Read more chapters of One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband ---.
The idea came to her while watching Iris paint in the garden.
The breeze carried laughter from the kitchen where Jonah was baking cookies with Lily perched beside him, her fingers sticky with flour and joy. Elijah was reading in the sun, a quiet strength radiating from him like the very legacy Damien once dreamed of.
Arielle sat on the porch, tea cooling in her hands, heart full—and breaking.
“I want to give back,” she whispered, almost to herself. “In his name.”
That night, she stayed up until dawn, drafting plans. Scribbling mission statements on yellow notepads. Names. Concepts. Tears fell onto ink, but she didn’t stop.
By morning, she had it:
The Damien Calloway Foundation
A place of refuge, restoration, and reimagination for single parents and orphaned children.
Her children were her empire. But this? This would be their legacy.
The boardroom fell silent when she announced it.
“I won’t just run a company built on numbers and market shares. I’ll build something sweeter. More lasting. A legacy of love.”
Some raised eyebrows. Others clapped.
But Arielle didn’t flinch.
She invested her own shares.
Donated the estate Damien grew up in.
Partnered with schools, therapy centers, food banks. Her eyes burned with purpose. Not pity. Not charity. Empowerment.
At the grand opening, it rained.
Not a storm—just a soft drizzle, like the sky was blessing the moment.
Arielle stood at the gates, her children at her side, before a crowd of sponsors, community leaders, and hopeful families. She wore white. Lily clutched her leg. Jonah held the umbrella. Iris captured everything with her camera. Elijah stood tall beside her.
Arielle stepped forward, voice strong through the mic.
“This foundation is not just named after a man. It is built on the way he lived. His fierce love. His unwavering hope. His belief that every child—every parent doing it alone—deserves more than just survival. They deserve sweetness. Joy. Possibility.”
She paused, swallowing tears.
“We called it The Sweet Empire—because love built it. And love will run it.”
The crowd clapped. Some cried. And in the front row, a little girl with no parents smiled for the first time in months.
Later that day, Iris showed Arielle a sketch she’d made: Damien’s face formed from words like honor, legacy, father, hope.
Arielle framed it and placed it in the foundation’s entry hall.
The plaque beneath read:
“For the one who built our roots—and taught us to grow wings.”
That night, as she tucked the kids in and turned off the lights, Elijah whispered, “He would be so proud of you.”
Arielle kissed his forehead.
“He already was.”
The breeze carried laughter from the kitchen where Jonah was baking cookies with Lily perched beside him, her fingers sticky with flour and joy. Elijah was reading in the sun, a quiet strength radiating from him like the very legacy Damien once dreamed of.
Arielle sat on the porch, tea cooling in her hands, heart full—and breaking.
“I want to give back,” she whispered, almost to herself. “In his name.”
That night, she stayed up until dawn, drafting plans. Scribbling mission statements on yellow notepads. Names. Concepts. Tears fell onto ink, but she didn’t stop.
By morning, she had it:
The Damien Calloway Foundation
A place of refuge, restoration, and reimagination for single parents and orphaned children.
Her children were her empire. But this? This would be their legacy.
The boardroom fell silent when she announced it.
“I won’t just run a company built on numbers and market shares. I’ll build something sweeter. More lasting. A legacy of love.”
Some raised eyebrows. Others clapped.
But Arielle didn’t flinch.
She invested her own shares.
Donated the estate Damien grew up in.
Partnered with schools, therapy centers, food banks. Her eyes burned with purpose. Not pity. Not charity. Empowerment.
At the grand opening, it rained.
Not a storm—just a soft drizzle, like the sky was blessing the moment.
Arielle stood at the gates, her children at her side, before a crowd of sponsors, community leaders, and hopeful families. She wore white. Lily clutched her leg. Jonah held the umbrella. Iris captured everything with her camera. Elijah stood tall beside her.
Arielle stepped forward, voice strong through the mic.
“This foundation is not just named after a man. It is built on the way he lived. His fierce love. His unwavering hope. His belief that every child—every parent doing it alone—deserves more than just survival. They deserve sweetness. Joy. Possibility.”
She paused, swallowing tears.
“We called it The Sweet Empire—because love built it. And love will run it.”
The crowd clapped. Some cried. And in the front row, a little girl with no parents smiled for the first time in months.
Later that day, Iris showed Arielle a sketch she’d made: Damien’s face formed from words like honor, legacy, father, hope.
Arielle framed it and placed it in the foundation’s entry hall.
The plaque beneath read:
“For the one who built our roots—and taught us to grow wings.”
That night, as she tucked the kids in and turned off the lights, Elijah whispered, “He would be so proud of you.”
Arielle kissed his forehead.
“He already was.”
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