One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 122: Chapter 122
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The scent of warm vanilla and citrus cleaner greeted Arielle the moment Damien helped her across the threshold. The house looked immaculate—too immaculate. Pillows fluffed to military precision. Baby blankets folded like hotel linens. Toys stacked in labeled baskets. The dining table, usually cluttered with homework and cereal boxes, gleamed under a fresh bouquet of tulips.
It was all too quiet.
Too still.
The calm before a storm.
Damien carried the baby in one arm while gently guiding Arielle to the couch with the other. “Sit. I’ve got everything under control.”
Arielle raised a brow as she sank into the cushions. “That’s what every man says before the blender explodes.”
Damien grinned. “Trust me. I’ve managed teams of hundreds. I can manage five children and one exhausted wife.”
She winced. “Don’t call me that right now. I feel like a stitched-up rag doll.”
He kissed her forehead. “A stunning, stitched-up rag doll.”
Arielle tried not to melt. But she did.
Ten minutes later, chaos reared its head.
“MOMMMMMYYYYY!” Their middle son burst into the living room with ketchup in his hair and glitter on his shirt. “The twins poured honey on the cat!”
Arielle blinked. “The what on the who?”
Damien handed her the baby and rushed off. Screams echoed from upstairs.
“I just wanted pancakes!” one of the twins sobbed.
“No, you wanted to make pancakes,” their older sister corrected with the scorn of a twelve-year-old. “You can’t even read yet!”
There was a loud crash.
“I’M OKAY!” shouted one of the boys.
The cat bolted into the living room, trailing syrup and meowing indignantly.
Arielle sat frozen, baby in her arms, laughter bubbling at the edges of her exhaustion.
“Welcome home,” she whispered.
By noon, Damien had changed three diapers, mopped the floor twice, burned lunch, and accidentally put the baby’s bottle in the dishwasher—without the lid.
The kitchen was a battlefield. The oven timer kept going off even though nothing was inside. The toddler had climbed onto the counter to reach the cookies. The twins were having a lightsaber duel with plastic spoons.
Damien’s hair was sticking up in five directions.
“Okay,” he muttered. “This is fine. I’ve led emergency response drills. I can do this.”
He turned to find Arielle watching him from the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame for support. She looked pale but amused.
“Need help?” she asked.
“No,” he said too quickly.
She raised an eyebrow.
He sighed. “Maybe a little.”
Arielle shuffled slowly toward the kitchen table, cradling the baby. She didn’t do much—just directed. Pointed to the right cabinet. Reminded him how to keep the toddler distracted with rice in a plastic bottle. Hummed lullabies to keep the twins from staging a rebellion.
It wasn’t much. But it was enough.
Damien paused mid-sandwich and looked at her.
“I don’t know how you do it,” he said softly.
“Neither do I,” she whispered back.
But they kept doing it anyway.
That night, when the kids were finally tucked in—well, most of them—Arielle sat on the edge of the bed while Damien brushed his teeth.
He came out and found her staring blankly at the baby monitor.
“Too much today?” he asked.
She nodded. “I thought I’d feel… happy. Relieved. But I feel like I’m watching my life happen from the outside.”
Damien sat beside her. “You’ve been through a war. It’ll take time to come back fully.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Promise me you won’t try to be perfect. Just… be present. That’s enough.”
He kissed her hair. “I promise. But I will master the twins’ snack schedule.”
She chuckled. “That’s a losing battle.”
They sat in silence for a while, the baby monitor crackling softly.
Then Damien whispered, “I think I’m scared too. Scared I’ll mess this up. Scared I can’t protect you from what’s coming.”
Arielle turned to him. “We’ll face it together. Whatever it is.”
Later, long after the house had quieted, the phone buzzed again. Another message from the hospital.
Test results have been expedited. Appointment rescheduled for tomorrow morning. Urgent.
Damien stared at the screen, thumb hovering.
He didn’t wake her.
He just lay beside her, hand over her heart, memorizing the rhythm.
Because in a house filled with noise, he had learned the value of a single, fragile beat.
It was all too quiet.
Too still.
The calm before a storm.
Damien carried the baby in one arm while gently guiding Arielle to the couch with the other. “Sit. I’ve got everything under control.”
Arielle raised a brow as she sank into the cushions. “That’s what every man says before the blender explodes.”
Damien grinned. “Trust me. I’ve managed teams of hundreds. I can manage five children and one exhausted wife.”
She winced. “Don’t call me that right now. I feel like a stitched-up rag doll.”
He kissed her forehead. “A stunning, stitched-up rag doll.”
Arielle tried not to melt. But she did.
Ten minutes later, chaos reared its head.
“MOMMMMMYYYYY!” Their middle son burst into the living room with ketchup in his hair and glitter on his shirt. “The twins poured honey on the cat!”
Arielle blinked. “The what on the who?”
Damien handed her the baby and rushed off. Screams echoed from upstairs.
“I just wanted pancakes!” one of the twins sobbed.
“No, you wanted to make pancakes,” their older sister corrected with the scorn of a twelve-year-old. “You can’t even read yet!”
There was a loud crash.
“I’M OKAY!” shouted one of the boys.
The cat bolted into the living room, trailing syrup and meowing indignantly.
Arielle sat frozen, baby in her arms, laughter bubbling at the edges of her exhaustion.
“Welcome home,” she whispered.
By noon, Damien had changed three diapers, mopped the floor twice, burned lunch, and accidentally put the baby’s bottle in the dishwasher—without the lid.
The kitchen was a battlefield. The oven timer kept going off even though nothing was inside. The toddler had climbed onto the counter to reach the cookies. The twins were having a lightsaber duel with plastic spoons.
Damien’s hair was sticking up in five directions.
“Okay,” he muttered. “This is fine. I’ve led emergency response drills. I can do this.”
He turned to find Arielle watching him from the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame for support. She looked pale but amused.
“Need help?” she asked.
“No,” he said too quickly.
She raised an eyebrow.
He sighed. “Maybe a little.”
Arielle shuffled slowly toward the kitchen table, cradling the baby. She didn’t do much—just directed. Pointed to the right cabinet. Reminded him how to keep the toddler distracted with rice in a plastic bottle. Hummed lullabies to keep the twins from staging a rebellion.
It wasn’t much. But it was enough.
Damien paused mid-sandwich and looked at her.
“I don’t know how you do it,” he said softly.
“Neither do I,” she whispered back.
But they kept doing it anyway.
That night, when the kids were finally tucked in—well, most of them—Arielle sat on the edge of the bed while Damien brushed his teeth.
He came out and found her staring blankly at the baby monitor.
“Too much today?” he asked.
She nodded. “I thought I’d feel… happy. Relieved. But I feel like I’m watching my life happen from the outside.”
Damien sat beside her. “You’ve been through a war. It’ll take time to come back fully.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Promise me you won’t try to be perfect. Just… be present. That’s enough.”
He kissed her hair. “I promise. But I will master the twins’ snack schedule.”
She chuckled. “That’s a losing battle.”
They sat in silence for a while, the baby monitor crackling softly.
Then Damien whispered, “I think I’m scared too. Scared I’ll mess this up. Scared I can’t protect you from what’s coming.”
Arielle turned to him. “We’ll face it together. Whatever it is.”
Later, long after the house had quieted, the phone buzzed again. Another message from the hospital.
Test results have been expedited. Appointment rescheduled for tomorrow morning. Urgent.
Damien stared at the screen, thumb hovering.
He didn’t wake her.
He just lay beside her, hand over her heart, memorizing the rhythm.
Because in a house filled with noise, he had learned the value of a single, fragile beat.
End of One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- Chapter 122. Continue reading Chapter 123 or return to One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- book page.