One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 126: Chapter 126

The doorbell rang at 10:37 a.m., sharp.
Arielle, bleary-eyed in Damien’s oversized hoodie and holding a pacifier in her mouth like a pencil, blinked at the sound. The baby had finally fallen asleep after her 5 a.m. concert, and Arielle had just managed to make tea she wouldn’t drink. The twins were painting each other blue in the garage. Zoe had barricaded herself in her room with headphones. Damien was upstairs, wrestling the toddler into pants.
They weren’t expecting anyone.
She shuffled to the door, unsure if she was ready to face a package delivery, a neighbor, or someone asking for a donation she didn’t have the energy to pretend she believed in.
She opened it.
And froze.
The woman standing on the porch wore a soft gray coat, her dark curls tucked into a bun, her eyes alert but kind. It took Arielle a full five seconds to place her—but when she did, it hit like lightning.
“Nurse Kiana?”
The woman smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Vaughn. May I come in?”
They sat in the living room with mugs of lukewarm tea between them. The baby monitor buzzed softly on the table, but everything else in the house had faded to a background murmur. Arielle sat across from Kiana, her body tense.
“You… helped me during the delivery,” Arielle said, voice cautious. “You were there when they rushed me into surgery.”
Kiana nodded. “And during the first two nights in recovery.”
“I remember. You braided my hair when I was crying. You stayed when they said your shift was over.”
“I did.” Kiana paused, then exhaled shakily. “And that’s why I had to come today. I need to tell you something—off the record.”
Arielle’s heartbeat picked up. She placed the pacifier down.
“What is this about?”
“Your medical records,” Kiana said softly. “Something’s not right.”
The baby monitor crackled. Neither woman moved.
“What do you mean?” Arielle asked, her voice suddenly sharp.
Kiana leaned forward, eyes darting toward the window. “I was updating charts that second night after your surgery. Standard postpartum checks. But when I pulled up your file… it had changed. Things were missing. Redacted.”
Arielle felt the room tilt.
“Redacted?”
“Your hormone anomalies. The autoimmune flags. Even the notes the head surgeon made post-operation. All gone. Scrubbed.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
“I don’t know. At first, I thought it was a system error. I reported it to IT. They told me I must’ve accessed the wrong file. When I pushed back, I got pulled from your care rotation the next day. No explanation. Transferred to another floor.”
Arielle swallowed hard. Her fingers clenched the mug so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“You think someone’s covering something up?”
“I don’t want to believe it,” Kiana whispered. “But I’ve seen this before. Quiet changes. Suddenly sealed records. Families kept in the dark.”
“But why mine?”
“I don’t know. But whatever’s going on… you need to request a full printout of your chart. Immediately. Before your next appointment.”
Arielle stood, suddenly unsteady. She pressed a hand to her stomach, not from pain—but from fear. Old, familiar. The kind that crept in after every contraction she thought would be the last. The kind that whispered, You are not safe.
Damien’s footsteps echoed down the stairs. He walked in with the toddler on his hip, eyes lighting up as he saw Arielle.
“Hey, babe. Everything okay?”
Arielle turned slowly. “This is Nurse Kiana. She was at the hospital.”
Damien’s smile faltered just enough to register.
“Oh. Right. Nice to see you again.”
“I was just leaving,” Kiana said quickly, standing. She looked at Arielle, her expression grave. “Please. Be careful who you trust. Not everyone in that hospital has your well-being at heart.”
She pressed a folded card into Arielle’s palm. “That’s my private number. If anything feels off, call me. I mean it.”
Arielle watched her walk away.
When the door closed, Damien set the toddler down. “What did she want?”
Arielle hesitated. “She said my medical records were changed.”
Damien stilled. “Changed how?”
“She thinks someone’s hiding something from us. From me.”
Damien stepped closer, voice low. “Do you believe her?”
Arielle looked down at the card in her hand, fingers trembling.
“I don’t know. But I can’t ignore it now.”
That night, Arielle couldn’t sleep.
She lay beside Damien in bed, her hand over her abdomen, staring at the ceiling. Images flooded her mind—the operating room lights, the doctor’s tight smile, the hushed voices behind closed doors. And now Kiana’s warning.
What if there was more to the anomaly? What if they had missed something? Or worse—what if someone had buried it on purpose?
She turned to Damien. He was still awake, eyes open in the dark.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered, “I’m going to the hospital. I’m getting my records. All of them.”
He nodded. “I’ll go with you.”
“Thank you.”
They lay in silence a while longer. Then Arielle added softly, “If this is bigger than just a misdiagnosis… if something’s been done to me—”
“We’ll fight it,” Damien said, taking her hand. “Whatever it is. We’ll fight.”
And in the fragile quiet of their bedroom, surrounded by shadows and love and fear, Arielle felt the first spark of a new fire.
She wasn’t just a survivor anymore.
She was ready for war.