One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 152: Chapter 152

The next morning was heavy with silence.
Arielle dressed slowly, fingers fumbling with the soft fabric of her blouse as if she no longer knew how to button herself into normalcy. Her eyes were swollen, not just from crying, but from a night without rest. The bed had felt too wide. Too cold.
She moved through the villa like a ghost.
The children were still asleep. The baby monitor crackled faintly, and the scent of toast wafted from the kitchen, where Damien quietly made breakfast, still in the clothes he'd worn the day before. He didn’t speak when she passed him. He just looked up—hopeful, heartbroken—and then lowered his gaze again.
Luciana was waiting on the porch, the boy standing beside her, a stuffed bear clutched tightly in his arms.
He was tall for his age, with a lean frame and thick, unruly curls. His eyes—stormy gray, just like Damien’s—were sharp, watchful. Too observant for a child who should be carefree.
Arielle opened the door and stepped onto the porch.
The boy blinked at her. Then smiled.
"Hi," he said softly.
Luciana looked at Arielle with a guarded expression. "He wanted to meet you. He’s been asking all morning."
Arielle crouched slowly, heart trembling. "And what’s your name?"
"Emory," he said, still gripping the bear. "Like the hospital. That’s what Mama said."
She smiled faintly. “That’s a very smart name.”
He nodded. “I’m in third grade. I like dinosaurs and mangoes. And I draw comic books.”
His voice was soft but confident—like he was used to talking to adults. Like he’d had to grow up faster than most.
Damien stepped outside then.
Emory turned.
And froze.
The way his eyes widened—it was unmistakable. Recognition without memory. Instinct without understanding.
“Hi,” Damien said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Are you my dad?” Emory asked, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Damien knelt beside Arielle, eyes shining. “I... I think I might be. We’re going to take a test to be sure.”
Emory nodded. “Okay. You look like me.”
Luciana inhaled sharply. Arielle didn’t look at her. She couldn’t. Not yet.
“I drew you,” Emory said suddenly. “Before I met you.”
He unzipped his small backpack and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He handed it to Damien.
The drawing was of a man—tall, broad-shouldered, with gray eyes and a kind smile. A boy stood beside him, holding his hand.
“I dreamed about him,” Emory whispered. “I think I’ve always known.”
Arielle felt something tighten in her throat. She looked at Damien. The color had drained from his face.
Luciana finally spoke, voice soft. “He never asked about his father before this year. But once he got sick... once the treatments started failing... he wanted to know who he came from. Who else might love him.”
Damien blinked rapidly. “He’s really sick?”
Luciana nodded. “It’s treatable, but he needs a rare stem match. We’ve exhausted all my relatives. If you are his father... you’re his best shot.”
Arielle took a step back. The world tilted.
Emory looked up at her. “Are you mad?”
She shook her head, tears brimming. “No, sweetheart. I’m just... sad. And a little scared.”
“Me too,” he said.
In that moment, Arielle dropped to her knees and pulled him into a hug. She didn’t know why. She didn’t know if it was instinct or grief or something bigger. But she held him.
And he didn’t let go.
Behind her, Damien watched, shattered and grateful, love swelling in ways he hadn’t known were possible.
Later, Emory sat on the couch beside their kids, showing them how to draw cartoon wolves.
Damien and Arielle sat in the hallway just out of sight, watching.
“That’s your son,” Arielle whispered.
“I know.”
“And this is our new truth now.”
Damien swallowed hard. “Do you hate me?”
“No,” she said, resting her head against the wall. “But I think I need time to love all of this.”
They sat in silence.
And inside, Emory laughed.
It sounded like Damien.