One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 158: Chapter 158

The results arrived two days later, in a flat white envelope with a discreet laboratory seal in the corner. No fanfare. No special delivery. Just a piece of paper that had the power to rewrite everything.
Arielle found it first, nestled among the day’s mail like a serpent in a basket of fruit.
She held it, stared at it, then set it on the kitchen counter without a word. Her fingers trembled as she backed away from it like it might detonate. When Damien returned home an hour later, she was still staring at the envelope.
He didn’t ask. He just picked it up and opened it with surgical precision.
And read.
His face betrayed nothing. Not at first. Then his eyes closed. And his shoulders collapsed.
“What does it say?” Arielle asked, voice ragged.
He turned the paper toward her, as if the truth would be less sharp if she read it herself.
Positive.
99.9% probability.
Damien Montgomery — biological father of Emory Vero.
The floor tilted beneath her. All that waiting. All that pain. And yet… relief didn’t come. Not exactly. Just exhaustion.
“So that’s it?” she whispered. “No lies? No manipulation? Just… truth?”
Damien nodded. “He’s mine.”
They should have embraced. Kissed. Cried. Instead, they stood apart, like strangers caught in a paused movie.
The media storm hit the next morning.
Someone leaked the results.
Photos of Luciana leaving the lab. Blurred shots of Emory walking with Arielle. Headlines screamed:
“Montgomery Love Child Confirmed!” “Billionaire’s Secret Son Shakes Legacy!” “Damien’s Wife Blindsided?”
Reporters camped outside the gates. The kids’ school sent home a warning. Arielle’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Bloggers speculated on her emotional state, calling her either a saint or a fool.
And through it all, Emory asked, "Why are those people taking pictures of me?"
Damien did his best to shield them. He spoke to lawyers. He made statements. He tried to be strong.
But Arielle could feel him slipping.
The late nights. The silent dinners. The way he reached for her hand but never quite made contact.
The final fracture came during a family therapy session, one Damien had scheduled in desperation.
“I just feel like I’m failing everyone,” he admitted. “Emory. The kids. You.”
“You’re not failing,” Arielle said quickly.
He looked at her. Really looked. “Then why does it feel like I’m sleeping next to a ghost every night?”
Silence.
The therapist didn’t speak. Just let it hang there.
Arielle swallowed. “Because I don’t know how to come back from this.”
Damien’s face crumbled. “I didn’t cheat. I didn’t lie. But I still broke something, didn’t I?”
She nodded. “And I don’t know how to glue it back together.”
They started sleeping in separate rooms that week. Quietly. No fight. No slammed doors. Just an understanding.
The children noticed.
One night, their eldest slipped into Arielle’s room and asked, “Are you and Daddy divorcing?”
“No, baby,” she whispered, holding him tightly. “We’re just… figuring out how to be okay again.”
But deep down, she didn’t know if they would be.
One night, Damien appeared at her doorway, barefoot and tired.
“I miss you,” he said simply.
Arielle’s throat tightened. “I miss us too.”
“But it’s not enough, is it?” he asked. “Missing someone doesn’t undo the past.”
She shook her head. “No. But it’s a start.”
He lingered a moment longer. Then turned away.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Arielle curled into the blankets, clutching the spot where he used to lie.
Love wasn’t always loud.
So
metimes it was quiet, splintered, and trying to breathe beneath the weight of old wounds and new truths.