One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 160: Chapter 160

The morning sun filtered through gauzy curtains, casting golden lines across the hardwood floor of the twins' shared bedroom. Amara and Aiden had stopped decorating their space in matching themes years ago, yet they hadn’t quite found the courage to ask for separate rooms either. It was an unspoken truce between them, a symbol of closeness neither was ready to give up—not yet.
Aiden sat cross-legged on his bed, rifling through his new high school schedule while Amara wrestled with a curling iron, glaring at the mirror like it had betrayed her.
"If my bangs flip one more time, I’m shaving my head," she muttered.
Aiden chuckled, absently tapping a pencil against his notebook. "Dramatic much?"
"You’re lucky your hair just flops naturally. Boys have it so easy."
"Don’t generalize," Aiden replied, looking up. "I’ve been trying to decide whether to gel or not to gel all week."
Their mother’s soft knock at the door interrupted the sibling banter. Arielle stepped in, holding a tray of sliced fruits and warm croissants, her eyes misty.
"First day of high school," she said, her voice laced with nostalgia. "Where did the years go?"
Amara groaned. "Mom, don’t start. I don’t have waterproof mascara."
Arielle laughed and placed the tray on the desk. "Fine, I’ll save the tears for after drop-off. Damien’s already downstairs making a photography station."
Aiden raised a brow. "We’re not toddlers anymore."
"Tell your father that," Arielle said with a smirk, kissing both their foreheads. "Eat something, okay? It’s a big day."
The campus was buzzing with hormones, anxiety, and the scent of overused perfume. Lockers slammed, schedules fluttered, and the chatter of expectations filled the air like static. Amara stepped out of the car first, her new boots clicking against the pavement.
"We’ve arrived at the gates of hell," she whispered.
"Speak for yourself," Aiden said, tucking a sketchpad under his arm. "Some of us are looking forward to Algebra."
Amara rolled her eyes, but Aiden noticed her hand tremble as she adjusted her backpack. Despite her sass, she was nervous too.
They split up at the first hallway fork—different classes, different lives—but each carried a piece of the other’s bravery in their chest.
Aiden’s Perspective:
The art room smelled like turpentine and old dreams. Aiden picked a seat near the window, not too front but not hidden either. His fingers itched to draw something, anything—but then the door opened.
He walked in—Noah.
Tall, confident, with honey-brown curls and a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that made him look like he read books no one else dared to touch. Noah had been Aiden’s friend in middle school until things got awkward over summer. Aiden hadn’t expected to see him again, let alone feel the way he did—like every cell in his body lit up with alarm and excitement.
Noah caught his eye and hesitated.
Then he smiled.
Aiden’s heart didn’t just skip—it did a triple backflip.
"Hey," Noah said, sliding into the seat beside him. "Didn’t know you’d be in Advanced Art."
"Yeah, uh—last-minute change," Aiden muttered. He felt hot. His hand jerked, smearing charcoal over his paper.
"Still clumsy, I see."
Aiden laughed. "Still annoying."
But the air between them wasn’t hostile—it crackled.
When class ended, Noah leaned in and whispered, "You free after school? I’ve got something to show you."
Aiden’s pulse thundered. He nodded, barely breathing.
Noah left him a note before walking away. Folded, neat.
“There’s something I never got to say. Meet me behind the gym. 4:00.”
Amara’s Perspective:
Lunch was chaos. She barely managed to find a table before a shadow fell over her tray.
"Mind if I join?"
It was Carter. Athletic, funny, and stupidly charming. Every girl in eighth grade had at some point written his name in the back of their notebooks—including Amara.
She blinked, trying not to choke on her soda. "Sure."
He sat, grinning like he’d just won something.
"So, Amara. You’re into music, right?"
"Who told you that?"
"Saw you at that open mic last summer. You sang that Billie Eilish song and made half the room cry."
Amara’s throat tightened. That night had felt like a blur.
"You remember that?"
"Of course. I wanted to say hi, but you vanished."
They talked, shared fries, and for a moment, the cafeteria felt like a private café. But later, in her locker, Amara found a letter folded into a heart. It wasn’t from Carter.
The handwriting was elegant, unfamiliar:
“You don’t know me yet, but I know your voice. It stayed with me long after the music stopped.”
No name. Just an initial: L.
Back at Home:
Damien looked at the twins as they sat at the dinner table, unusually quiet. He exchanged a glance with Arielle, who smiled knowingly.
"So," she said, serving pasta. "Tell us about your day."
"Nothing much," Amara mumbled.
"Same here," Aiden said.
But later that night, while brushing their teeth side by side, Aiden glanced at his sister.
"You ever feel like your heart’s too loud?"
Amara looked at him in the mirror. "Mine’s been screaming all day."
They didn’t need to say more.
The first day of high school hadn’t just started a new chapter.
It had whispered the first lines of stories that might one day change their entire lives.