One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 162: Chapter 162

Arielle wasn’t snooping. At least, that’s what she told herself as she reached for the balled-up sweatshirt that had slipped halfway out of Amara’s dresser drawer. It was laundry day, and Arielle had knocked—twice—but received no answer. With the twins at school, the house was unusually quiet, and it gave her just enough room to fuss.
As she tugged the sweatshirt free, a cascade of papers slipped from underneath. Not loose notebook pages. Letters. Handwritten. Tied with a crimson ribbon. The kind of ribbon Arielle had once used to seal her own notes to Damien when they were young and reckless.
Her breath caught as she picked one up.
The handwriting was elegant. Precise. Definitely not Amara’s.
“You don’t know me yet, but I know your voice. It stayed with me long after the music stopped. You sang, and something inside me healed. You didn’t see me in the crowd, but I saw every part of you.”
There were seven letters in total. Each one anonymous. Signed only with the initial: L.
Arielle’s heart raced. Was it innocent? Or dangerous? She folded the letters and placed them gently back, but the questions followed her all the way downstairs.
She barely had time to sit with them before her phone vibrated. The screen lit up with a notification that made her blood run cold:
LOCKDOWN ALERT: Eastview High is under security protocol. All students are safe. Updates to follow.
At school, chaos unfolded in slow motion.
Amara had just stepped out of biology when the overhead announcement rang out: "Students and staff, please proceed with emergency lockdown protocol. This is not a drill."
The hallways turned to panic.
Her heart leapt into her throat. She darted into the nearest classroom just as the teacher bolted the door. Students huddled in corners. A boy whispered a prayer. A girl sobbed into her sleeve.
Aiden wasn’t with her.
That thought made her chest tighten. What if he was alone? What if—
Her phone buzzed. One text from Aiden:
I’m okay. Art room. Are you safe?
She texted back: Yes. Scared. Do you know what’s happening?
No. I heard there was someone on campus. Security’s sweeping the halls.
The next thirty minutes were a slow unraveling of nerves. In the darkened room, Amara kept thinking about the letters. About L. About Carter. About the love triangle she hadn’t admitted even to herself.
What if she didn’t get to choose?
What if this day decided for her?
At home, Arielle and Damien were pacing like lions in a cage. Arielle had called the emergency number four times. Each time, she received the same answer: "Your children are safe. Please stay home."
“I’m going down there,” Damien said, grabbing his keys.
“Damien—”
“No. They need to see that we’re waiting for them. That we’re close.”
Arielle nodded. She pulled on her coat.
Minutes later, they were in the car, Arielle clutching the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
“Do you think it’s a real threat?” she whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“But if something happens to them—”
Damien’s hand found hers. Squeezed. “They’ll be okay.”
He didn’t sound convinced.
Back in the school’s choir room, Amara kept her hands clasped. The air felt heavy. Outside the window, she could see blinking red and blue lights—dozens of them. Officers with weapons drawn patrolled the perimeter.
Suddenly, there was a noise in the hallway.
The door rattled.
Gasps. Everyone tensed.
A man’s voice called out, muffled: "Security. Stand down. We’re clearing the room."
Relief swept through the students like a tide. The teacher opened the door. Armed officers entered and gave the all-clear.
Amara’s legs shook as she stood.
In another wing of the school, Aiden clutched Noah’s hand. It had happened without thinking—an instinctive grab during the most terrifying part of their young lives. Noah hadn’t let go.
When they emerged into the hallway, blinking under the fluorescents, they looked at each other and didn’t say a word. Their fingers brushed one last time before releasing.
In the parking lot, parents clustered behind barricades.
When the gates opened, Arielle bolted forward. Amara’s eyes locked with hers, and she ran straight into her mother’s arms, tears spilling freely.
Aiden followed close behind. Damien wrapped both twins into his chest like he was anchoring his entire soul around them.
“You’re safe,” Arielle whispered. “You’re safe.”
But in her pocket, the memory of those letters burned.
That night, after the twins had showered and eaten and curled up on the couch with cocoa and blankets, Arielle sat beside Amara.
“I was in your room earlier,” she said softly. “Found something.”
Amara stiffened. “You read them?”
“Just one. I was scared, sweetie. It wasn’t to invade your privacy. It was because I didn’t know what I was holding.”
Amara looked down. “I don’t know who L is. I don’t even know how to feel. There’s Carter, and then… these letters. They’re poetry, Mom. They’re like… being seen. All of me.”
Arielle nodded, brushing a lock of hair from her daughter’s damp cheek.
“When I was your age, I had someone who wrote to me too. I didn’t know it would be your father. But I knew I’d never forget the way it made me feel.”
“What if I pick the wrong one?” Amara whispered.
“You don’t have to pick now,” Arielle said. “Just promise me something?”
Amara looked up.
“If your heart ever feels unsafe… come to me. No matter what.”
“I promise.”
That night, the house was wrapped in silence. The kind of silence only survivors understand.
But upstairs, tucked inside a shoebox, he eighth letter waited.
“One day, I’ll tell you who I am. But for now, know this: You are not alone. You never were.”
Signed,
L.