One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 171: Chapter 171

The first Arielle knew of the video was when her phone started buzzing.
Not once or twice, but dozens of times in quick succession. Texts. Missed calls. Emails with the subject line: “Have you seen this?”
She was in the middle of folding laundry when Micah ran into the kitchen, pale and breathless.
“Mom… you need to see this.”
He held out his phone.
And there it was.
A grainy, handheld clip posted to a gossip blog’s social media account. The caption read:
“Senator’s heir caught sneaking out of nightclub with mystery date. Intimate moment caught on camera.”
The comments were brutal.
The hashtags viral.
And the face in the video was unmistakable.
Skylar.
The clip was short—no more than twenty seconds.
Skylar, wrapped in a hoodie and nerves, emerging from a popular underground lounge in D.C. with someone’s hand in theirs. The two paused near a parked car. There was a kiss. Tentative. Real. Undeniable.
Then someone off-camera shouted, “Yo! Is that Skylar Moreau?!”
Skylar flinched, shoved up their hoodie, and ducked into the car as the other person pulled them away.
The video cut to black.
By midmorning, it had 2.3 million views.
By noon, national outlets were speculating about Skylar’s sexuality, Arielle and Damien’s parenting, and what this meant for the “image” of the Moreau legacy.
Arielle sat in the living room with her laptop open, her phone turned off, and her heart thundering in her chest.
Skylar hadn’t come out yet.
Not publicly.
Not fully.
Not like this.
Skylar hadn’t left their room since breakfast.
Arielle knocked softly.
“It’s me.”
No answer.
She opened the door gently. The room was dark except for the soft blue glow of a laptop screen.
Skylar sat curled on the bed, knees hugged to chest.
“I ruined everything,” they whispered.
“No, sweetheart. You didn’t ruin a thing.”
“I wasn’t ready. Now everyone knows. They’re calling me—”
“I don’t care what they’re calling you.” Arielle sat beside them, voice sharp and gentle all at once. “I care that you’re breathing. I care that you’re safe.”
Skylar’s hands trembled. “Why can’t they just let us be people?”
“Because the world is afraid of truth that isn’t wrapped in a bow. But that’s not your fault.”
The press circled like sharks.
Arielle called a family meeting.
No phones. No distractions.
“I need all of you to understand something,” she said. “This family doesn’t let the world dictate how we love each other.”
Julian’s eyes flashed. “Do I get to slap the blogger who posted it?”
“No,” Arielle said, barely holding back a smile. “But I appreciate the energy.”
Amara held Skylar’s hand under the table.
Micah pulled them into a quiet hug.
That night, Arielle released a statement.
Not through PR channels. Not with polished scripts.
She posted it herself.
“Our children are human. They are allowed to grow, explore, and love without your permission. You don’t get to shame them for being brave enough to exist. If you came for them, you came for me. And I don’t scare easy.”
Within an hour, it had gone viral.
But this time—with love.
The hashtags shifted: #ProtectSkylar, #MoreauMama, #LoveIsNotAScandal.
The family stayed close that week. They cooked together. Played board games. Watched old movies. No one talked about headlines.
But late one night, Skylar came into Arielle’s room.
“I thought this would break me,” they whispered.
Arielle looked up from her book. “Did it?”
Skylar shook their head. “Not yet.”
“Then you’re stronger than you think.”
By the end of the week, the buzz died down.
The world moved on.
But Skylar hadn’t.
They were building something stronger now.
Not armor.
But roots.