One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 173: Chapter 173

It began as a favor.
Micah’s environmental science teacher asked if he’d be willing to speak at the city’s annual Youth Climate Rally. A slot had opened up after another student dropped out.
“It doesn’t have to be long,” the teacher said. “Just... real.”
Micah almost declined.
But then he remembered the Amazon. The jaguar prints he’d sketched. The mist on his skin. The way his heart felt like it had its own pulse separate from the world.
He said yes.
He wrote the speech in the garden.
Arielle peeked through the window and saw him bent over a legal pad, barefoot, surrounded by sunflowers. Every so often, he’d pause, stare into the sky, then write again.
“Should I ask what it’s about?” she said when she brought him lemonade.
Micah shook his head. “Not yet. I’m still figuring it out.”
“Then I trust whatever it becomes.”
The morning of the rally, the sky was clear, the crowd restless, and the stage was buzzing with nerves.
Micah stood backstage, his paper folded neatly in his pocket. His fingers trembled. His stomach churned.
“Why am I doing this?” he muttered.
Arielle leaned in, her hand on his shoulder. “Because your voice matters. And the world is listening.”
When his name was called, something inside him stilled.
He stepped into the sunlight.
And the world changed.
“My name is Micah Moreau,” he began, his voice low but steady. “I’m not a politician. I’m not a celebrity. I’m just someone who stood in a rainforest once and realized how loud silence can be.”
The crowd quieted.
He spoke of the Amazon. Of animals disappearing. Of soil eroding. Of lungs—green ones—that couldn’t breathe.
“I’m not here to scare you,” he said. “I’m here to remind you that our planet isn’t dying. It’s being killed. And the killers are counting on our silence.”
His voice rose.
“So shout. Write. March. Plant. Recycle. Protest. Speak. Do something. Because climate change won’t wait until you’re ready.”
By the time he finished, the crowd was on its feet.
And somewhere in the chaos, a reporter whispered, “That boy—he’s the Green Prince.”
The nickname stuck.
The clip went viral. Three million views in twenty-four hours.
His inbox exploded. Interviews. Op-eds. Panels.
Damien stepped in, helping him sift through the noise, guiding him without taking control.
“You still get to be a kid,” Damien said. “Just a kid the world is watching.”
Micah nodded. “Then I better give them something worth watching.”
But fame isn’t easy.
Micah’s classmates changed. Some whispered. Some idolized.
He spent days trying to write follow-up statements, struggling to keep up with the pressure of being someone’s symbol.
One night, he broke down in the greenhouse, surrounded by wilting basil and overgrown rosemary.
Arielle found him with dirt on his knees and tears in his eyes.
“I didn’t ask for this,” he said.
“No one asks to be the voice,” she said softly. “But sometimes, you are. Not because you’re loud—but because your truth echoes.”
She kissed his forehead.
“Let it echo.”
In time, he found rhythm again.
He joined a global youth panel. Started a climate blog. Got invited to a conference in Sweden.
But his favorite moments were still at home—in the garden, under Arielle’s sunflowers, sketching jaguar tracks no one else could see.
Micah never chased the crown.
But when it landed on his head, he carried it with roots.
Deep, wild, and green.