One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 197: Chapter 197

The lights dimmed.
The applause still echoed through the ballroom, but the family didn’t take a bow. Instead, the stage remained open—expectant.
Arielle tilted her head. The program had listed a final curtain call, not another act.
Then, a single spotlight.
Julian returned to the stage. Alone.
He cleared his throat, nerves visible for the first time that night. “This wasn’t in the script. Not the one you read, Mom.”
The audience chuckled softly.
Julian took a breath. “We decided you deserved more than tribute. You deserved to see what you built. So… we each prepared something. Something unscripted. Something real.”
He stepped back.
Ava came forward, carrying a small canvas. “This is the lullaby painting,” she said. “I made it at age five. You kept it on your office wall. This…” she turned the canvas, revealing a grown, stunning oil rendition of Arielle tucking a baby into bed, “...is the full version. My thank-you for being my first muse.”
She kissed her mother’s cheek and left the stage.
Leila followed.
“I recorded the song you sang to me during my anxiety attacks.” Her voice wavered. “I added it to my debut album. It’s called Mom’s Pulse.”
She played a snippet.
The melody swelled. A lullaby, grown up. Healing, adult. A thread of childhood turned into armor.
Zane walked on next, holding a handmade journal. “Every time I didn’t know where I belonged, I wrote here. And every page ends with your name. Because even in identity, you were home.”
He handed it to her. “The last entry is today.”
Arielle opened it briefly. A single line:
> Blood doesn’t make a bond. Love does.
Amara performed a dance solo next. The music faded in, and her body painted every emotion Arielle had taught—resilience, grace, defiance, love.
When she finished, she simply said, “You gave me rhythm.”
Aiden came forward with a wooden sculpture: a woman holding up a fractured globe, pieced together with golden seams.
“It’s us,” he said. “You held us, even when we cracked. You held us together. Like gold in the breaks.”
Skylar rolled in a television.
Julian smiled. “We… made a short film.”
The lights went down completely.
A video began.
Home footage. Laughter. Bathtime giggles. First teeth. School plays. Hospital scares. Rainy afternoons in bed.
Arielle through the years—sleep-deprived, powerful, patient, fierce.
Every child narrating.
> “You were the soft in our hard days.”
> “You were the storm and the shelter.”
> “You were Plan A, B, and C.”
The lights returned.
All eight stood in a line.
Julian stepped forward. “So, when the lights dim on this night… just remember, Mom…”
Together they said:
> “You lit us first.”
Arielle couldn’t speak.
She walked to each of them, touching foreheads like blessings.
The lights dimmed again.
And the room stood still, basking in the afterglow of love returned.
Because even when the spotlight faded… she still shone.