One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 37: Chapter 37

The estate had never been quieter.
The halls, once filled with childhood echoes and the rustle of tailored suits, were hushed as though the very walls held their breath. Damien walked through the corridor leading to the private family parlor—once his grandfather’s sanctuary, now a battlefield.
Inside waited two men.
One: his cousin Edward, hands bound, jaw clenched in bruised pride.
The other: Gregory Kingston—Damien’s uncle, godfather, and until recently, one of his most trusted mentors.
Family.
Or so he’d believed.
Gregory rose as Damien entered, his voice smooth but defensive. “This is a misunderstanding.”
Damien’s eyes flashed. “So explain the bank transfers, the leaked contracts, the proxy votes encouraged behind my back?”
Edward scoffed. “Anyone could forge logs. This isn’t proof. It’s paranoia.”
“I have voice records,” Damien said. “I have logs. I have timestamps. And the moment I turn them over to the SEC, you’ll both be facing federal investigations.”
Gregory stepped forward. “You’d destroy your own blood?”
Damien met his gaze, calm but fierce. “You destroyed yourselves.”
Edward barked a humorless laugh. “You think this empire will survive your ego? You married a waitress. You parade bastards as heirs. You’ve shamed the Kingston name.”
Before Damien could react, Gregory slapped his nephew across the face.
“Enough!”
The room froze.
Gregory’s face was pale. His lips trembled.
“I warned you not to involve Arielle,” he whispered. “I told you years ago. We had a plan. An heir through alliance. A future Kingston president. Not this.”
Damien’s voice dropped to a growl. “You mean not one chosen from the heart. Not one born of love.”
Gregory didn’t answer.
Because that was always the line.
Not love. Not loyalty.
Control.
“I looked up to you,” Damien said, quieter now. “Even after Father died, it was you who kept this family together. I believed in your values. I didn’t know they were built on rotting foundation.”
Gregory exhaled deeply. “You were a boy when your father died. I had to act like a king in his place. And kings don't play fair. They win.”
“But at what cost?” Damien asked.
Neither man answered.
Because they both knew the price had already been paid—in trust lost, in years wasted, in children who’d never know their family beyond the damage they left behind.
Later, Arielle found Damien on the rooftop balcony. Rain misted around him, but he didn’t care. He stood like a monument, every breath heavy with grief.
“They’re gone,” he said. “Stripped from the board. Exiled from every Kingston entity. I didn’t want it this way.”
Arielle slid her arms around his waist. “But it had to be this way.”
He turned to her. “What kind of family turns on its own?”
She looked up. “The kind that was never truly family to begin with.”
He pulled her close, forehead resting on hers. “Then we start over. We build something better.”
And far below them, the city pulsed—waiting, watching—for the next move in the war of legacy.