One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 43: Chapter 43

The morning sun was brilliant, almost offensive in its cheeriness, as Arielle tightened her grip on the steering wheel. The wrought-iron gates of Rosebridge Academy glinted ahead like the entrance to another world—a world she’d never truly belonged to.
Children poured out in uniforms that cost more than her first apartment’s rent. Chauffeurs and nannies waited with sleek black sedans, faces bored and manicured. The parents gathered in tightly wound clusters—designer bags, diamond-studded fingers, and air-kisses passed around like currency.
Arielle parked discreetly at the far end of the pickup loop.
Her chest tightened.
It wasn’t the gossip that scared her. Not after what she’d survived this week. It was the eyes.
The ones that pretended to smile, but dissected. Weighed. Judged.
She stepped out, smoothing her soft gray sweater dress, her boots clicking against the pavement. A few mothers glanced over. One whispered behind a manicured hand. Another’s phone was already pointed at her, no doubt pretending to check her messages.
“Is that her?” someone said.
“The CEO’s wife? After all that?”
“I heard she was a waitress.”
Arielle didn’t flinch. She walked with purpose, head high, every line of her spine drawn tight with pride and poise.
Until she reached the green iron gates.
And there she was.
Vivienne Astor.
The self-appointed queen of the Rosebridge Parent Guild, dressed in an ivory trench coat cinched tight with a golden brooch. Her blond hair was coiled like a halo, lips painted with flawless coral.
“Oh, Mrs. Lancaster,” Vivienne said loudly. “We weren’t expecting you today.”
Arielle paused, polite. “Good morning, Mrs. Astor.”
“Didn’t they tell you?” Vivienne tilted her head. “There’s a security protocol. After... recent media events, we assumed someone else would be doing the pickups.”
Arielle’s mouth twitched. “You assumed wrong.”
Vivienne’s lips curved. “I suppose we all have to adapt. These days, anyone can make it into our circles. Even... underdogs.”
There was a pause so loaded with venom, the air thickened.
A few mothers nearby tittered.
Arielle’s heart pounded. Not in fear. In rage.
But she said nothing. Just smiled, warm and razor-sharp. “And yet, some of us stay gracious. Even after climbing.”
Vivienne blinked.
Before she could recover, the school doors opened—and out came the twins, barreling toward their mother with squeals of joy.
“Mama!”
Arielle dropped to her knees just in time to catch them, both throwing their arms around her. In that moment, everything else faded. The whispers. The judgment. The gatekeeping.
They were her grounding force. Her reminder.
“Mama, we drew pictures today!” her daughter beamed.
“And we got gold stars!” her son chimed in.
“Let me see,” Arielle said, her voice thick with emotion.
The twins proudly unfurled their drawings. Stick figures and bright suns. One had drawn their family standing under a sign that read: We love Mommy.
Arielle’s throat clenched.
And then, like the universe had impeccable timing, a black Rolls Royce glided into view. The windows tinted, the plate unmistakable.
Damien stepped out.
In a tailored suit, phone tucked away, and eyes locked straight on Arielle.
The parents froze. Conversations died mid-sentence.
He didn’t stop to nod at the principal, or the headmaster, or the board member standing near the fountain.
He walked straight to Arielle.
“Knew I was late,” he murmured. “But I couldn’t miss this.”
Then he leaned down and kissed her.
Not a soft peck. Not a tame, PR-safe display.
A kiss.
The kind that said mine.
Gasps rippled.
Arielle pulled back, blinking. “Damien—”
He turned to the twins. “Can I carry your bags, superstars?”
They shrieked with delight and handed him their oversized backpacks. Damien slung them over each shoulder like precious cargo.
Vivienne looked like she’d swallowed a lemon.
Damien glanced her way and said, “Mrs. Astor, isn’t it?”
She straightened, trying to look graceful. “Yes, Mr. Lancaster. We’ve... spoken briefly at the charity auction.”
“I remember. You offered to donate half the proceeds if we replaced the school’s inclusive policies.”
Vivienne’s smile faltered.
Damien’s gaze sharpened. “We declined, didn’t we?”
Vivienne cleared her throat. “I... yes.”
“Good choice.”
Then he turned back to Arielle, who was watching the whole scene unfold in stunned silence.
“Ready to go?” he asked her.
She nodded.
And together, they walked to the car—Damien holding one twin’s hand, Arielle holding the other—leaving behind stunned silence, broken masks, and shattered superiority.
Later that night, Arielle stood at the kitchen sink, watching the lights flicker in the garden. The twins were asleep. The house was quiet.
Damien came up behind her, arms sliding around her waist.
“You were brilliant today,” he murmured.
“I didn’t feel brilliant.”
“You held your own.”
“I wanted to cry. Or scream.”
“You didn’t.”
She turned in his arms. “How do you walk through the world like nothing can touch you?”
“I don’t,” he said. “I just know what’s worth protecting. And today, that was you.”
Arielle leaned her forehead against his chest. “They’ll keep trying.”
“Let them,” Damien whispered. “
We keep showing up. That’s how we win.”
In that warm, quiet kitchen, their hands intertwined.
And the world outside could judge all it wanted.