One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 51: Chapter 51

The sun was barely up when Arielle tied her hair back with a scarf and rolled up her sleeves. She stood in the middle of her soon-to-be bakery, surrounded by open paint cans, color swatches, and unassembled furniture. Morning light streamed through the wide glass windows, warming the tiles like butter.
Liana ran past with a tiny roller brush in hand, streaking the lower half of the wall in daffodil yellow.
“Mommy! Look! I’m making the sun live inside!”
Arielle laughed. “That’s perfect, baby.”
Her son, Milo, toddled near the counter, clutching a plastic measuring cup like it was a trophy. Arielle kept one eye on him, another on the vision board taped to the wall. It was crowded with scribbled notes, magazine clippings, and rough sketches of her dream bakery—a place that smelled like vanilla and ambition.
Behind her, Damien leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. He hadn’t touched a brush. Hadn’t offered advice. He was just... watching.
The way she moved.
The way her face lit up as she rearranged stools, adjusted table spacing, checked the lighting.
He was watching her in love.
“Should I be concerned that I’ve been replaced by a toddler with a measuring cup?” he asked dryly.
Arielle turned, smiling over her shoulder. “Only if he starts buying real estate.”
Damien walked over and placed a coffee on the freshly wiped counter. “You’re in your element here.”
She took the cup, grateful. “I feel like I’ve been building this place in my head since I was twelve.”
“And now?”
She looked around. “Now I get to bake with joy. Not just to survive.”
He nodded, sliding onto a stool. “Tell me about the color scheme again?”
She lit up instantly. “Okay—so we’re going with warm neutrals for the walls, but pops of pastel in the furnishings. Like sage green cushions and blush pink plates. The front display will be all glass with a rotating seasonal centerpiece. Fall? Cinnamon swirl towers. Spring? Floral lemon tarts.”
Liana popped up from behind a bench. “And Mommy’s going to make rainbow cupcakes for the first week!”
Damien raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got a marketing team already?”
Arielle gave him a mock curtsey. “We pay her in chocolate chips.”
By afternoon, the bakery had transformed from a construction site to a canvas.
Arielle’s best friend, Helena—not the ex-client, but the real friend—dropped by with cappuccinos and paint-streaked jeans. They hung pendant lights, tested playlist ambiance, and debated over which dessert names sounded too ‘hipster.’
Milo napped in the back corner on a pile of folded aprons while Liana built a cardboard castle out of pastry boxes.
Arielle stood on a ladder, installing a vintage wall clock when Damien finally stepped in to help. Not with a tool—but with a phone.
“I made you a website domain.”
She blinked down at him. “What?”
“WhiskAndFlame. Already live. It’s simple for now. Bio, preorder menu, newsletter subscription.”
Her mouth parted. “You did that?”
“I watched you do everything else. Thought I’d catch up.”
She stepped down from the ladder and took his face in her flour-dusted hands.
“You are dangerously close to becoming the bakery’s second-best attraction.”
“Oh?” he smirked.
“The cinnamon rolls still win.”
That evening, the lights dimmed low. The space glowed golden. Soft music played from a Bluetooth speaker.
They ate takeout on mismatched stools and clinked soda bottles in celebration.
Later, as the kids snored gently in the backseat of the car and Arielle leaned her head on Damien’s shoulder, she whispered, “Today felt like a movie.”
He kissed her hair.
“It’s your movie. I’m just your leading man.”
“No,” she murmured. “You’re the producer. The one who believed it could be made.”
And as they drove home, windows down, city lights chasing them, Arielle held tight to the
bakery key in her pocket.
It didn’t just open a door anymore.
It opened a chapter.