One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 57: Chapter 57

The Lancaster estate was unusually quiet.
Which meant only one thing: She was coming.
Damien's grandmother—Eleanora Lancaster—had called ahead only once. No assistant. No entourage. Just a message: "I’m visiting. Tomorrow."
And now, Arielle stood by the grand windows of the sitting room, watching a sleek, vintage Bentley pull into the driveway like royalty reclaiming its throne.
The woman who emerged was elegant, formidable, and terrifying.
Eleanora Lancaster—matriarch of the Lancaster fortune. Her pearls were real. Her opinions, sharper than razors. She had once reduced a prime minister to tears at a charity luncheon. And now, she had her sights set on Arielle.
She entered without a word. Her cane tapped rhythmically on the marble as she walked. Damien met her halfway and kissed her cheek.
"Grandmother."
"Damien."
Her gaze shifted. Landed on Arielle like a scalpel.
"So. This is the girl."
Not woman. Not wife. Not mother of your great-grandchildren.
Just—girl.
Arielle stepped forward. “It’s lovely to finally meet you, Mrs. Lancaster.”
“Is it?” Eleanora said, slowly removing her gloves. “Because I’m still deciding if I should be appalled or simply curious.”
Damien stiffened.
Arielle held her ground. “Would you like tea?”
“I don’t drink tea when I come to do business.”
She sat. Motioned for no one else to do the same.
“I’ve come for one thing,” she said sharply. “To make it clear I don’t approve of this union.”
Arielle blinked.
Eleanora continued. “You’ve dragged my grandson through headlines, scandals, public pity. Your background is murky. Your bloodline—unknown. Your future—uncertain.”
Damien started. “Enough.”
“No.” Eleanora’s tone sliced. “You think I’ve protected this family legacy for eight decades by being polite? You want her? Fine. But I want her out of the will. Out of any board seats. No influence over the estate. And once she leaves you—as they always do—there won’t be anything left for her to ruin.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Arielle felt her pulse pounding, but she spoke calmly.
“You think I want his money?”
“I think you’ve made it comfortable.”
Arielle leaned forward. “I loved your grandson when all I had was bruised pride and borrowed courage. I stayed when he shattered. I built a family with him when everyone said I couldn’t even hold a name.”
Eleanora’s jaw clenched.
“And I will not be erased by someone who’s too afraid to accept that real strength doesn’t come from bloodlines—it comes from what you survive.”
Damien stood. “If you force me to choose between legacy and my wife, you’ll find the vaults empty by morning.”
Eleanora stood, eyes narrow. “You’d throw it all away?”
He turned to Arielle. “It was never mine. It was built on fear. I want what’s real.”
Arielle’s hand found his.
Eleanora paused. Looked at their joined fingers.
Then slowly, she nodded.
“I’ll watch. We’ll see how far ‘real’ takes you.”
She left with a single sentence:
“If you crumble, girl—I won’t catch you.”
Arielle watched the Bentley disappear.
Then turned to Damien.
“Will she try to destroy us?”
He sighed. “No. But she’ll wait for us to destroy ourselves.”
She exhaled. “Then we won’t.”
He smiled. “No, we won’t.”
That night, Arielle baked with the kids, flour dusting her cheeks, their laughter filling the air. Damien le
aned in the doorway, arms crossed, silent.
His wife.
His children.
His empire.
Not inherited.
Chosen.