One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Arielle had always thought skyscrapers were beautiful in a cold, unreachable sort of way. Towering, gleaming things that never noticed the people living in their shadows. Kingston Holdings’ headquarters was no different—five stories of glass and steel, its corporate seal etched in gold over revolving doors that barely paused for breath.
She stood outside the building in a suit two sizes too tight, borrowed from a thrift shop, her nerves a storm under her skin. Her resume was clutched in her hand, smudged at the corner from sweat. The email had said “open job fair,” but something told her there was nothing casual about applying to work for one of the most powerful conglomerates in the country.
And definitely nothing casual about potentially being inches from the man whose DNA pulsed through her children’s veins.
She didn’t want him to recognize her. She didn’t want to see him at all.
But if she had to lie, to survive, to stand in a room full of suits and say she was capable of filing and emailing and calendar-managing while her stomach twisted into knots—so be it.
She stepped through the doors.
The lobby was marble and money.
The kind of place where even the receptionist’s phone looked like it cost more than Arielle’s car. A banner stood near the elevators: Kingston Holdings Open Recruitment – Administrative & Junior Executive Roles. Below it, young men and women stood in clusters, all immaculate hair and firm handshakes.
Arielle’s heart sank. She was older. Rougher around the edges. A mother with eight mouths to feed. Not one of them had spit-up stains and cracker crumbs in their bag like she did.
Still, she signed her name at the table and was given a clipboard, a form, and a visitor badge.
“Conference Room B,” the woman said without looking up. “Next group starts in ten.”
Arielle nodded and followed the arrows down a polished corridor. The further she walked, the more surreal it felt. Damien Kingston’s name was on nearly every plaque she passed. A man whose world she had once entered like a storm, and exited like a secret.
Now she was here. In his kingdom.
Applying for a desk job.
Conference Room B was a glass-walled space lined with folding chairs and a long oval table. Arielle sat in the back, sandwiched between a perky blonde with a finance degree and a man who smelled like expensive cologne and desperation.
A corporate liaison stepped in—tall, with sharp eyes and a voice like silk. “Thank you for joining us. We’re pleased to announce that several departments have entry-level openings. You’ll each get a chance to meet with HR and department leads for short interviews. If selected, you may be asked to return for a second round. Any questions?”
No one spoke. Arielle’s throat was a desert.
“Good.” The woman smiled thinly. “Then let’s begin.”
They were called in one by one.
Arielle waited forty-five minutes.
By the time her name was called, her feet were numb and her hands tingled from gripping her bag so tightly.
She followed an intern down another hallway. They stopped at a closed door. The intern glanced at her clipboard.
“Interview two: Admin Pool Screening,” she said. “Mr. Kingston will be sitting in today.”
Arielle stopped breathing.
“Mr. Kingston?” she echoed.
“Yes. CEO.” The girl looked bored. “He likes to sit in on these sometimes. Probably won’t say much.”
The door opened.
And there he was.
Damien Kingston.
Perfectly tailored in a dark navy suit. Seated at the head of the table like he belonged to it. His gaze was unreadable. Dangerous. Controlled.
She stepped inside. Her legs moved, but it felt like she was floating. Falling.
His eyes met hers.
No recognition.
Just curiosity. Slight interest. Professional detachment.
Her heart fractured a little.
“Miss…” he looked down at her resume, “Summers. Arielle Summers.”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Their hands did not touch.
He gestured for her to sit. “Tell us about yourself.”
Her mouth opened. Words tumbled out. A rehearsed speech about reliability, flexibility, her past roles—filtered, of course. She didn’t mention waitressing or pregnancy. She spoke of people skills, multitasking, organization.
Damien leaned back. His expression never changed, but she felt him watching her. Not as a woman. As a puzzle.
One moment, one beat of silence, and then he asked the question that shattered her shield:
“What’s the most difficult thing you’ve ever had to manage?”
Arielle swallowed. Her eyes flickered to the table, then back to him.
She smiled. Not too wide. Not too proud.
“Raising eight children… by myself.”
The room stilled.
Damien’s brows lifted just slightly.
“Eight?” one of the assistants echoed, startled.
“Yes. Octuplets. They’re seven.”
Damien said nothing. But something changed in his gaze. Something sharp.
The interview continued. She barely remembered the rest. When it ended, she left the room on shaky legs, barely making it to the lobby bathroom before the emotion overwhelmed her.
She splashed cold water on her face and leaned over the sink, breathing hard.
She had just sat in front of the father of he
r children.
He didn’t recognize her.
But for a second—just a second—she wondered if something inside him did.