One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 60: Chapter 60

The bakery glowed.
Twinkle lights draped along the awning. Scented candles flickered on each outdoor table. A line wrapped around the corner, laughter rising with the dusk. Tonight wasn’t just a celebration—it was Arielle’s declaration.
The Night of Stars.
It had started as a small idea. A one-year anniversary party for her bakery. Then the town rallied. Vendors joined in. A local string quartet offered to play. The mayor volunteered a small firework show. People needed joy—and Arielle’s journey had become a beacon for many.
Damien had handled the permits. Liana had made glitter signs with her friends. Even Sebastian, silently, had sent a rare vintage wine bottle with a card: For the woman who refused to vanish.
Arielle wore midnight blue. Pregnant, radiant, determined. Her belly round beneath the fitted dress, her eyes catching every star that flickered above them.
Guests flowed in—neighbors, teachers, former critics, and loyal customers. Nadine brought her famous peach tarts. The PTA vice-chair, now a strong supporter, handed Arielle a flower crown made by the children.
And at the center of it all: the bakery.
Warm bread. Sugar-dusted pastries. Scones in lavender and lemon.
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Children danced in the corner. Someone played acoustic guitar. It felt like peace wrapped in cinnamon and vanilla.
Midway through the night, Arielle took the small stage they’d set up by the bakery entrance.
She looked out over the faces. Familiar. Unfamiliar. All watching her.
She cleared her throat.
“I was told I didn’t belong here. That I was a scandal. A mistake. That I didn’t deserve love or legacy.”
She paused.
“But I’m here. Not because I fought—though I did. Not because I endured—though I had to. I’m here because I believed that kindness matters. That healing matters. That starting over is strength—not shame.”
Applause.
She continued.
“This bakery wasn’t built to prove anything. It was built to be a table. One long enough for all kinds of stories. One warm enough for children who feel unseen. One soft enough for people who’ve never had a second chance.”
Tears shimmered in eyes.
“I don’t know everything about where I come from. But I know where I’m going. And it begins here.”
More applause. Cheers.
Damien watched her from the back, hand over his heart.
She wasn’t just his wife.
She was fire wrapped in flour.
As the first firework lit the sky, Arielle stood outside the bakery, arms wrapped around her belly. The children cheered. Couples kissed. Champagne flowed.
And in that instant, she saw herself again—not the broken girl from before. Not the headline. Not the controversy.
Just a woman who baked her truth into every crust.
A woman who belonged.
A soft voice broke the reverie.
“Arielle Westwood?”
She turned.
A man stood at the edge of the crowd. Elderly. Kind eyes. Holding a letter.
“I knew your mother,” he said.
Her heart stopped.
Damien reached her side.
The man handed her the envelope.
“It’s time.”
He disappeared into the night as another
firework burst overhead.
Arielle clutched the letter.