One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 62: Chapter 62

Arielle sat in the garden behind the bookstore, the sea breeze carrying the scent of jasmine and salt.
It had been two days since the reunion with Lena—two days filled with cautious laughter, tears, and the quiet stitching of mother and daughter into something whole again.
But today, Lena had asked her to stay out back. Said someone was coming.
Someone who had answers.
The wind stirred as a car approached. Arielle stood, heart thumping. The woman who emerged was tall, graceful, with silver streaks in her hair and eyes that mirrored her own.
She carried a porcelain teapot in one hand. A file folder in the other.
“Arielle?” the woman asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Josephine. Your aunt.”
They sat across from each other. Tea poured. Steam rose.
“You were never meant to disappear,” Josephine began. “You were the legacy.”
Arielle frowned. “What legacy?”
Josephine handed her the folder. Inside: deed titles. Family trust agreements. Newspaper clippings. A photo of a vast vineyard estate. Another of a younger Lena—pregnant.
“You come from a line of landowners. The Westwood vineyard empire. But when Lena fell in love with Thomas, she chose love over inheritance. My father—your grandfather—cut her off. Said she'd shamed the family.”
Arielle’s mouth went dry.
“He changed the will. Transferred everything to his other daughter—me. But when the fire happened... and you vanished...”
Josephine’s voice wavered.
“I tried to find you. But Lena blamed me. Thought I’d turned a blind eye.”
“Did you?” Arielle asked, sharply.
Josephine met her gaze. “I was silent. Which is the same as siding with him. I regret that every day.”
They sipped tea in silence.
“After he died,” Josephine continued, “I tried to restore what I could. Legally, the estate is mine. But morally? It’s yours.”
She pushed over a key.
“To the Westwood estate. I’ve kept it untouched. Waiting for you.”
Arielle stared.
“I’m a baker. I own a small shop. I have a husband who’s rich and enemies who think I’m fragile. Now you’re telling me I also own a vineyard dynasty?”
Josephine smiled sadly.
“You own more than that. You own your name.”
Later that night, Arielle sat with Lena on the porch.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.
“I was ashamed. I didn’t want you to grow up with the burden I carried.”
Arielle looked at the key.
“It’s not a burden,” she said. “It’s a root. And I’m ready to grow from it.”
Back at the estate, Damien called.
“How was the tea?”
“Revelatory,” she murmured. “Turns out I’m heir to a vineyard empire.”
Silence. Then: “I married a secret heiress?”
She laughed. “No. You married a woman who just met the ghosts of her bloodline—and didn’t flinch.”
She hung up and stood at the cliff’s edge, ocean whispering below.
She was still a mother. Still a wife.
But now—she was a Westwood, too.
And tomorrow, she would walk through the doors of her inheritance and decide what legacy to rewrite.