One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 65: Chapter 65

Arielle’s hands smelled of cinnamon and sugar again. The moment she stepped into the bakery, flour dusted her cheeks like confetti. The staff welcomed her back with hugs and laughter.
But it was the quiet giggle of her son that made her heart skip.
Noah.
He had grown in the short time she was away. His voice had deepened slightly. His eyes sparkled with something she hadn’t seen before—focus. Intent.
“Mommy, listen to this,” he said, dragging her by the hand.
In the corner of the café was a dusty upright piano she’d always meant to sell. Noah sat on the bench like he belonged there.
And then—he played.
The melody wasn’t flawless, but it was beautiful.
Simple.
Earnest.
Full of color and quiet grace.
Arielle stood frozen. Customers paused their conversations. A hush spread across the room. Then, as he finished, the sound of soft clapping filled the space.
She knelt before him, eyes wide. “Where did you learn that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just... knew it.”
That night, Damien tucked Noah into bed. Arielle watched from the doorway as her son babbled about keys and chords.
She stepped in, kissed his forehead, and lingered in the silence.
“He has Julian’s fingers,” she whispered to Damien later.
“You think talent runs through you now?” Damien asked, half-smiling.
“I think... maybe genius has roots. Maybe it remembers.”
The next day, she sat with Noah and brought out paints and brushes.
“Do you like this too?” she asked.
He shrugged again. “I do. But the piano feels like breathing.”
Arielle felt the words settle in her chest.
“You don’t have to choose now,” she said softly. “Just follow what makes your heart sing.”
At school, a music teacher cornered her.
“Have you considered the conservatory track? He’s advanced. I’ve never seen such a raw ear. It’s... uncanny.”
Arielle blinked. “He’s seven.”
“Yes. But he’s hearing harmonies like he’s seventeen.”
That night, she called Julian.
“He played?”
“Like something inside him knew what to do.”
“Bring him to Paris this summer. I’ll introduce him to my teacher.”
Arielle hesitated. Then: “Okay.”
Later, she sat with Damien on the balcony.
“I’m afraid,” she admitted. “Of what it’ll mean. Of pushing him. Of not being enough to guide him.”
Damien took her hand.
“Then walk beside him. Not ahead. Not behind. Just with him.”
She exhaled.
She didn’t know if Noah would choose piano
or paint.
But she knew his melody had already begun.
And she would be there for every note.