One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 67: Chapter 67
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Damien watched from the kitchen doorway as Lily paraded her latest design down the hallway—a dress of crushed velvet and lace that she’d pieced together in two sleepless nights. Arielle clapped, her eyes shining. Noah added dramatic piano chords from the living room.
And Damien smiled.
But something tugged at his chest.
Later that evening, while the kids argued over movie night, Damien retreated to the balcony with a glass of red wine and the city lights blinking beyond him. The cold air didn’t bite—it soothed.
Arielle found him there, wrapped in her robe, hair pulled into a loose bun.
“You’re quiet,” she said.
He sipped his wine. “I was just thinking.”
“That’s rare.”
He smirked, but didn’t respond.
She waited.
“It’s happening so fast,” he finally said. “Noah with his piano. Lily and her runways. I keep blinking and finding them five steps ahead.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is.”
He turned to her. “But it’s like I’m watching from a glass wall. I’m not part of it—not like you are. They come to you with ideas. They run to you when they’re proud.”
“They love you, Damien.”
“I know they do. But…” He trailed off, staring down into his glass. “My world isn’t soft. It never has been. Boardrooms, contracts, takeovers—that’s what I know. Not bedtime stories and glitter dresses.”
The next day, he tried. He asked Noah to teach him a chord.
Noah giggled. “Daddy, you’re terrible.”
“I know,” Damien grinned. “Show me again.”
He let Lily drag him into her studio and critique his taste in fabrics.
He sat beside Arielle at the bakery and helped roll dough, badly.
But still, the distance lingered.
Arielle watched him one evening as he stared at an old photo—him holding Noah as a baby, terrified, amazed, undone.
“You’re a good father,” she said, taking the photo from him.
“Am I?”
She nodded. “But you’re also still learning. That’s what makes you good.”
Later that night, Lily brought him a small box.
“I made you something.”
Inside was a tie. Handmade. Slightly crooked. But beautiful.
Damien blinked.
“You always wear boring ones,” she said.
He laughed—full and free.
“I love it.”
The next morning, he wore it to a board meeting.
His assistant raised an eyebrow.
“My daughter made it,” Damien said proudly.
And suddenly, the glass wall cracked.
Because Damien wasn’t outside their world.
He was slowly, finally, weaving himself into it.
And Damien smiled.
But something tugged at his chest.
Later that evening, while the kids argued over movie night, Damien retreated to the balcony with a glass of red wine and the city lights blinking beyond him. The cold air didn’t bite—it soothed.
Arielle found him there, wrapped in her robe, hair pulled into a loose bun.
“You’re quiet,” she said.
He sipped his wine. “I was just thinking.”
“That’s rare.”
He smirked, but didn’t respond.
She waited.
“It’s happening so fast,” he finally said. “Noah with his piano. Lily and her runways. I keep blinking and finding them five steps ahead.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is.”
He turned to her. “But it’s like I’m watching from a glass wall. I’m not part of it—not like you are. They come to you with ideas. They run to you when they’re proud.”
“They love you, Damien.”
“I know they do. But…” He trailed off, staring down into his glass. “My world isn’t soft. It never has been. Boardrooms, contracts, takeovers—that’s what I know. Not bedtime stories and glitter dresses.”
The next day, he tried. He asked Noah to teach him a chord.
Noah giggled. “Daddy, you’re terrible.”
“I know,” Damien grinned. “Show me again.”
He let Lily drag him into her studio and critique his taste in fabrics.
He sat beside Arielle at the bakery and helped roll dough, badly.
But still, the distance lingered.
Arielle watched him one evening as he stared at an old photo—him holding Noah as a baby, terrified, amazed, undone.
“You’re a good father,” she said, taking the photo from him.
“Am I?”
She nodded. “But you’re also still learning. That’s what makes you good.”
Later that night, Lily brought him a small box.
“I made you something.”
Inside was a tie. Handmade. Slightly crooked. But beautiful.
Damien blinked.
“You always wear boring ones,” she said.
He laughed—full and free.
“I love it.”
The next morning, he wore it to a board meeting.
His assistant raised an eyebrow.
“My daughter made it,” Damien said proudly.
And suddenly, the glass wall cracked.
Because Damien wasn’t outside their world.
He was slowly, finally, weaving himself into it.
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