One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

The assistant called her name again, this time with an edge of urgency.
“Arielle Summers?”
Arielle stood, brushing her skirt down with trembling fingers. She took one last breath and followed the young woman down the corridor, her heels tapping softly on the polished marble. The hallway was longer this time, quieter. Each step felt heavier, as if she were walking into a storm.
The door they stopped at was steel-gray with frosted glass panels. No name. No title.
The assistant knocked twice, then pushed it open.
“He’s ready for you.”
Arielle stepped inside.
It was the same man. Damien Kingston.
Only this time, there was no phone in his hand. No distraction. No smile.
He sat behind a minimalist black desk, a sleek tablet beside him, his jacket hung neatly on the back of his chair. The room was wide, yet sterile—clean lines, steel sculptures, floor-to-ceiling windows with a ruthless view of the city. A single framed photograph sat on the shelf behind him. She couldn’t see who was in it.
“Ms. Summers,” he said, his voice as smooth and cold as the room. “Have a seat.”
She obeyed, lowering herself into the chair with care.
He studied her for a long moment. Silent.
Not just her resume. Her.
Arielle resisted the urge to squirm. Her heartbeat thundered. Her palms were slick.
He looked down at the tablet. “Your file says you have previous administrative experience?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t include a formal reference letter from your last employer.”
“I wasn’t expecting a layoff,” she said honestly. “It was… sudden.”
He didn’t blink. “We’re a fast-paced company. We don’t have time for slow learners or sentimental choices. Everything here is transactional. Functional. Efficient.”
Arielle nodded. “I understand.”
He leaned back in his chair. His gaze was penetrating now, no longer cold. Just... precise. As if he were unpeeling layers she didn’t know she wore.
“You have eight children?” he asked suddenly.
She froze.
“Yes.”
“Octuplets.”
“Yes.”
He raised a brow, just slightly. “That’s rare.”
“I know.”
“Same father?”
She hesitated.
His eyes sharpened.
Arielle’s lips twitched. “I used an anonymous donor. It was a personal decision.”
He gave a nod, though the tightness in his jaw said something else. “And you’ve been raising them alone.”
“Yes.”
“That’s a full-time job.”
“It is. But I’ve never let it stop me from showing up.”
He tapped his pen once against the desk, his gaze flicking from her face to the papers in front of him.
Then back.
“Have we met before?”
Her heart stopped.
“I don’t believe so,” she said softly.
He tilted his head, almost amused. “You seem familiar.”
“I have one of those faces.”
He leaned forward slightly. His hands clasped together. “I don’t believe in coincidences, Ms. Summers. Especially not in business.”
She held her ground, spine straight. “Neither do I, Mr. Kingston.”
Another pause.
The silence in the room became a fourth presence—watching them, weighing them.
“I admire your composure,” he finally said. “You’re either very confident, or very good at pretending.”
“I’m a mother of eight,” she replied with quiet steel. “I’ve learned to survive both ways.”
Something flashed in his eyes.
Not humor. Not interest.
Something dangerous.
Something curious.
“Well,” he said after a long moment, closing her file. “That’s all for now. You’ll be notified within the next forty-eight hours.”
She rose. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
He watched her walk to the door.
Just before she opened it, he said, “Ms. Summers?”
She turned.
His gaze was razor-sharp. “If you do get the job… don’t lie to me.”
Her mouth parted. She nodded once.
And left.
Outside, her knees nearly buckled.
Because for the first time in seven years, she felt like he’d seen a piece of the truth.
And she wasn’t ready for what would happen if he discovered the rest.