One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 83: Chapter 83

The executive suite was bathed in cold, sterile light as Arielle stood across from CFO Richard Yuen in the finance conference room. The tension between them was more than professional—it was personal. She’d given him chances. She’d offered clarity. But today, there would be no more warnings.
“You diverted company funds into an untraceable shell corporation in Belize,” Arielle said coolly, sliding a file across the table. “Your signature. Your timestamp. Your undoing.”
Yuen scoffed, straightening his pinstripe suit. “You misunderstand international finance. These are strategic moves. Damien approved these types of actions himself.”
“Damien is not here,” Arielle replied, her voice a low, slicing whisper. “And I am not so naïve as to mistake theft for strategy.”
Patrice stood silently by the door, arms crossed, watching the exchange with silent support.
“I’m giving you a choice, Richard,” Arielle continued. “Resign with dignity—or I call in the authorities.”
Yuen stood. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Arielle opened her iPad. “Too late.” She turned the screen to show an active email thread with legal counsel and the internal ethics committee. “They’re waiting outside.”
His face paled. “You’ll regret this.”
“I regret trusting you.”
Security entered quietly. Yuen didn’t resist as he was escorted out.
An hour later, a reporter from BCC News confronted Arielle outside Haven’s Manhattan tower. Cameras flashed. Microphones jutted forward.
“Mrs. Blackwell! Did you just illegally remove your CFO?” the reporter shouted. “Is this a witch hunt?”
Arielle stopped, composed and regal in her navy trench coat, and faced the cameras.
“My name is Arielle Blackwell. I am Interim CEO of Haven Corporation. Today, I removed a man who abused his authority, siphoned millions, and violated this company’s core principles. This is not a witch hunt. This is leadership.”
She paused.
“Women in power are always accused of being emotional, impulsive, vindictive. Let me be clear—I am none of those things. I am informed. I am prepared. And I am done tolerating men who think their suits make them untouchable.”
Silence.
Then a woman’s voice in the crowd: “Tell them, Queen!”
Arielle blinked, startled. Then more cheers followed. People clapped. The video of that moment was live-streamed, clipped, remixed, and turned viral within hours.
#QueenArielle trended globally.
But not everyone was cheering.
Inside the boardroom, Linton watched the video on loop, her jaw clenched. “This… this is dangerous.”
“She just turned herself into a martyr for female executives,” Whitaker growled. “Now we can’t move against her without looking like misogynists.”
“She played us,” Yuen said bitterly, having been released on bail pending further investigation. “And the public is eating it up.”
“Let her bask in the glow,” Linton muttered. “Because the shadows are already gathering.”
That night, Arielle sat on the balcony with Iris curled at her side, her daughter doodling dreamily in a sketchpad.
“Did you really fire that man today?” Iris asked, her voice small.
“Yes, sweetheart. I did.”
Iris frowned. “Did it hurt?”
Arielle was quiet. “Yes. But it had to be done.”
Iris’s hand found hers. “Daddy would be proud.”
Arielle closed her eyes as the stars blinked above them. She hoped it was true.
In her office, she stood before the tall windows overlooking the city. Her reflection shimmered in the glass—strong, imperfect, determined. And behind that reflection, the empire she was trying so hard to protect.
Glass ceilings cracked. Wills steeled.
She wouldn’t break.
She would rise.