One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 84: Chapter 84

The early light filtered through the blinds, casting long golden stripes across the hallway leading to Damien’s private office. The entire top floor had remained sealed off since his disappearance, as if time itself had been paused at the threshold. No one dared enter—not even the cleaning staff. Arielle had locked it personally the day after he vanished.
But today, she needed answers. Or maybe just a connection.
She pressed her palm against the scanner. The green light flickered, and with a soft mechanical whir, the door unlocked.
Inside, the scent of Damien—leather, cedarwood, and a hint of peppermint—hit her like a punch to the chest. It was as if he’d just stepped out for coffee. The glass-topped desk was immaculate. His navy suit jacket still hung on the back of the chair. The family photo of them with the kids rested at the edge of the shelf.
Arielle walked in slowly, touching nothing at first, absorbing everything. Her heels echoed softly across the parquet floor as her gaze wandered over bookshelves filled with hardbound classics, stock reports, and hand-written notes.
Her fingers trailed along the edge of his desk. She sat in his chair, closed her eyes, and allowed herself to remember.
Flashback
Damien was pacing this very room three years ago, Iris on his hip, spit-up on his shirt, and panic in his eyes.
“She won’t stop crying!”
Arielle had laughed, stepping in. “She’s teething. Give her the frozen teething ring, not a business report.”
He grumbled, kissed Iris’s forehead, and whispered, “No offense, but you’re very high-maintenance for someone under one.”
Arielle had walked up and kissed his cheek. “You’re doing fine.”
He’d looked at her then—exhausted, adoring—and said, “No, you are.”
The memory brought fresh tears to her eyes.
Arielle opened his top drawer. Inside were pens arranged with military precision, a key card, and a single thick leather-bound journal.
She paused.
The journal had her name engraved at the bottom corner.
She opened it carefully, breath catching in her throat.
Page after page was filled with Damien’s handwriting. Each word was deliberate. Some pages had ink smudges—clear signs he had written through tears.
“If you're reading this, it means I’m gone. Temporarily, I hope. Permanently… only if the worst has happened.”
Arielle’s hand flew to her mouth.
“You’ve always been the lioness. I was just the one roaring beside you. You were the spine of this empire long before I admitted it. If our children ever doubt their strength, remind them they carry your fire. If you doubt yours… read this journal.”
Each entry detailed his plans. How he built contingencies around her leadership. How he left legal pathways open for her. How he knew the board would underestimate her—and how that would be their undoing.
“Let them try to box you in. You’ve always been more than they could imagine. My empire was only a fraction of what yours will be.”
Her fingers trembled as she turned page after page. In the margins, small sketches of their children—Elijah at ten with his glasses and chessboard, Iris painting, Jonah clinging to Arielle’s scarf.
One page was simply a list:
Love her fiercely
Protect her legacy
Follow her lead
And below it:
“If something happens to me… tell her I knew she’d carry it all. And thrive.”
Tears slid down Arielle’s cheeks, silent and hot.
She didn’t know how long she sat there. An hour? More?
Outside the windows, the city moved on—oblivious. But inside that room, Arielle Blackwell reshaped.
She wasn’t standing in Damien’s office.
She was standing in her future.
Later that evening, she gathered the children around the fireplace. Without telling them why, she handed Elijah the journal.
“Your father wrote this,” she said softly. “When you’re older, you’ll understand all of it. For now… just know he believed in us. All of us.”
Elijah held it like a sacred artifact. Iris leaned against her. Jonah, wide-eyed, whispered, “Is Daddy watching us?”
Arielle kissed the top of his head. “I think… I think he never stopped.”
In her bedroom that night, she stood before the mirror.
“Legacy isn’t built
by surviving,” she whispered to her reflection. “It’s built by daring to rule.”
And she would.