One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 86: Chapter 86
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The world outside her penthouse buzzed with corporate tension and looming danger, but inside the walls of her home, Arielle was still Mama.
That evening, as the sun dipped behind the Manhattan skyline, casting long shadows across the nursery floor, Arielle knelt beside Lily’s crib. The little girl reached out sleepily, grabbing Arielle’s finger.
“Mama…” she murmured, eyes blinking in the warm, golden light. “Is Daddy ever coming home?”
The words hit Arielle like a quiet bomb.
She stroked Lily’s curls gently, forcing her voice to remain calm. “I hope so, baby. Every day, I hope.”
“But… you always say he’s working far away. What if he gets lost?”
Arielle blinked back the sting in her eyes. “Then I’ll find him. No matter what.”
Lily nodded softly and yawned. “You’re the bravest, Mama.”
Arielle kissed her forehead and tucked the blanket tighter around her tiny frame. But her heart was anything but still.
The next morning, Arielle walked into Haven Tower’s west wing like a storm in heels.
The legal department had been dragging its feet for weeks—delayed reports, incomplete reviews, suspicious expense accounts. Arielle had let it slide long enough.
She walked into the open-plan office unannounced, flanked by Patrice and a security officer.
“Effective immediately,” she said, loud enough for every desk to hear, “this department is under executive review. Compliance officers will be auditing your accounts. All department heads are to report to me by 3 p.m. If you’re clean, you have nothing to fear.”
A man in a charcoal suit coughed nervously.
Another tried to discreetly delete something on his laptop.
She caught it all.
By noon, three lawyers had been suspended pending investigation. Arielle read the reports with silent fury, her fingers gripping her pen like a weapon.
They thought she wouldn’t notice. They thought she’d be distracted—by grief, by children, by politics.
But they forgot one thing: she was a mother.
And mothers don’t rest.
By afternoon, Arielle sat in her glass-walled office, scanning a chart of the company’s Q2 projections while helping Jonah glue stars onto his diorama for school.
“Do you think dinosaurs could fly if they really wanted to?” Jonah asked, his small hands sticky with glitter.
“Only if they had wings made of gold,” she murmured, glancing at the email marked URGENT: INTERNAL ESPIONAGE.
Jonah smiled. “Then I’ll give mine gold wings.”
She reached over and helped him stick the last one on.
Her phone buzzed. Mason.
“Another letter just arrived,” he said through the line. “No threats this time. Just a photo.”
Arielle’s blood chilled. “Of what?”
“Your bedroom window. Taken from the building across the street.”
She looked up instinctively at the skyline.
“I want that building swept. I want records, access points, every tenant. Discreetly.”
“You got it,” Mason said.
She hung up and smiled again at Jonah, who was humming to himself, unaware of the invisible war his mother fought every second.
At dinner, Iris asked if they could have a family day on Sunday.
“Just us,” she said, eyes hopeful. “No phones. No boardrooms.”
Arielle hesitated. “I… I’ll try.”
Iris tilted her head. “Even soldiers take breaks, Mama.”
Arielle laughed—a real one this time—and ruffled her daughter’s hair.
That night, she stood in front of Damien’s closet. His suits were still there, untouched. She reached for one—the dark grey he wore to Jonah’s birth—and held it to her face.
“Where are you?” she whispered. “How do I keep going without your voice in my ear?”
She sat on the edge of the bed, cradling the suit, and let her walls drop, just for a minute. Just for the silence.
Monday came too soon.
The threats became subtler—strangers tailing her car, meetings being leaked before they happened, employees refusing eye contact.
She responded with fire.
New security protocols.
Revised access control systems.
And most of all—presence. She showed up to every floor, every morning, not just as a CEO, but as a sentinel.
She knew what they whispered behind closed doors: She’s just a mother.
They didn’t realize that was her greatest weapon.
Because this was more than a corporate coup or a battle of succession.
This was a mother’s war.
And Arielle Blackwell had already decided: she would win.
That evening, as the sun dipped behind the Manhattan skyline, casting long shadows across the nursery floor, Arielle knelt beside Lily’s crib. The little girl reached out sleepily, grabbing Arielle’s finger.
“Mama…” she murmured, eyes blinking in the warm, golden light. “Is Daddy ever coming home?”
The words hit Arielle like a quiet bomb.
She stroked Lily’s curls gently, forcing her voice to remain calm. “I hope so, baby. Every day, I hope.”
“But… you always say he’s working far away. What if he gets lost?”
Arielle blinked back the sting in her eyes. “Then I’ll find him. No matter what.”
Lily nodded softly and yawned. “You’re the bravest, Mama.”
Arielle kissed her forehead and tucked the blanket tighter around her tiny frame. But her heart was anything but still.
The next morning, Arielle walked into Haven Tower’s west wing like a storm in heels.
The legal department had been dragging its feet for weeks—delayed reports, incomplete reviews, suspicious expense accounts. Arielle had let it slide long enough.
She walked into the open-plan office unannounced, flanked by Patrice and a security officer.
“Effective immediately,” she said, loud enough for every desk to hear, “this department is under executive review. Compliance officers will be auditing your accounts. All department heads are to report to me by 3 p.m. If you’re clean, you have nothing to fear.”
A man in a charcoal suit coughed nervously.
Another tried to discreetly delete something on his laptop.
She caught it all.
By noon, three lawyers had been suspended pending investigation. Arielle read the reports with silent fury, her fingers gripping her pen like a weapon.
They thought she wouldn’t notice. They thought she’d be distracted—by grief, by children, by politics.
But they forgot one thing: she was a mother.
And mothers don’t rest.
By afternoon, Arielle sat in her glass-walled office, scanning a chart of the company’s Q2 projections while helping Jonah glue stars onto his diorama for school.
“Do you think dinosaurs could fly if they really wanted to?” Jonah asked, his small hands sticky with glitter.
“Only if they had wings made of gold,” she murmured, glancing at the email marked URGENT: INTERNAL ESPIONAGE.
Jonah smiled. “Then I’ll give mine gold wings.”
She reached over and helped him stick the last one on.
Her phone buzzed. Mason.
“Another letter just arrived,” he said through the line. “No threats this time. Just a photo.”
Arielle’s blood chilled. “Of what?”
“Your bedroom window. Taken from the building across the street.”
She looked up instinctively at the skyline.
“I want that building swept. I want records, access points, every tenant. Discreetly.”
“You got it,” Mason said.
She hung up and smiled again at Jonah, who was humming to himself, unaware of the invisible war his mother fought every second.
At dinner, Iris asked if they could have a family day on Sunday.
“Just us,” she said, eyes hopeful. “No phones. No boardrooms.”
Arielle hesitated. “I… I’ll try.”
Iris tilted her head. “Even soldiers take breaks, Mama.”
Arielle laughed—a real one this time—and ruffled her daughter’s hair.
That night, she stood in front of Damien’s closet. His suits were still there, untouched. She reached for one—the dark grey he wore to Jonah’s birth—and held it to her face.
“Where are you?” she whispered. “How do I keep going without your voice in my ear?”
She sat on the edge of the bed, cradling the suit, and let her walls drop, just for a minute. Just for the silence.
Monday came too soon.
The threats became subtler—strangers tailing her car, meetings being leaked before they happened, employees refusing eye contact.
She responded with fire.
New security protocols.
Revised access control systems.
And most of all—presence. She showed up to every floor, every morning, not just as a CEO, but as a sentinel.
She knew what they whispered behind closed doors: She’s just a mother.
They didn’t realize that was her greatest weapon.
Because this was more than a corporate coup or a battle of succession.
This was a mother’s war.
And Arielle Blackwell had already decided: she would win.
End of One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- Chapter 86. Continue reading Chapter 87 or return to One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- book page.