One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 88: Chapter 88
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The quiet in Arielle’s penthouse was different that night. It wasn’t the fragile silence of waiting or fear—it was the loaded hush of preparation. Like the moment before battle when the breath holds steady, and the heart beats with purpose.
With Martin Whitaker exposed and ousted, the power vacuum inside Haven Corp grew dangerous. Opportunists were circling. Weeds were regrowing where roots had been pulled. Arielle needed more than resolve now.
She needed loyalty.
The first she summoned was Patrice, of course. Her oldest confidante, who had stood beside her since before Damien wore his first tailored suit. Arielle poured two glasses of red wine and gestured to the fire.
“I need a list,” Arielle said. “Not of departments. Of people. Those who didn’t flinch. The ones who stayed late, showed up early. The ones who asked nothing but gave everything.”
Patrice sipped her wine, eyes narrowing with thought. “I can give you names. But if you’re forming a circle, you need more than yes-men. You need those who’ll challenge you—but never abandon you.”
Arielle smiled faintly. “Exactly.”
By dawn, the list was in her inbox: fifteen names. Six executives, five from lower departments, two retired employees who had returned in support, one corporate counsel. And one surprise.
Isolde Maren.
The name alone made Arielle’s spine stiffen.
Isolde had once been Damien’s right hand during the European expansion—brilliant, unshakable, beautiful in a sharp, angular way. She had vanished quietly five years ago after a rumored falling out between her and Damien.
Patrice had no details. “She resurfaced two months ago. Quietly relocated from Lisbon. Applied for a legal analyst role under a pseudonym. Her credentials flagged in the system.”
“She’s dangerous,” Arielle murmured.
“She’s also loyal,” Patrice countered. “To Damien. To whatever they built.”
Arielle hesitated, then nodded. “Call her in.”
Later that week, Arielle stood in the glass garden atrium of Haven’s south tower, where the city disappeared behind ivy-covered windows. Isolde entered like a ghost from another life—sleek black coat, dark hair coiled, her presence commanding but wordless.
“Mrs. Blackwell,” she said.
“You’ve changed your name,” Arielle replied.
Isolde’s lips curved slightly. “Sometimes we bury names to survive. And sometimes we dig them up when it’s time to fight.”
“You knew Damien better than most,” Arielle said, folding her arms.
“I knew the man. Not the myth.”
“And now?”
“I want justice for him. For what was taken from him—and from you.”
The air between them crackled.
“You’re not afraid I’ll think you’re part of the betrayal?”
Isolde smiled without softness. “If you believed that, I wouldn’t be standing here.”
Arielle studied her for a long moment. Then extended her hand.
Isolde took it.
One more lioness joined the pride.
Arielle didn’t stop there.
She called in Emilio Tran from Logistics, the quiet genius who had warned Damien about the first data breach years ago. He still kept Damien’s signed memo in his wallet.
She rehired Clara Xiu, the once-dismissed analyst who had cracked two of Haven’s early offshore sabotage attempts. Clara cried when Arielle offered her the position.
“I’ve been waiting to come back,” she whispered. “Waiting for you to lead.”
And Mason—faithful Mason—tightened security, rewired protocols, and trained a new tactical team, all under Arielle’s command. He worked with quiet vengeance now, the guilt of not protecting Damien burning into every order he gave.
By the end of the week, Arielle stood in her private meeting chamber with her new council—twelve people. Not perfect. Not unbreakable. But trusted.
“These halls used to echo with whispers,” she said. “We’re done whispering. From now on, we speak with clarity. We act with precision. And we protect what matters.”
Each of them nodded.
And as the city hummed outside, Arielle allowed herself one moment to breathe.
Not to relax. But to prepare.
Because in gathering the loyal few, she knew the disloyal would strike harder.
And now she was ready.
With Martin Whitaker exposed and ousted, the power vacuum inside Haven Corp grew dangerous. Opportunists were circling. Weeds were regrowing where roots had been pulled. Arielle needed more than resolve now.
She needed loyalty.
The first she summoned was Patrice, of course. Her oldest confidante, who had stood beside her since before Damien wore his first tailored suit. Arielle poured two glasses of red wine and gestured to the fire.
“I need a list,” Arielle said. “Not of departments. Of people. Those who didn’t flinch. The ones who stayed late, showed up early. The ones who asked nothing but gave everything.”
Patrice sipped her wine, eyes narrowing with thought. “I can give you names. But if you’re forming a circle, you need more than yes-men. You need those who’ll challenge you—but never abandon you.”
Arielle smiled faintly. “Exactly.”
By dawn, the list was in her inbox: fifteen names. Six executives, five from lower departments, two retired employees who had returned in support, one corporate counsel. And one surprise.
Isolde Maren.
The name alone made Arielle’s spine stiffen.
Isolde had once been Damien’s right hand during the European expansion—brilliant, unshakable, beautiful in a sharp, angular way. She had vanished quietly five years ago after a rumored falling out between her and Damien.
Patrice had no details. “She resurfaced two months ago. Quietly relocated from Lisbon. Applied for a legal analyst role under a pseudonym. Her credentials flagged in the system.”
“She’s dangerous,” Arielle murmured.
“She’s also loyal,” Patrice countered. “To Damien. To whatever they built.”
Arielle hesitated, then nodded. “Call her in.”
Later that week, Arielle stood in the glass garden atrium of Haven’s south tower, where the city disappeared behind ivy-covered windows. Isolde entered like a ghost from another life—sleek black coat, dark hair coiled, her presence commanding but wordless.
“Mrs. Blackwell,” she said.
“You’ve changed your name,” Arielle replied.
Isolde’s lips curved slightly. “Sometimes we bury names to survive. And sometimes we dig them up when it’s time to fight.”
“You knew Damien better than most,” Arielle said, folding her arms.
“I knew the man. Not the myth.”
“And now?”
“I want justice for him. For what was taken from him—and from you.”
The air between them crackled.
“You’re not afraid I’ll think you’re part of the betrayal?”
Isolde smiled without softness. “If you believed that, I wouldn’t be standing here.”
Arielle studied her for a long moment. Then extended her hand.
Isolde took it.
One more lioness joined the pride.
Arielle didn’t stop there.
She called in Emilio Tran from Logistics, the quiet genius who had warned Damien about the first data breach years ago. He still kept Damien’s signed memo in his wallet.
She rehired Clara Xiu, the once-dismissed analyst who had cracked two of Haven’s early offshore sabotage attempts. Clara cried when Arielle offered her the position.
“I’ve been waiting to come back,” she whispered. “Waiting for you to lead.”
And Mason—faithful Mason—tightened security, rewired protocols, and trained a new tactical team, all under Arielle’s command. He worked with quiet vengeance now, the guilt of not protecting Damien burning into every order he gave.
By the end of the week, Arielle stood in her private meeting chamber with her new council—twelve people. Not perfect. Not unbreakable. But trusted.
“These halls used to echo with whispers,” she said. “We’re done whispering. From now on, we speak with clarity. We act with precision. And we protect what matters.”
Each of them nodded.
And as the city hummed outside, Arielle allowed herself one moment to breathe.
Not to relax. But to prepare.
Because in gathering the loyal few, she knew the disloyal would strike harder.
And now she was ready.
End of One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- Chapter 88. Continue reading Chapter 89 or return to One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- book page.