Lauren didn’t argue. She just gathered the kids and led them to the guest room. Ethan stayed behind, staring out at the snowy skyline.
For the first time in eight years, Ethan Carter felt small and painfully human.
Ethan didn’t sleep.
He spent the night pacing his office, city lights flickering across his face. His mind kept replaying one image: the triplets’ faces. The same deep brown eyes. The same dimpled smile he saw in his own reflection.
“It can’t be a coincidence,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his head.
By morning, the smell of coffee drifted through the penthouse. Lauren sat at the kitchen island, hair tied back, face pale but composed. The kids were eating pancakes, laughing softly with Mrs. Lang.
For a brief second, the sight felt right. Like something that should have always been.
Then reality crashed back in.
“Lauren,” he said.
She stiffened, eyes narrowing. “About what?”
He nodded toward his office. “Privately.”
Inside, he shut the door behind her. Silence stretched.
Then he said it—cold, clipped, professional.
“I need to know the truth. Are they mine?”
Lauren’s lips parted in disbelief. “After everything last night, that’s your question?”