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?”

“Yes,” Ethan said. “You left me before I even knew you were pregnant.”

“And you never called,” he fired back.

“I tried.” Her voice rose, anger and hurt spilling together. “You changed your number. You married your company before you married me.”

Ethan exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Then prove it. Let’s do a DNA test. For their safety. For clarity.”

Her jaw trembled, but she nodded. “Fine. But when the truth comes out, don’t you ever accuse me again.”

That afternoon, Ethan made the calls.

His friend and attorney, Marcus Reed, arranged for private medical staff to come to the penthouse. Lauren stood by the kitchen window as the nurses gently swabbed the kids’ cheeks.

Ethan avoided her gaze the entire time.

The eldest girl looked up at him. “Are we in trouble, sir?”

Ethan froze, kneeling. “No, sweetheart. You’re not in trouble. You’re special.”

Her shy smile almost broke him.

When the nurses left, Marcus pulled him aside.

“You sure about this, man? You might not like what you find.”

“If they’re mine,” Ethan said, his expression hardening, “I’ll make it right.”

“And if they’re not?”

Ethan didn’t answer.

Hours later, Lauren was folding blankets in the guest room when Ethan entered quietly. He held two mugs of tea.

She hesitated before taking one.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she murmured.