Page 113 of Triplet Trouble For My Billionaire Boss

What a waste.

Not that I think taking care of my son is a waste, but to think that she had this passion in her, and she’d set it aside because of money—something I have way too much of myself.

This woman should be designing for Bianchi.

And for some reason, that thought unsettles me more than it should.

Chapter Twenty Six

Annie

The grand staircase is quiet as the three of us ascend, conversation from the gala fading behind us with each step.

I glance at Cole, still mildly shocked that he actually left his party to come say goodnight to Robbie. I never expected that from him.

If someone had told me weeks ago that Cole Wagner, the man known for his cold efficiency and cutthroat business sense, would voluntarily step away from an event filled with powerful investors just to put his son to bed, I wouldn’t have believed them.

But here he is, walking beside me, his usual composed expression softened in the glow of the hallway sconces.

He made a promise, and he’s sticking to it.

And I have to admit that I’m surprised and impressed.

Robbie, still groggy from nearly falling asleep downstairs, drags his feet, his small tuxedo slightly wrinkled from the long night. He rubs at his eyes, his tiny fingers curling around my hand for support as he yawns.

It’s barely past nine, but later than he usually stays up.

“Tired, buddy?” I ask, squeezing his hand.

He nods sleepily. “Mmm-hmm.”

Cole watches him for a moment before shaking his head with a faint sigh. “Come here,” he says, and before Robbie can protest, Cole scoops him up effortlessly, settling him against his chest.

Robbie immediately curls into him, his face resting on Cole’s shoulder, completely trusting. The sight tugs at something deep inside me, something I don’t quite have words for.

I’ve spent weeks watching him try. Really try.

And it’s working.

Robbie buries his face in Cole’s shoulder, one arm loosely wrapping around his father’s neck.

I follow as Cole carries him the rest of the way to his room, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor. As much as I try not to stare, I can’t help but watch them together, and my thoughts wander back to earlier in the night.

I’d seen Cole talking to Philip Langford and his wife, Abigail. To anyone else, he probably looked completely at ease, but he hadn’t been.

He was miserable.

He had worn the perfect mask—calm, composed, charming when necessary—but I was starting to recognize the small signs of his discomfort.

The slight tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes flicked toward the exit every now and then, as if he were unconsciously looking for a way out. The subtle stiffness in his posture.

If I hadn’t spent so much time with him lately, I might not have realized it.

It surprises me that a man as powerful as Cole—someone who built an empire, who thrives under pressure—would hate social events so much.

The social pages were filled with photos of him at galas, business parties, exclusive gatherings. Always with a gorgeous woman on his arm—some model or actress who knew just the right thing to say and when to laugh.

But the man I saw tonight? He didn’t enjoy entertaining.

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