The Mistress Who Ran Away With The Twins-Chapter 157: Who was that man?

Paris walked beside me. She looked up at me but still didn’t say a thing. Egypt stayed close, her small fingers wrapped around mine, her thumb rubbing circles into my skin the way she always did when she was nervous.

Cairo barely stirred, his breathing even against my shoulder, completely unaware that the man standing outside had just turned my world upside down again.

I didn’t speak. I just gathered my strength before forcing a smile at them, as if nothing had happened, and sat down on the sofa first before carefully lowering Cairo from my arms.

"Go sit on the couch," I murmured gently. "Mom will just get you some water."

I smiled again and turned back to the two of them, who were still watching me closely.

Paris hesitated, her eyes lifting to my face— searching. I brushed her hair back softly, forcing a smile that felt foreign on my lips.

"It’s okay... uh, let’s just forget everything that happened." I assured her, even though I wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say.

They nodded quietly, then glanced at each other as if speaking with their eyes before obeying without complaint.

Their attention was drawn away when Cairo’s body curled slightly, his eyes fluttering open.

Seeing him stir, Paris immediately climbed up beside him, instinctively trying to coax him back to rest, placing herself protectively at the edge of the sofa. Egypt followed, doing the same.

Only when they were settled did my knees finally give.

I turned away quickly, gripping the back of a chair to steady myself. My hands were shaking again. My heart refused to slow, pounding hard against my ribs.

Rome.

What did he do to me?

I pressed my palm against my chest, breathing in slowly through my nose, exhaling just as carefully. Control. I had learned control the hard way—learned how to keep my face calm even when everything inside me was unraveling.

But standing there, seeing him, had ripped open wounds I thought had long since scarred over.

I hadn’t planned for this. I hadn’t prepared for the way his presence alone would make me feel smaller, like I always had to hide everything I had from him. Like there wasn’t enough air for both of us. Like the past had followed him right to my doorstep and demanded to be acknowledged.

I glanced back at the kids.

They were watching me.

And that was enough to pull me back together.

I straightened my spine, smoothed my expression, and walked into the kitchen as if everything was normal. As if the man who once held my entire heart hadn’t just stood outside and looked at our children with recognition burning in his eyes.

Our children.

The thought made my chest tighten painfully.

I poured water into three cups, my movements automatic. I had done this a thousand times before—morning routines, breakfast messes, sleepless nights, fevers, nightmares, laughter, tears.

I had built this life without him.

I brought the cups back and handed them out, kneeling to Cairo’s level. He took the cup with sleepy fingers, drank obediently, then leaned back into Egypt’s side.

"You okay?" I asked softly.

Paris nodded, though her eyes were still sharp. Egypt shrugged, distracted now that the tension had faded. Cairo yawned, already drifting again.

Children were always curious and asked things without filters. Adults weren’t. That was why I was afraid, they might ask the moment they got the chance.

But seconds passed.

Then minutes.

And they never asked anything.

I breathed slowly, as if a small thorn had been lifted from my heart. Moments later, Cairo’s breathing evened out, Egypt’s eyelids drooped again, and Paris finally relaxed against the cushions.

Only then did I move away.

Only then did I let myself feel it.

The fear.

The anger.

The ache.

I leaned against the kitchen counter, gripping its edge as memories flooded back.

Rome standing at my front door earlier, looking at them like he already knew the truth.

The way his voice broke when he said my name. The sadness in his eyes when he looked at the kids. The way he asked me not to disappear again.

My throat tightened.

I had disappeared because I had to.

Because staying would have destroyed me. Because loving him back then had meant losing myself.

I pressed my eyes shut.

He had always been larger than life, powerful and commanding. My world had once bent around Rome whether it wanted to or not. And for a long time, I had let myself bend with it.

Until I couldn’t anymore. Until I was drowning in expectations, fear, and silence. Until I realized I was carrying three tiny lives who would depend on me for everything.

I hadn’t trusted him then.

And standing there today, seeing Dave step in front of me without hesitation, I realized something that made my chest ache in a different way.

Dave believed I needed protection from Rome.

And a part of me agreed. That thought hurt more than it should have.

I slid down into one of the kitchen chairs, resting my elbows on the table and burying my face in my hands.

What did Rome expect?

That I would just open the door and let him back into our lives because he finally saw the truth? That recognition alone erased years of absence?

Fear curled in my stomach.

Because the truth was—I didn’t know what he wanted.

And not knowing was the scariest part.

Rome never did anything halfway. If he decided something was his, he pursued it relentlessly. I had seen that side of him too many times.

And now...

Now he had seen the children. He had looked at Cairo like he was seeing himself reflected back.

I wrapped my arms around myself, cold despite the warmth of the house.

Could I trust that he wouldn’t try to take my children away from me?

That he wouldn’t try to rewrite our lives without understanding what it took to build them?

No. What was I thinking?

I shouldn’t even be considering trusting Rome at all. My children were mine. He wasn’t part of our family, so why was I even allowing the thought that he might have a place in it?

My gaze drifted toward the front door.

He was gone now.

I remembered the way his eyes had softened when he looked at them. The way his voice lowered, how carefully he spoke once he noticed their reactions.

That hadn’t been an act. I knew him well enough to know that. And that scared me too.

Because if he had changed, even a little—then my carefully built walls might not be enough.

I pressed my fingers to my temple, breathing slowly.

Not today.

That was what I told him. And it was the truth.

Today, I couldn’t open that door, not emotionally, not mentally, not when my children were right there watching everything I did.

But tomorrow?

I didn’t know.

I glanced back at the couch. Paris had shifted closer to her siblings, one arm draped protectively over Egypt, her small body unconsciously shielding Cairo.

My heart squeezed painfully.

They deserved stability.

They deserved peace.

They deserved parents who didn’t bring storms into their lives.

I stood slowly and walked back to them, smoothing Paris’s hair just like I had earlier. She stirred but didn’t wake.

"I’m here," I whispered. "I’m not going anywhere."

That promise was the only thing keeping me grounded.

Rome could wait. He would have to. Because whatever happened next wouldn’t be decided by guilt, nostalgia, or unfinished feelings.

It would be decided by what was best for them.

And even if my heart still reacted to him, still remembered the man he used to be—I wouldn’t let that put my children at risk.

I straightened, resolve settling slowly but firmly in my chest.

Tomorrow, I wouldn’t need to think about whether I should tell Rome about the kids.

I had already decided not to.

Even if the truth was standing right in front of him. Even if anyone could see it and immediately recognize them as his.

Tonight—

Tonight, I would sit beside my children, listen to their breathing, and remind myself why I ran in the first place.

Because loving Rome once had nearly broken me.

And I wasn’t sure I could survive that again. Not when there was so much more at stake now.

Moments later...

I stayed longer than necessary, seated on the edge of the couch, my body angled protectively toward them as I listened to the quiet rhythm of their breathing.

I brushed my thumb gently over Cairo’s small knuckles, watching the way his fingers twitched even in sleep.

Then, without warning, a memory of Rome surfaced.

He hadn’t known about the kids. That was the cruel irony of it all. He had once stood in a hospital hallway, tense and distracted, speaking into his phone about meetings and deadlines while I sat a few feet away pretending not to exist.

He hadn’t looked at me long enough to notice the way my hands trembled or how my body curled protectively around the life growing inside me.

I had told myself back then that it was better this way.

Better that he didn’t know. Better that I didn’t ask. Because if I had asked and he had said no—I don’t think I would have survived that rejection.

I swallowed hard, forcing the memory down before it could unravel me. I stood carefully, making sure not to wake them, and moved to the window. I pulled the curtain back just enough to look outside.

The outside was empty.

Rome was gone.

A strange mix of relief and disappointment washed over me. Part of me had expected him to still be there—waiting, stubborn as always. Another part of me was grateful he had respected the boundary, even if only barely.

I let the curtain fall back into place and leaned my forehead against the cool glass.

Why now?

We weren’t perfect. There were days when money was tight, days when exhaustion won, days when I felt like I was failing them in a hundred small ways.

But we were safe.

We were together.

We were ours.

Rome’s return threatened that balance in ways I couldn’t yet measure.

I heard a soft sound behind me and turned just in time to see Cairo pushing himself upright, rubbing his eyes.

"Mom?" he whispered.

I crossed the room immediately, crouching in front of him. "Hey," I murmured, brushing his hair away from his face. "Did I wake you?"

He shook his head slowly. "Who was that man?"