The Mistress Who Ran Away With The Twins-Chapter 163: Interrogating Rome

"But your mom knows me more than anyone else."

Silence followed.

It wasn’t the comfortable silence. It was the kind that pressed down on your chest, the kind that made the ticking of the clock sound too loud. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven, as if my body had already decided that something irreversible had just been said.

Paris tilted her head slightly, studying Rome the way she might study an unfamiliar insect, one she hadn’t yet decided was dangerous or harmless. Her eyes weren’t hostile. They weren’t angry.

They were curious and that was worse.

Curiosity shone too brightly in her gaze and it made my skin prickle in warning. Paris had always been like that, observant beyond her years, quietly absorbing details most children overlooked. I had learned long ago that when she looked at someone that way, she was already building questions in her mind.

"Can you explain why Mom knows you," Paris asked calmly. "when Mom doesn’t tell us about anyone from her past? Including you."

She glanced at me briefly, just long enough to let me know I hadn’t escaped her attention, before turning her eyes back to Rome.

My heart sank.

Rome blinked, visibly surprised by her directness. For a moment, he looked almost lost, like he hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn, like he’d come prepared to face me, but not my children.

He looked at me, uncertainty flickering across his face.

"Well," he began hesitantly, swallowing hard."your mom and I met before. A long time ago. We... became really close."

I felt my jaw tighten instantly.

Did he really have to say it like that?

I shot him a sharp look, warning clear in my eyes, but it was already too late. Paris was not an ordinary child. She never had been. One wrong word, one vague answer, and she would latch onto it, pry it open, and search for meaning where none was meant to be revealed.

As if on cue, Paris reached for a chair and dragged it back with a soft scrape against the floor.

She climbed onto it and sat across from Rome, folding her hands neatly on the table. She looked small there, feet barely touching the floor, shoulders narrow but the way she sat, straight-backed and composed, made her seem older than she was.

Only the gentle swing of her legs betrayed her age.

"You said you’re someone from Mom’s past," Paris continued evenly, "and that you were really close."

She glanced at Egypt.

Egypt, instantly catching on, slid into the chair beside Paris and propped her chin on her hand. Her eyes gleamed with interest as she looked from Paris to Rome.

"That could mean a lot of things."

"Yeah," Egypt chimed in. "Like... were you her classmate? Her coworker? Or maybe, her enemy from the past?"

She leaned closer, lowering her voice but not nearly enough. "Or maybe—" she whispered loudly, "—a secret agent?"

Cairo, who had been quietly watching them while licking chocolate from his fingers, burst into a giggle.

"Maybe he’s a superhero," he added helpfully. "You said he wore a bear suit before."

Rome let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I promise I’m not a secret agent," he said gently. "Or a superhero."

Paris nodded solemnly, as if checking something off an invisible list.

"Okay," she said. "Good to know."

I opened my mouth. "Paris, that’s enough—"

However she just raised one hand calmly, not even looking at me.

"Just a few questions, Mom," she said. "I don’t want any more lies. Asking questions isn’t lying."

My chest tightened painfully. I had no response to that.

Looking at my children then, I realized something that unsettled me deeply, they weren’t asking out of childish curiosity anymore. They were asking because they felt something was being withheld from them. And the terrifying part was that they were right.

Rome noticed my hesitation. His eyes flicked to me again, clearly searching for direction, but when I didn’t intervene, he turned back to Paris.

"All right," he said carefully. "Ask."

Paris’s lips curved into a small smile—not smug, not triumphant. Just quietly satisfied.

"When did you meet my mom?"

Rome paused.

It wasn’t a long pause, but it was enough.

Enough for Egypt’s eyes to narrow slightly. Enough for my pulse to thud loudly in my ears.

"A long time ago.." he answered.

Paris nodded. "How long is ’a long time’?"

He hesitated, then said, "Before you were born."

Egypt perked up immediately and began counting on her fingers. "Whoa. That’s really long. That means over six years ago!"

Paris tilted her head. "So you knew her before she had us."

"Yes."

"Were you friends?" Paris asked.

Rome’s jaw tightened briefly. He glanced at me as if asking for help—but I deliberately looked away. If he slipped up now, I wouldn’t hesitate to make him leave, even if it meant answering the children’s questions alone.

"Y-yeah," he said. "At first."

"At first," Paris echoed. "So you stopped being friends?"

Before Rome could answer, Egypt leaned forward eagerly. "Did you fight?"

Rome looked between the two girls, realization dawning on his face that this wasn’t going to be as simple as he’d hoped. This wasn’t child’s play.

"It wasn’t exactly a fight," he said slowly. "More like... people making choices they thought were right at the time."

Paris pouted slightly, clearly unsatisfied.

"Did those choices hurt someone?"

Rome’s gaze flicked to me for a split second before returning to Paris.

"Yes."

Egypt hummed thoughtfully. "So... you’re kind of like a villain?"

"N-no," Rome said quickly. "I don’t think so. But I wasn’t a hero either."

Cairo frowned, confusion evident on his face. "I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t you be a hero?"

Egypt scoffed lightly. "Maybe because he was stuck between someone who messed up and someone who didn’t."

Rome winced at that.

I pressed my fingers to my forehead. Sometimes I wondered how my children came up with these things. It felt less like I was raising kids and more like I was raising miniature philosophers.

Paris didn’t smile. Instead, she looked at me briefly before turning back to Rome.

"Why didn’t you stay friends with Mom?"

The question was simple. Too simple but I can see Rome inhaled slowly.

"Because it’s... a long story."

Egypt stared at him in disbelief. "What? Why is it always a long story? We can listen."

"Yes," Paris added quietly. " We’re a good listeners."

Her fingers tightened together. "Or did something happen? Like Mom wanted you to leave? Or you left Mom?"

Rome didn’t answer right away. He looked at me, and I saw emotions pass through his eyes, regret, hesitation, something heavier that made my throat burn that even our kitchen seemed to hold its breath.

"N-no," he said finally. "I mean... it’s part of the long story."

My chest ached.

Paris absorbed that without reacting. "Why is it a long story?"

"Paris, that’s enough," I said firmly. "You still have to go to school."

Even I could feel how heavy the air had become.

Egypt pouted. "But Mom, we’re not playing. We’re interrogating him."

Rome let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "I think interrogations usually require a warrant of arrest but I don’t remember recieving one."

The girls exchanged looks and frowned in unison.

"That’s not funny.." Paris said.

"Yeah not funny.." Egypt agreed seriously.

Cairo piped up again. "So it was a bad decision not being friends anymore?"

"Yes," Rome said. "It was."

Paris tapped her finger lightly against the table. Once. Twice.

"If it was bad," she asked, "why didn’t you come back sooner?"

Rome looked down at his hands. "Because sometimes people are afraid to face the consequences of their choices."

Egypt nodded slowly. "That sounds like something old people like Mom would say."

I flinched. Since when was I considered old?

Paris studied Rome. "Were you scared?"

"Yes."

"Of what?"

"Of hurting people again."

Her expression softened just a fraction.

"So why are you here now?"

Rome looked around the kitchen at Cairo licking chocolate from his fingers, at Egypt swinging her legs, at Paris watching him closely.

"Because some hurts don’t heal just because you avoid them," he said quietly. "And because I didn’t want to keep running."

Egypt frowned. "Running from what?"

Rome glanced at me. The words that followed felt aimed directly at me.

"From the past. From misunderstandings. From regrets."

Egypt scratched her head. "I don’t really understand... but are you going to run again?"

Rome shook his head immediately. "No."

Cairo sighed in relief. "Good. Running is tiring."

"Yeah. I hate running" Egypt added.

Paris watched Rome carefully.

"So, did you like my mom?"

"Paris—"

"Yes," Rome answered immediately.

"As a friend?"

"No."

"And more than that?"

He hesitated, then nodded.

Egypt’s eyes sparkled. "Ooooh."

Cairo blinked. "Like a crush?"

Rome smiled faintly. "Something like that."

Paris leaned back, absorbing the information.

"Did you love her?"

Rome stayed silent and didn’t answer.

"So it was like a crush..." Paris concluded calmly.

"Did Mom like you too?"

"I believe she did."

Egypt whispered. "Oh, this is better than TV."

Paris shushed her.

"If you liked each other," she asked, "why didn’t you fix it?"

Rome exhaled. "Because liking someone doesn’t mean you know how to be good for them."

Paris frowned. "That sounds sad."

"It was."

Cairo asked innocently, "If you were sad, why bring pancakes?"

Rome chuckled softly. "Because pancakes make mornings better."

Cairo nodded solemnly. "W-well, that’s true."

Paris smiled briefly.

"Last question..." she said.

Rome straightened.

"Are you here to stay?"

Rome glanced at me—but I didn’t meet his eyes.

"I’m here because I want to do better," he said carefully. "I don’t get to decide anything. I just don’t want to disappear again."

Paris nodded.

"That’s an okay answer."

"For now."

She hopped down and wiped chocolate from Cairo’s cheek.

Rome exhaled slowly.

But I knew.

This wasn’t over.