The Mistress Who Ran Away With The Twins-Chapter 164: Unspoken Feelings

"Kids, it’s time to get ready for school!"

Paris’s footsteps echoed down the hallway almost immediately. Egypt followed, chattering nonstop about not wanting to go to school, while Cairo trailed behind, complaining loudly about Egypt’s missing socks and misplaced shoes.

Their voices faded deeper into the house, leaving the kitchen suddenly quiet.

Too quiet.

It was just Rome and me now.

I stood up at once. Rome remained by the kitchen counter, his hands resting flat against the surface as if grounding himself. His shoulders were tense, like a man unsure whether he was allowed to relax or even breathe in someone else’s space.

I turned my back to him and began stacking the plates.

Behind me, I felt his eyes on me. Heavy and hesitant.

"I didn’t mean to say that..." he said quietly.

I didn’t respond.

The faucet hissed as I turned it on, warm water rushing over the plates, filling the awkward silence between us.

"I wasn’t trying to cross any lines," he added. "I just..."

He stopped.

I could feel him hovering, uncertain. He didn’t step closer. He didn’t step away either. It was like he was suspended in the middle of a decision, composing his next words carefully.

"Sylvia.." he said again, softer this time.

I rinsed a plate, set it in the rack, and reached for the next one, forcing my movements to be deliberate, steady.

"I know you’re angry.." he continued.

A short, humorless laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

"Angry?" I echoed. "Is that what you think this is?"

He hesitated. "You’re... holding it in."

My grip tightened around the glass I was washing.

"I don’t have the luxury of being angry at someone who isn’t part of my life," I said flatly. "Especially not with three kids who need to be at school in twenty minutes."

"But... listen to me first," he said quietly. "You do have the luxury. No one will stop you if you ever get angry. That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel it. You can be angry at me. I know I deserve it."

I stopped rinsing the glass. Then I turned off the faucet and faced him.

I looked straight into his eyes, forcing my expression to remain neutral. I refused to give him any emotion. He didn’t deserve it.

I shouldn’t even be wasting my time talking to him, but he had already crossed too many lines. He had walked into my home. He had spoken to my children as if he belonged here, as if he had the right to be close to them.

My fingers curled into a fist at my side, trembling despite my effort to remain still.

"You don’t get to tell me what I’m allowed to feel," I said, my voice low and sharp. "No one knows what I’m truly feeling, so you can’t just decide for me. "

I took a breath and returned to washing as if nothing had happened, though my mind was in chaos, screaming for release. I wanted to lash out, to throw everything in my path, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

He flinched but didn’t argue.

"I’m not here to fight," he said. "I just... I didn’t want to leave without talking to you."

I paused again, cleaning my hands before folding them across my chest, my stance challenging. "We are already talking."

"No," he said quietly. "Not this kind of talk. I mean seriously. Privately."

I stared at him, disbelief flashing across my features. "You walked into my house. You told my children you knew me ’more than anyone else.’ And now you say you want to talk to me privately and seriously, as if I haven’t been serious this whole time? Don’t you think it’s you who’s avoiding the conversation?"

"I didn’t mean it like that.." he said immediately.

"But you meant it enough to say it." I shot back.

Silence settled between us.

From the hallway, Egypt’s voice rang out.

"Paris! Where’s my other sock?"

Cairo complained loudly, insisting he had seen Egypt’s things scattered everywhere, including the missing sock. My attention drifted for a moment, taking a brief breath.

Rome glanced toward the hallway too. Something tightened in his expression.

"Are they always like that?" he asked unconsciously, more to himself than to me.

I didn’t answer.

"They’re... close," he continued. "I can see it. How you care for them. How they care for each other. For you."

The sadness in his voice struck something raw inside me. Regret flickered in his eyes, real or not, I couldn’t tell but it felt like he was mourning something he believed he had lost.

"Of course they’re my only family," I said quietly, turning away again. "It’s only natural that I love and care for them."

I refused to look at him. His expression felt rehearsed. If I hadn’t known him, maybe I would have believed him. But I knew better. He had always known how to look pitiful, how to use it to gain sympathy.

"I know," he said softly. "And how I wish I were part of that too," he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear.

My hands shook as I resumed washing the remaining dishes. Calm down, Sylvia. You cannot fall for those lies.

"Say what you came to say, Rome," I said. "Because once they’re ready, this conversation is over. You will have to leave."

My heartbeat hammered in my ears. I didn’t want to admit it—but part of me feared what he would say next.

I heard him inhale slowly.

"When were you planning to tell them?" he asked.

I froze.

The plate slipped slightly in my hands, clinking against the sink.

"Tell them what?" I asked, though I already knew.

"The truth," he said gently. "About me. About... everything."

My throat tightened. Was he really trying to force this out of me?

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I said, my voice unsteady despite my effort to sound composed. "And I’m not telling them anything. You’re not part of their lives. You never were."

Rome exhaled slowly. "Never? But Sylvia, I know you know what I’m talking about—who I am in their lives. You’re just afraid—"

"I didn’t see your point," I immediately cut him off. "They were happy. They were safe. And you—" I stopped myself, jaw clenching.

"You had your own life. Your own family. You’re a stranger to us."

His posture stiffened.

"I don’t have a family anymore," he said quietly. "Not anymore."

I closed my eyes briefly.

"And now you’re denying your family—your son and your wife?" I said, disbelief sharp in my voice. "I pity them. It’s like you’re abandoning them.

The words hung between us like a blade.

Rome didn’t speak, but his jaw tightened, his gaze turning cold. When he finally did speak, his voice was lower.

"My wife and I are divorced now," he said. "And I didn’t marry her because I loved her. I married her because... we were just hurting each other. We didn’t love each other."

He stopped, looking at me with eyes that seemed to beg for understanding.

I laughed sharply.

"You don’t need to explain anything," I said. "I don’t care why you got married. It doesn’t concern me."

"I know it does. It affects you.." he said quietly.

I didn’t respond. I clenched my fists, imagining every curse I wanted to unleash, trying to stop him from talking. Arguing with him would only drain me.

Silence passed, but he was still not done.

"And the children," he said. "Why didn’t you tell me about them sooner? Why didn’t you tell me you had them? I didn’t know anything about their lives and—"

"Stop! And what about the children?" I blinked three times to calm myself before turning to face him fully, my voice rising. "How many times do I have to say this? They have nothing to do with you. You have your own son. Why are you forcing a connection with mine? Do you want to take everything from me?"

Tears burned my eyes before I could stop them. I wiped them away quickly, turning my face aside.

Paris appeared in the doorway then, backpack on, hair neatly tied.

"Mom," she said gently. "We’re ready."

"Give me two minutes, sweetheart." I replied.

She nodded and disappeared.

Rome watched her go, longing written plainly across his face.

"You raised them well... They just like you... especially Paris and Egypt.." he said.

I didn’t respond. I avoided his gaze, keeping my eyes fixed on the tiles, on the faint scratches, anything but him.

"Ever since I met them, I never stopped thinking and caring about them—and... you too.." he said suddenly.

I reached for the last mug, my hands shaking, setting it in the sink as I turned on the faucet to keep myself composed.

"That’s supposed to make me feel better?" I asked coldly.

"No," he said. "It’s just the truth."

"The truth?" I scoffed. "Funny. You keep saying things like that. Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

He swallowed. "No. It’s all the truth. You’re strong. You’re a good mother. Better than I ever was—or could be. I wish I could be as good as you too."

I slammed the mug down.

"Don’t," I said sharply. "Don’t use my children to ease your guilt. They weren’t replacements," I continued, anger breaking free. "They weren’t consolation prizes. They were lives I built, and they are my life."

"I’m not using them for that... I just want to know them. Is that so wrong?" He hesitated, looking down, briefly wiping his eyes, before lifting his gaze back to me.

"I know you don’t want to see me and you’re hurting... but I still wish to understand what you’re feeling.." he whispered.

"We’re not close enough to share thoughts like this. I believe we’re done. The past is the past. We can’t fix things the way they used to be. No matter what you say, it’s meaningless to me now." I said coldly, letting the silence stretch between us.

From the hallway, Egypt called again. "Mom! We’re really gonna be late!"

I turned off the faucet.

"This conversation is over," I said. "You should go."

"Is that it?" he asked.

"For today."

He nodded slowly.

"I won’t force my way into your life, but—" he began.

"That would be wise.." I interrupted.

He hesitated at the door, glancing toward the hallway.

"Tell them goodbye for me." he said softly.

I didn’t answer.

The door closed behind him.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space he left behind. My chest felt hollow, heavy, painfully raw.

I could feel the absence of him pressing down, like a weight I couldn’t shake. Every fiber of my being screamed that I should have stopped him, pushed him out, made him leave but part of me wanted to turn, wanted to reach for him, wanted to understand why he thought he could just waltz back into our lives.

Then I squared my shoulders.

"Okay," I called out. "Let’s go. We’re already late."

Life moved on.

But I knew deep down this was far from over.