The Mistress Who Ran Away With The Twins-Chapter 149: The Runaway Daughter

I was six years old when I met the Lincolm family.

I remember everything clearly, the day my quiet world shifted from a small, hidden life into a life I was never meant to belong to.

My father, the only thing my mother ever told me about when I asked was his name, Sergio Lincolm—came for me one bright morning at the orphanage.

My mother had brought me there a year before she died of cancer. At first, I didn’t understand why she left me in a place filled with children my age who didn’t have parents. The only thing I remembered was her promise, that she would come back for me together with my father.

But that day never came. I later heard that she had passed away, and the father I had never met never came for me either. That was when I realized I was alone just like the other children in the orphanage.

I was outside, playing in the garden, completely unaware that everything was about to change.

My tiny hands were covered in dirt, my dress torn at the hem, but I didn’t care. I was always invisible at the orphanage anyway.

"Sylvia... you’re Sylvia, right?" a deep voice called.

I looked up. A stranger stood at the gate—tall, imposing, with bodyguards behind him. His eyes were sharp, steady, and unreadable.

"Y-yes... do you know me?" six-year-old me asked, trembling.

"Yes," he replied. "I knew your mother, Synthia. And from now on, you’re coming with me. You’ll live with me."

No warmth. No comfort. Just a statement.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t move. At the orphanage, I’d seen adults adopt children. Maybe he was one of them.

Maybe he was my mother’s friend who was kind enough to take me in as his family.

And for a brief moment, I even hoped.

But I was wrong.

He sighed and knelt down, lowering himself to my level. "Sylvia, there’s something I didn’t tell you earlier. I am your biological father. Sergio Lincolm. And this is your life now. You’re part of my family starting from now."

He was... my father and part of his family?

But shouldn’t I have been part of his family since birth? Why did it sound like a warning instead of a welcome? Like I was just being added suddenly—not someone who already belonged?

And then I understood everything when I met his real family.

My mother had kept the secret. I hadn’t known he already had sons with his late wife. A world where I didn’t fit. A world I wasn’t meant to be in.

I was just the shadow he kept hidden.

He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. I flinched. He didn’t explain anything further. He didn’t smile. He just looked at me, waiting.

I followed him silently into the enormous Lincolm estate. The house was huge, cold, spotless, too perfect. A house meant to impress strangers, not raise a child.

When he introduced me to his legitimate family, the distance was immediate.

His sons stood in the grand hallway, staring at me without emotion, cold, assessing, indifferent.

"Children," Sergio said firmly, "this is Sylvia. She is my daughter and your sister. She will live here from now on."

"Sylvia, these are your brothers," my father continued. "This is Sylvester," he said, referring to the boy who looked older than me. "And this is Stephenson, your younger brother." He shifted his gaze to the younger boy, who still looked confused about everything that was happening.

The air grew heavier.

My heart pounded painfully. I felt like I was walking into a world where I didn’t exist.

One of his sons, Sylvester, stepped forward, brows furrowed. "Dad... is she the child Mom said was yours from another woman?"

Sergio’s neutral expression shifted slightly. "Y-yes. I’m sorry if you see it that way, Sylvester... but she needs to know her place early. She is still part of this family, whether you like it or not."

"Dad, how can you bring her here? Didn’t Mom tell you not to?!"

"But son... she’s an orphan now. I can’t let her grow up without a parent when I can take care of her."

"Tsk. Unbelievable." Sylvester muttered before walking away.

My small hands curled at my sides. I didn’t understand everything, but I understood enough,

I wasn’t wanted.

The servant approached me, clipboard in hand, not even pretending bother to hide her disaproval. " Mister Lincolm. I’ll show her to her room." she said stiffly. She looked at me like I was a burden.

I glanced back at my father once. His face was unreadable like something between detachment... and shame.

My new room was big—too big. A canopy bed, polished floors, windows overlooking a garden I wasn’t allowed to play in. A room that felt less like a home and more like a cage.

Dinner was worse. I sat at a long table while his children whispered, watching me like I didn’t belong.

"Sit up straight," Sergio said without looking at me. "Do not embarrass this family."

I nodded quickly, trying to shrink smaller.

"You may speak when spoken to," he added. "You are part of this family, but do not mistake your presence for equality."

I nodded again, throat tight.

Those words carved themselves into me like scars.

I learned quickly, I wasn’t loved.

I wasn’t welcomed. I was tolerated.

Hidden.

Even as a child, I never experienced real love from my so-called family.

Not long after, I was introduced publicly as a fragile, sickly Lincolm child, not the illegitimate daughter, but the hidden daughter of Sergio and his late wife.

No one knew the truth. No one questioned it.

Behind closed doors, he never looked at me twice.

I remained invisible... until I taught myself not to be.

And by sixteen, I was still the ghost of the Lincolm estate. The house always smelled of cold marble, beautiful but suffocating.

One night, I heard my father and brother talking outside.

"Where’s Sylvia?" Sylvester asked.

"She’s probably hiding in her room again," my father scoffed. "You can’t expect anything from her. Bring Stephenson instead he knows more than she ever will."

You can’t expect anything from her.

Those words stayed with me.

My door opened.

"Stop crying, Sylvia." my father said sharply.

I froze. I had been holding back tears all day.

"I’m not..." I whispered.

"You embarrass this family when you can’t control yourself. I didn’t raise a daughter to behave like a child."

I bit my lip until it bled.

"Tsk. What a weak child. Not even as good as your younger brother," he said coldly. "I saw your grades. Disappointing. A Lincolm is never average."

"I-I’m sorry, Father... I’ll do better..."

"You always say that," he muttered before leaving. "But nothing ever changes."

And then came my sixteenth birthday—the day I wished someone would see me.

But I was just decoration.

The party was extravagant, yet no one came to greet me.

Guests were there for my father, for my brothers, for business not for me.

I sat alone, counting the minutes until I could hide again.

"Why aren’t you socializing?" my father asked sharply.

"I... I’m bored..." I lied.

"Tsk. Your only job today is to greet guests. Stop disappointing me. This is for the Bern family. Don’t embarrass me." 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

Bern—my only childhood friend. The boy they pushed toward me. The boy I was arranged to marry for benefits.

My first birthday party... and it wasn’t even mine.

I covered my face, crying silently. Sixteen years of silence pressing into my bones.

I remember thinking I hated him. Hated the indifference. The absence. The way he let others shape me while he never truly saw me.

And yet... a tiny part of me craved the warmth he showed my brothers.

I bit my lip until it bled again, grounding myself in that cold room that never once felt like home.

I told myself I would survive. I would leave.

I would build my own life....

And I did. After my sixteenth birthday, I left them. I runaway from that suffocating house and flew to another country—my mother’s home country. I learned how to survive on my own, without their help.

But even after I left, even when I was far away from them, I finally accepted the truth that they were never capable of loving me or treating me as part of their family.

The flashback blurred, and I found myself in the hospital hallway.

Sergio Lincolm, my father stood before me, hands trembling, eyes soft. A man who, for the first time, looked capable of care.

And I hated it. Hated him. Hated how it hurt seeing him gentle with my children.

But I also understood bitterly, why he had never been gentle with me.

Because I had been a shadow.

Not a daughter.

Not someone who deserved warmth.

And yet here he was, trying awkwardly, stiffly to be something he never was to me.

I folded my arms tightly, pulling myself back into the present.

I wasn’t going to give him what I once did—my vulnerability, my tears, my forgiveness.

But I could let my children feel what I never had.

The weight on my chest loosened, just slightly.

And for the first time, I realized something important.

I didn’t need his love to survive.

I only needed to protect the love of the children who mattered to me.

And maybe... letting him see them wasn’t about him.

It was about me finally breaking free from the chains of the past.