The Mistress Who Ran Away With The Twins-Chapter 151: Truths and Secrets

The hospital room where Cairo lay felt colder after my father left.

I stayed there a few seconds longer than I should have, staring at the empty hallway where Sergio and my brothers disappeared—almost like the ghost of them still lingered in the air. I used to imagine this moment... how it would feel if my past ever barged into the life I built.

I always told myself I’d feel nothing. That I had finally grown numb.

But the ache in my chest proved I was wrong.

I breathed slowly, straightened my shoulders, and forced myself to move. My children were waiting. They would be curious. And they had every right to be—they were my real family. The only people who were ever truly mine.

I pushed the door open and stepped back into Cairo’s room.

Paris and Egypt looked up instantly, relief softening their little faces the moment they saw me.

"Mom," Egypt whispered with a pout, "you never told us we had handsome uncles and a grandpa."

The word made my stomach twist. Grandpa. A title Sergio didn’t deserve yet my children said it so easily.

Cairo, still pale but awake, shifted on the bed. "Mom... Grandpa looked like he wanted to cry. Why?"

I froze. Not for long, but long enough for Cairo to notice.

For over five years, I raised Paris and Egypt without letting the shadows of my childhood touch their world. Five years pretending the Lincolms didn’t exist. Five years building a life clean of every bruise the past left on me.

And now... they had questions I was never prepared to answer.

I pulled a chair closer to Cairo’s bed and sat down, trying to steady my heart.

"Come here.." I murmured.

Paris moved first, sitting beside me with that quiet sharpness she always had. Egypt climbed onto the foot of the bed, hugging her sister’s legs. Cairo simply watched—silent, patient.

"Mom," Paris began softly, "that grandpa... he’s your dad, right?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes. His name is Sergio Lincolm."

"So... we have a grandpa on your side?" she asked.

"And uncles?" Egypt added brightly.

My throat tightened. I needed to be gentle, but honest.

"Yes," I said. "You do."

Paris bit her lip. "But why didn’t you ever tell us?"

My hands folded tightly in my lap.

"Because," I said softly, "my past with them wasn’t... happy."

The air went quiet.

Cairo looked up. "Did they hurt you, Mom?"

"No," I lied.

Paris narrowed her eyes. "Mom... you always look away when you lie."

I blinked. "I do?"

She nodded dramatically until her eyes almost crossed. Egypt burst out laughing. Even Cairo smiled. For one brief moment, I could breathe.

Then Cairo whispered, "Did Grandpa hurt you?"

Silence chilled the room.

"No," I said gently. "Not like that. He wasn’t cruel. He just... didn’t know how to love me. He didn’t know how to be a father."

The kids absorbed that slowly.

"He was really kind to Cairo earlier." Paris murmured.

A sharp sting shot through me.

"Yes..." I whispered. "He was."

He cared about them in ways he never cared about me.

"Do you hate him?" Egypt asked quietly.

I hesitated. It wasn’t hate. Wounds that never close aren’t hate—they’re emptiness.

"I don’t want to hate him." I answered.

My childhood flashed through my mind, the suffocating silence of the Lincolm estate, the feeling of being present but unseen.

"My childhood wasn’t like yours," I continued softly. "I grew up feeling... alone. Unseen. And when I had you three, I promised myself with everything I had that you would never feel even a fraction of what I felt." My voice wavered. "But still... I failed you, Cairo."

I turned to him slowly, scared of what I might see.

But Cairo didn’t look hurt or confused. Instead, he looked at me with a softness far too mature for his age. He reached out, his small hand curling around mine.

"You didn’t, Mom," he said gently. "I never felt alone. Not even once."

The words cracked something open inside me, something heavy. His eyes were steady, sincere in a way only children could be. As if he was the one trying to hold me together now.

My chest tightened painfully.

Egypt crawled into my lap, and I wrapped my arms around her.

For a moment—just one, everything felt right. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

Then a soft knock sounded at the door, and it cracked open.

The kids turned as Dave peeked inside. He looked like he’d been waiting for a while... maybe waiting for the right moment to talk to me.

So he didn’t leave after all. Maybe he wanted answers that badly.

The moment our eyes met, my stomach dropped.

Dave stepped in, calm on the surface, but his eyes betrayed something colder. Or maybe it was panic. Maybe both.

"We need to talk.." he said, voice controlled.

I stood immediately, instinctively placing myself between him and the kids. "Dave, w-why now all of a sudden? There’s no one to watch my kids and—"

"My secretary is outside. She’ll watch them," he cut in. "So I need to talk to you. Now, Sylvia. Not later. Not when it’s convenient. Now."

"U-Uncle Dave... what’s wrong?" Egypt whispered. "Why do you want to talk with Mom?"

Paris grabbed Cairo’s hand, eyes suspicious and curious.

"Lower your voice the kids are watching." I warned Dave softly.

I sighed heavily. I didn’t want this conversation. But it was better than letting the kids get ideas.

He inhaled deeply. He nodded once, still tense but holding himself back.

"I’m s-sorry... I’m just—"

"No. Just go outside first," I cut in. "Let’s talk there. Wait for me."

Dave’s gaze lingered on the kids, just long enough for something in his expression to soften before he exhaled and stepped back.

"I’ll be right outside.." he murmured.

He closed the door quietly.

Silence pressed down on us.

Paris frowned. "Mom... is everything okay?"

"Yes.." I answered too quickly.

Even Cairo noticed.

I knelt down, smoothing Egypt’s hair. "Stay here. Be good. Uncle Dave just wants to talk about something... important."

"About Grandpa?" Egypt asked.

"No," I lied again. "It’s different."

Cairo’s eyes narrowed. "We’ll wait. Come back soon."

I nodded, even though my heartbeat was loud in my ears.

I stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind me.

Dave stood a few steps away, arms crossed, face tight under the harsh white lights. He wasn’t pacing. Wasn’t looking at me. He was thinking.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze.

"I’m trying," he said quietly, "to stay calm."

My throat tightened. "Dave—"

He raised a hand, stopping me. "You don’t owe me explanations. I know that. We’re not... close." His jaw flexed. "But I can’t ignore what I saw."

His voice was calm. Too calm.

He pushed off the wall, standing straighter.

"First..." his tone softened, almost hesitant, "...is your son okay?"

I blinked, surprised. "H-he’s stable. Just tired."

He nodded slowly, relief passing through him—briefly—before tension returned.

"Good.." he murmured.

Silence stretched.

Then his eyes searched my face.

"Sylvia... about the Lincolms... Sylvester... the chairman... I didnt mean to suddenly learning about your childhood." His brow furrowed. " and the kids especially your son. I mean—today felt like everything was thrown at once."

My breath caught. My hands curled at my sides.

"It’s complicated," I said quietly. "So it’s better for you not to know. Just forget what you saw today."

He sighed. "I’m not asking you to dig into your childhood. That’s not my place. But there’s one thing I can’t ignore."

He stepped closer, but not too close. Just enough to show sincerity.

"I just need to understand one thing."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

"When I saw your son today... I thought I was seeing Rome."

Heat rushed to my ears.

He quickly added, "I didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Kids resemble people. I told myself it might be a coincidence. Paris and Egypt resemble Rome too..."

His voice trembled faintly. He shook his head.

"...but everything in me says it isn’t coincidence. Your son’s face—everything—confirmed my hunch about Paris and Egypt... and now him."

I looked away, my mistake.

He noticed.

"Sylvia," he whispered, "I know I have no right to interfere. But despite what I already suspect, I still want to hear it from you. Why does that boy... look exactly like Rome?"

I stayed silent.

And silence was an answer.

Dave closed his eyes briefly, realization sinking in. When he opened them, they were not angry, they were the eyes of someone who finally understood everything.

"So he’s his," Dave whispered. "Rome... has a son he doesn’t even know exists?"

My chest constricted painfully.

"Sylvia," Dave stepped closer, voice low, "why are you hiding him? I get that you don’t want Rome in your life, and there’s Egypt and Paris... but this..."

A thousand answers curled in my throat—but fear swallowed all of them.

"Please... don’t tell him," I whispered. "Not yet."

Dave’s brows drew together, confusion and disbelief clashing in his expression.

"Sylvia... you can’t expect me to keep something like this from him. Not now that he already knows about Egypt and Paris."

My heart stopped.

"W-what...?" My voice cracked. "What do you mean he knows?"

"Rome isn’t dumb, Sylvia. He knows Egypt and Paris are his daughters. But he didn’t know he also has a son."

Weakness washed through me.

If he knew about Paris and Egypt...Does that mean he’s waiting and planning for the right time to approach them?

Would he try to take them from me?

No. I can’t let that happen. He still has no proof. I can still use that.

But Dave... Dave knew too much now.

The Lincolm connection. The children, especially Cairo. Everything.

"Please don’t tell him, Dave," I begged, voice shaking. "Ignore what happened today. Act like you didn’t know about Cairo. Please. I’m not asking forever. I’m just... not ready."

"Not ready for what?" his voice barely whispered. "For him to know he has a son? Or for him to know you kept all his children from him?"

The question cut straight through me. I looked away, blinking back tears.

Dave exhaled, long and broken.

"Tell me," he whispered. "Are you even planning to tell him? Or are you asking me to stay silent forever?"

I said nothing. I just looked farther away—afraid to meet his eyes.

Dave didn’t need words.

His next breath left him like a wound.

"...Are you serious, Sylvia?"