The Mistress Who Ran Away With The Twins-Chapter 171: Cold Confrontation: The Truth

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until my chest started to ache.

The air felt too tight, too heavy, like the room itself was pressing in on me. When I finally inhaled, it came out shallow and uneven, as if my lungs had forgotten how to work properly.

Rome didn’t move.

He stayed exactly where he was, just inside the doorway. Not stepping closer. Not retreating. As if he was afraid that one wrong move would shatter something fragile between us.

"I’m not coming closer," he said quietly. "I won’t do anything to you."

His voice was steady, but there was something careful underneath it, something restrained.

"I just... I brought you something to eat."

He gestured slightly toward the tray in his hands.

The words didn’t make me feel better.

They made my stomach twist harder.

"W-why am I here?" I asked.

My voice was barely louder than a whisper, and it cracked halfway through the sentence, betraying how thin my control already was.

"Why am I in your place?"

His jaw tightened just a fraction but I noticed it anyway.

A flicker of something crossed his face. Regret. Restraint. Pain. But it disappeared quickly and was replaced by a carefully neutral expression.

"You passed out," he said. "You were drunk. You and your friend Amie—no, both of you were too drunk." He exhaled slowly. "I was afraid something bad might happen to you. I couldn’t leave you like that."

I shook my head weakly, the movement making my temples throb.

"You could’ve," I whispered. "You should’ve."

His grip on the tray tightened until his knuckles turned white. When he looked at me again, his gaze had gone cold—not angry, but defensive.

"I couldn’t," he said. "Not when you were like that. Do you want me to pretend I didn’t see you there, when you and your friend couldn’t even manage yourselves? What if something had happened to both of you?"

I looked away, my throat tightening.

"So what if something happened to me?" I said quietly. "It doesn’t concern you anymore."

"What?"

The disbelief in his voice was unmistakable.

"Did you even hear yourself, Sylvia?" he asked. "Of course I’m concerned. What if something bad happened to you?..The kids are waiting for you at home. I couldn’t leave you like that—their mom."

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

I hadn’t wanted to get drunk. I hadn’t wanted to lose control. But seeing him again had cracked something open inside me, emotions I had buried for years suddenly clawing their way out, demanding to be felt.

I looked down at myself then.

At the unfamiliar clothes.

My whole body stiffened.

I hugged myself instinctively, my arms wrapping around my chest like a shield, and glared at him.

"Who changed my clothes?" I demanded. "Did you do something to me?"

"I didn’t touch you," he said defensively. "I swear. I stayed outside the room. I called someone else to help." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "You were... not okay."

He slowly set the tray down on the side table before stepping back and leaning against the wall, as if afraid that standing too close would make things worse.

My chest felt unbearably tight. Every breath scraped on the way in.

"I don’t remember agreeing to any of this," I said. "I don’t remember coming here."

"I know," he said softly. "I’m sorry I didn’t take you home. I was afraid you didn’t want the kids to see you like that, so I brought you here without your permission. I’m sorry." His voice steadied. "And I promise—I didn’t do anything to you. I just wanted to make you safe."

The way he said it, quiet, resigned—sent a chill through me.

"What did I do last night?" I asked.

My hands clenched tightly in the fabric of my clothes. Now that I was sober, fragments of memory were starting to return—blurred voices, heavy emotions, words spilling out unchecked.

"You talked..." he said softly.

My heart dropped.

The room felt like it tilted.

"...How much?" I asked.

Even as I spoke, flashes of the night replayed in my mind. I remembered talking then confessions I never meant to make.

Please... I begged silently. Let some of it be a dream.

Rome didn’t answer right away and that silence told me everything.

"You talked about almost everything," he finally said. "About what happened to you in the past."

The world seemed to stop.

I let out a broken sound—somewhere between a laugh and a sob—and pressed my palms against my eyes.

"Oh God," I whispered. "Please tell me you’re just lying."

"I’m not," he said quietly.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I shouldn’t have gone out. I shouldn’t have drunk anything. I shouldn’t have—"

"You didn’t do anything wrong.." he interrupted quickly.

I looked up at him, disbelief burning through the fear.

"Don’t," I snapped. "I don’t need to hear comforting words from you just because you feel guilty."

His expression tightened.

"I told you things," I continued, panic unraveling whatever composure I had left. "Things I never wanted you to know. Things that weren’t even fully true—like the part about your mother and me being pregnant. That wasn’t all true."

"No," he said quietly. "You meant them. All of them."

The words hit me like a slap.

"No," I whispered fiercely. "I was drunk. I wasn’t thinking straight."

"You were hurting," he replied. "There’s a difference."

He hesitated before continuing.

"And I know—now—that your children are my children too. Please don’t deny it anymore. And about my mother... I just found out what she did to you." His voice faltered. "I believe you. All of it. I’m sorry. I know it’s too late, and sorry isn’t enough, but I am truly sorry for what she did to you."

I shook my head over and over, like I could physically shake the truth out of my body.

"No," I said. "You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to decide what’s real and what’s not."

"I’m not trying to," he said. "I’m trying to understand. Everything you said—it was the truth. I can feel where your pain and anger come from. I just learned how blind I was all these years." His voice softened. "Please. Tell me everything. Tell me the whole truth. I’m willing to listen."

"That’s worse," I whispered.

My voice cracked completely.

"I spent years alone," I said. "Years without anyone understanding my pain. And now you want to understand, now you want to listen, when everything is already over? When everyone has already moved on?"

"I know it’s too late," he said gently. "But I still want to know. I want to understand where I failed you. I know I became selfish. I didn’t even realize something was wrong. I promised to protect you, but I didn’t see that you were fighting alone."

"Don’t say that," I whispered. "Even if I told you everything, it wouldn’t change anything. It’s been years. We have separate lives now. Let’s just focus on our own battles."

I saw the emotions pass through his eyes—sadness, pain, regret.

It was too much.

I looked away and tried to stand, but dizziness washed over me, forcing me back onto the bed. I noticed how he instinctively moved forward, then stopped himself, hesitation flickering across his face.

"What if I don’t want to move on?" he asked quietly. "What if I want to know the kids? What if I regret everything I did—is that too much to ask?"

My heart twisted painfully.

I forced myself to look away.

No, Sylvia. Don’t let him pull you back. What if he’s just being dramatic? What if he’s just like his mother?

"Then you’ll be stuck in the past forever," I said coldly. "I’ve moved on. Regret doesn’t change anything. You already have your own family."

I clenched my hands tightly.

"You can’t tell the kids anything about who you are to them," I added sharply. "It will only confuse them. Don’t even think about approaching them or taking them from me."

"I would never take them from you," he said quickly. "Please believe me. I just want to know them—"

"I don’t believe you," I cut in.

A hollow laugh escaped me.

"You locked me in a room once and told me it was for my own good. I believed you then. And nothing good came from letting you decide things for me." My voice hardened. "You can’t hurt my children."

His face went pale.

"I’m sorry," he said. "I know what I did. I won’t pretend it didn’t happen."

"Do you know what I was thinking when I woke up here?" I asked quietly, my voice barely holding together. "I thought you were going to do it again. That you’d lock me in, just like before."

"I would never," he said immediately. "Not again."

"But you already did," I whispered. "You brought me here without asking."

"I didn’t have a choice."

I let out a hollow breath. "You always say that. Even before. You always don’t have a choice." My fingers curled into the sheets. "You never even bothered to ask if I had one. You always decided things on your own."

"I–I’m sorry..." His voice wavered.

"It’s too late for all your sorries.." I said softly. "It’s not like everything will go back to how it was just because you say sorry a hundred times."

Silence settled between us, thick and heavy.

"Where are my kids?" I asked, forcing myself to search for strength as I tried to stand again. My legs trembled—and failed me. I had to sit back down, dizziness washing over me, made worse by the way Rome was looking at me.

"They’re safe," he answered quickly. "I asked Alpheus to look after them."

"You can’t tell them anything," I said.

"I won’t," he replied. "Not while you’re still not ready."

I exhaled shakily.

"Don’t hope this will happen anytime soon," I added. "Fix your life first. You can’t approach my kids whenever you want. And you can’t take them away from me."

"I won’t," he said, voice breaking slightly. "Just having confirmation from you that they’re mine is enough for now. I won’t ask for anything more if you’re not ready. I promise."

I clicked my tongue, irritation flaring through the exhaustion. "Don’t talk like you’re pitiful. Just—don’t."

"I’m not trying to sound pitiful," he said quietly. "I’m just trying to be careful. I don’t want to push you. I don’t want to make the same mistakes again."

His words lingered, not comforting, but unsettling because part of me could hear the sincerity in them.

"I didn’t plan this," I whispered after a moment. "I built a life without you because I had to."

"I know and I’m not asking you to forgive me," he said. "I just want you to rest. Then we talk—when you’re ready."

I laughed weakly, exhaustion seeping into my bones. "You’re assuming I’ll ever want to talk to you again."

"I’m hoping," he said softly. "That someday, you’ll forgive me for everything."