The Mistress Who Ran Away With The Twins-Chapter 166: The New Owner

Stephenson didn’t respond immediately. He took a deep breath first, as if steadying himself, then exhaled slowly.

"Yes, I know," he said at last. "And I’m sorry. I was just surprised to see you h-here."

His tone softened slightly, though his posture remained rigid.

"But calm down for a second," he added. "Sylvester is already on his way. Just wait for him, okay? You can’t just resign like that without talking to him first."

As if suddenly remembering something else, his gaze shifted to Cairo.

The change was subtle, but unmistakable. His expression softened, the sharp edges melting away as he looked at Cairo beside me. When he looked back at me, his eyes lingered for a few seconds longer than necessary. The tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction before he crouched down, lowering himself to Cairo’s height.

"Hey," he said quietly. "It’s been a long time since I last saw you. You’ve grown taller."

Cairo blinked, surprised, then broke into a wide smile.

"A little," he answered proudly, nodding. "Mommy says it’s because I eat all my vegetables."

Stephenson let out a soft breath, almost a laugh but it never fully reached his eyes.

"Yes," he said. "You should eat vegetables so you stay healthy."

He reached out slowly, carefully, as if giving Cairo time to pull away if he wanted to. When Cairo didn’t, Stephenson rested his hand lightly on the boy’s head, ruffling his hair just a bit.

"You shouldn’t be picky with vegetables," he added gently. "And you should always listen to your mom."

Cairo nodded enthusiastically.

"I always listen to Mommy, Uncle," he said earnestly. "You’re the one who doesn’t. You look like you’re angry at Mom, but you and Uncle Sylvester always tell me stories about her."

He finished with a small pout.

Stephenson’s lips twitched.

"H—hey, I haven’t—n-no, that’s not true.." he stammered, trying to interrupt. He glanced at me instinctively, his ears noticeably reddening, before quickly looking away.

"But you and Uncle Sylvester are always bragging to me about how kind M—mmph!"

Cairo didn’t get to finish. Stephenson moved quickly, gently covering the Cairo’s mouth with his hand.

I could only watch the scene in silence, letting out a slow, heavy sigh.

I didn’t know Stephenson could be like this.

He had always been distant. Cold. Controlled. Seeing him like this, flustered, embarrassed, and gentle felt almost unreal. He was nothing like the man who intimidated everyone else.

And for some reason, that made my chest ache.

Stephenson froze when he noticed I was watching. Slowly, he withdrew his hand and straightened. When he looked at me again, the warmth vanished almost instantly, replaced by the composed expression I had known all my life.

"You should sit while waiting for Sylvester," he said, gesturing toward the couch near the wall. "Both of you."

I hesitated, then nodded. I guided Cairo toward the couch and sat him down beside me. Moments later, Stephenson seated himself on the couch adjacent to us, his arms crossing loosely over his chest.

The room fell quiet.

"So," he said eventually, breaking the silence. "Are you really not going to change your mind about resigning?"

I looked up.

"You should think twice," he continued calmly. "How do you plan to support your children? You already know no one in this city will hire you, not even as a dishwasher."

My brows furrowed.

"Only this restaurant accepted you," he went on. "Unless you plan to go back to your old job—which, as far as I know, shut down shortly after you left."

My stomach twisted.

How does he know that?

Don’t tell me... did he and Sylvester plan all of this?

They knew no one would accept me. They knew I had been banned from working wherever I go. Someone had deliberately made my life harder, and they knew it. The only reason I even had a job now was because Sylvester owned the restaurant.

"How do you know that?" I asked, my voice tight.

Stephenson looked at me flatly.

"That’s obvious," he replied. "I know everything. If you have money, finding out information like that is easy."

He said it as if it were the simplest truth in the world.

Silence settled between us.

"So," I said finally, my voice trembling despite my effort to stay calm, "what else did you investigate about me?"

His gaze turned cold.

Then, briefly, he glanced at Cairo before looking back at me.

"I know everything," he said. "Including the triplets’ real fa—"

The door behind him opened.

"Syl?"

Stephenson turned just as Sylvester stepped inside. The restaurant manager stood behind him, but froze when he saw Sylvester’s expression.

Sylvester closed the door and entered alone.

His eyes moved to me first.

Then to Cairo.

"Little buddy," Sylvester said gently. "How are you? Are you feeling okay now?"

The sound of his voice made my heart jolt.

"Uncle Sylvester!" Cairo exclaimed. He jumped off the couch and ran toward him.

Sylvester caught him easily, lifting him up without hesitation.

"Did you miss your favorite uncle in the whole world?" he asked, glancing briefly at Stephenson.

Stephenson frowned.

Sylvester walked closer to me with Cairo still in his arms. I took in his appearance—his suit jacket loosened, tie undone, surprise still etched across his face.

"Sylvia," he said carefully. "Why are you here?"

I stood, my heart pounding.

"I came to resign."

His brows knitted together. "Resign?"

"Yes."

Stephenson sighed and looked at Sylvester.

"She said she’s resigning," he said. "But I told her to wait for you because it’s not possible for her to resign."

"H-huh?" I blurted out. "What do you mean it’s not possible for me to resign?"

Stephenson only looked at me with bored eyes before turning to Sylvester.

"Ask him," he said. "As far as I know, he made you the owner of this restaurant."

I froze.

"W-what?"

Stephenson shrugged casually.

"You know how he is. Whenever he gets bored, he builds a business. When he gets tired of it, he passes the responsibility to someone else. So congratulations—aside from raising your kids, you just got another responsibility."

I turned slowly toward Sylvester, disbelief flooding my face.

"What does he mean?" I demanded. "What is he talking about?"

Sylvester scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

"Well," he began, "I have multiple businesses to handle. Stephenson helps me manage most of them. Next week, I’ll be going back to Europe to take care of our company there."

My chest tightened.

"So I needed someone I could trust," he continued. "And since I couldn’t leave the restaurant unattended, I made you the owner."

I stared at him.

"As help," he added quickly. "And as a birthday gift."

"W—what?" My voice barely came out. "How did I suddenly become the owner? I only worked here for a month!"

"How could you make me the owner without even consulting me first!?" I glared at both of them.

They only shrugged.

"Well," Stephenson said flatly, "you don’t have to wash dishes or serve tables anymore. You’ll be running the place now. Besides, the restaurant is already named after you."

My breath caught.

"Sylvincolm Restaurant," he continued. "It’s literally your name."

I felt dizzy.

"But how could you give me this responsibility?" I asked sharply. "Shouldn’t this belong to you?"

"Sylvia," Sylvester said firmly. "Listen to me."

I clenched my fists.

"You need this restaurant," he said. "Not as a responsibility—but as support. This isn’t pity. I’m doing this because I know this restaurant is the only place that will give you work. No one else will."

The truth stung.

"You know that," he added quietly.

Then he smiled faintly and looked at Cairo.

"And you don’t really have a choice now, do you?" he said lightly. "Right, Cairo?"

Cairo grinned and held up his hand.

"Yes!"

They high-fived.

I stood there, stunned, my thoughts spinning.

I came here to resign.

Instead, I walked into a life-changing responsibility I never asked for.

****************

Soft music hummed in the background, low enough not to intrude, loud enough to drown out the noise in my head.

I stared at the drink in front of me.

I didn’t know why, but after I went to the restaurant to resign, Cairo and I left immediately—just like that—right in front of Stephenson and Sylvester.

I was too stunned by the things they said, so we went home right away. And to forget everything that happened, from Rome barging into my house to everything my brothers said—I ended up being forced to come with Amie to the bar.

And now, I just wanted to go home again and stay with the kids I temporarily left with our neighbor, Tess.

"Hey, Sylvia! Hello, Earth!"

I didn’t bother responding to Amie, still staring at the alcohol in front of us. I hadn’t touched it yet.

Amie, on the other hand, was already halfway through hers, one elbow resting on the counter as she watched me over the rim of her glass.

"You’re not going to drink that," she said flatly. "Why did we even come here?"

Yeah, that was my question too. Why did I even come here?

"I needed air," I replied. "And I know you wouldn’t stop asking me questions."

She snorted. "That’s because you vanished right after school! You know I’m dying to hear stories from you!" Amie shouted as the music in the bar grew louder.

I sighed and finally lifted the glass, taking a small sip. The alcohol burned slightly on the way down, settling warm and heavy in my chest.

"Okay," Amie said, setting her glass down. "Start talking. Slowly. And don’t skip the important parts."

I stared at the amber liquid swirling in my glass.

"I went to resign today," I said quietly.

Her brows shot up. "Wait, what? So you’re starting your story with that? Resign? Really? Sylvia, you barely started that job."

"I know."

"So?" she pressed. "Did they beg you to stay? Threaten you? Please tell me you didn’t punch your manager."

Despite myself, I let out a short, humorless laugh. "No. Of course I wouldn’t do that."

Amie tilted her head. "So why did you even resign?"

I took another sip before answering.

"They made me the owner."

Silence.

Then—

"...What?" 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

I looked at her. "The owner."

Amie blinked once. Then twice.

"You’re joking," she said.

"I wish I were."

She leaned back against her stool, staring at me like I had just spoken in another language. "Sylvia. You were washing dishes a month ago."

"I know."

"And now you’re telling me you own the place?"

"Yes."

She opened her mouth, closed it, then dragged a hand down her face. "Okay. No. Start over. You’re skipping something."

I exhaled slowly. "Sylvester owns the restaurant. Or... owned it. Apparently, he handed it over to me."

Amie’s eyes widened, then immediately narrowed. "Sylvester? Who’s that?"