The Mistress Who Ran Away With The Twins-Chapter 176: Ownership

Sylvincolm Restaurant.

I stood there for a moment, my head tilted upward, staring at the elegant, expensive-looking signage glowing proudly above the entrance.

And yet everything was.

I still couldn’t believe Sylvester. He really dumped his responsibility on me.

"Mommy, are you going to work here again?"

I looked down at Cairo, who was resting comfortably in my arms. His small fingers clutched my shirt as his curious eyes moved between my face and the grand building behind me.

"No, sweetheart," I said gently. "I’m just here to clear up some misunderstandings your uncle created."

I smiled at him, trying to sound calm and reassuring, even though my chest felt tight.

"Huh? Uncle?" He tilted his head. "Uncle Sylvester or Uncle Stephenson?"

I let out a soft laugh and simply ruffled his hair. Explaining everything to him would be pointless. He was too young to understand responsibility or how adults could casually pass their burdens to others and call it a gift.

"Both of them." I replied lightly.

Just hours ago, I had been nothing more than a simple mother of three—dropping off two of my kids at school, reminding them to behave. Now?

I was apparently the owner of one of the most prestigious restaurants in the city.

Unbelievable.

"Miss Sylvia, I’m so glad you came!"

The voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

The stoic guard at the entrance hurried toward me. He was the same guard who used to ignore me completely when I entered the restaurant as an employee. No greeting. Sometimes, not even eye contact.

Now, he opened the glass door for me with a respectful bow.

Something he had never done before.

It was already late morning, just after I had dropped Egypt and Paris off at school. Earlier, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing in my pocket while I was walking home. I could still remember how irritated I’d been when I finally stopped and checked it.

Five missed calls.

All from the same number.

And one voicemail.

I had exhaled sharply before pressing play.

"Good afternoon, Miss Sylvia," a woman’s voice said, strained and slightly breathless. "This is Anna Reyes, your newly appointed secretary of Sylvincolm Restaurant. We’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday. May I please ask when you’ll be visiting the restaurant? We urgently need your presence."

Secretary?

Restaurant?

My brows had knitted together immediately.

I didn’t have a secretary.

I replayed the message again, slower this time, hoping I’d misheard something.

I hadn’t.

I remembered staring at my phone, irritation bubbling up fast.

"Secretary?" I muttered under my breath. "What secretary?"

Before I could overthink it further, the phone rang again in my hand. Same number.

I answered, already annoyed.

"Hello?"

"Miss Sylvia," the woman said immediately, relief flooding her tone. "Thank goodness. I’m so sorry for calling repeatedly, but we truly need you here."

"I think there’s a mistake," I replied bluntly. "I don’t have a secretary, and you’re mistaken. I’m not sure why you’re calling me, but I’m not the owner of Sylvincolm. Just call Sylvester."

There was a pause on the other line.

Then a careful inhale.

"Miss Sylvia," she said slowly, "with all due respect... no one has been managing the restaurant for the past two days."

My steps had halted completely.

"...What?"

"The former owner," she continued, choosing her words carefully, "Mr. Sylvester Lincolm left two days ago. He resigned, cleared his office, and turned over the restaurant."

Turned over?

"To whom?" I had asked sharply.

Another pause.

"To you."

The word had hit me like a slap.

"What?" I snapped. "That’s not possible."

"I understand your confusion," she said quickly. "But legally, operationally, and financially, the restaurant is now under your name. Mr. Sylvester Lincolm transferred full ownership and authority before he left—to his only sister, Sylvia Lincolm."

My grip had tightened around my phone.

"That man did what?"

"And, Miss Sylvia," she added, her voice tightening now, "we have multiple VIP reservations scheduled today. Very important clients. Without an owner present, the staff is... unsettled."

Unsettled?

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

"Why do important clients have anything to do with me?" I shot back. "I’m telling you, there’s a misunderstanding. Sylvester is childish sometimes. This is probably some stupid prank. Please don’t call me again."

"But Miss Sylvia," she insisted, "Mr. Sylvester was very firm. He said this restaurant was already under your name from the beginning. He didn’t transfer ownership because you’ve been the owner all along."

I remembered closing my eyes then.

Sylvester Lincolm.

That bastard.

He hadn’t just abandoned the restaurant.

He had dumped it on me.

"I’m on my way.." I said stiffly.

"Thank you," she replied immediately, relief flooding her voice. "We’ll be waiting for you."

Now, standing at the restaurant, that tight feeling returned to my chest.

Sylvester had always been like this, but this?

This was on another level.

"You don’t get to do this," I muttered as I pushed the door open. "You don’t get to hand me responsibilities like trash and disappear."

The bell chimed softly as I stepped inside—but I stopped short.

Lined up neatly in front of me were the staff. All standing straight. All staring.

But several familiar faces were gone.

Some were replaced by unfamiliar staff members who shifted awkwardly, glancing at me the moment they noticed my presence. Whispers followed almost immediately.

"That’s her."

"She’s here."

"The owner?"

Owner.

I glanced down at myself.

A simple white shirt. Black jeans. Flat shoes.

Compared to my supposed status as the owner of the restaurant, I probably looked more like a struggling applicant than the person who owned the place. I suddenly understood the confused, doubtful looks some of the staff were giving me.

The former manager—the same woman who used to nag me endlessly—approached hesitantly. She stopped a few feet away and bowed slightly.

"Miss Sylvia," she said respectfully. "I’m Anna Reyes."

She was the same woman who used to look at me like I was an inconvenience whenever I came by. Sharp tongue. Cold eyes. Always correcting me. Always impatient.

Now she stood before me with her hands clasped politely in front of her, posture straight, expression... apologetic.

She looked different and humbled.

"You’re the secretary?" I asked slowly.

"Yes," she replied. "As of two days ago."

I stared at her.

"You were the manager."

She nodded. "I was."

"And now you’re my secretary."

"Yes."

I let out a breath and rubbed my temple.

"This is unbelievable."

"I understand," Anna said quietly. "And I owe you an explanation. A long one."

She gestured toward the office. "Please. We should talk privately."

I followed her inside.

The office looked the same.

Except Sylvester’s desk was gone.

Cleared and empty.

Only one desk remained with my name on it.

I stopped short as she handed me a thick folder filled with documents.

"These are the operational reports, staff changes, financial statements, and reservation schedules," she explained. "I’ll guide you through everything."

I looked at her sharply.

"Why are half the staff gone?"

She swallowed.

"Some resigned after Mr. Lincolm left. Others... were terminated due to misconduct that had been overlooked before."

I laughed bitterly.

"So he left me to clean this place up. Huh."

Anna lowered her head.

"I’m sorry," she said.

I blinked.

That was new.

"I wasn’t kind to you before," she continued. "I misjudged you. And when Mr. Lincolm transferred authority to you, I realized how wrong I was."

She met my eyes.

"I’m sorry for how I treated you."

Silence settled between us.

I hadn’t expected that.

Not from her.

"I don’t even know how to run a restaurant like this," I said quietly. "I never asked for this."

"But he trusted you," Anna said gently. "Enough to leave everything behind."

"Or he just wanted to run away," I replied sharply.

I dropped into the chair behind the desk.

"This is insane."

Anna hesitated.

"There’s more.." she said.

I looked up.

"The VIP guests arriving today," she continued carefully. "One of the families... is the De Montells."

My breath hitched.

"And?" I asked, already bracing myself.

"And Mrs. Hariston will be with them."

My blood went cold.

Rome’s mother.

Of course. Of course this would happen.

My fingers curled against the armrest.

"And why exactly is my presence needed when they arrive?" I asked tightly.

"They specifically requested the owner’s presence."

I let out a shaky breath. The universe truly had a cruel sense of humor.

First Rome. Now his mother?

"Then I guess I don’t have a choice." I said slowly, straightening in my seat.

Anna nodded. "I’ll be right beside you. And this..."

She handed me a folded piece of paper.

"Mr. Sylvester asked me to give this to you."

I took it.

The moment I read the contents, my hands trembled with rage.

~~Good luck, sister, in running the restaurant.

Oh, by the way, I might have forgotten to mention that what you’re holding is the main branch. There are three more branches under it.

No pressure.

I’m sure you’ll handle them all beautifully.

Think of it as my little surprise gift.

Muah ~~~

I crumpled the paper and threw it straight into the trash.

"Damn you, Sylvester."

---

Not long after, Anna returned with a staff uniform.

"Miss Sylvia," she said carefully, "since the guests are arriving soon, it might be best if you... blend in first."

I stared at the uniform.

"You want the owner to wear this?"

She smiled weakly. "Just... for now."

Minutes later, I stood near the entrance wearing the staff uniform, hair tied neatly back, a forced polite smile on my face.

The doors opened.

And then Mrs. Hariston walked in—elegant as ever, followed by two women who looked like her friends.

Behind her was Ingrid, also accompanied by two women about the same age as her.

Their conversation stopped abruptly.

Mrs. Hariston’s gaze landed on me.

She frowned slightly.

"...Sylvia?"

Ingrid’s eyes widened.

I smiled sweetly.

"Welcome to Sylvincolm Restaurant," I said politely. "May I assist you?"

For the first time in a long while, Mrs. Hariston looked genuinely speechless.

And Ingrid?

She looked like she’d just seen a ghost.