The Mistress Who Ran Away With The Twins-Chapter 177: The Day The Tables Turned

For a split second, the air around us felt frozen.

It was the kind of stillness that pressed against my ears.

Mrs. Hariston’s elegant composure cracked just enough for me to notice.

Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something—but instead, she turned her gaze away from me. She deliberately avoided my eyes.

Ingrid, on the other hand, recovered immediately.

Her widened eyes narrowed almost instantly. A slow, sarcastic smile curved her lips as she looked me up and down. From my neatly tied hair, to the plain staff uniform I was wearing, all the way down to my flat shoes.

It wasn’t a glance. It was the kind meant to humiliate.

"Well," she said lightly, tilting her head. "If it isn’t you again."

Her tone was sweet, almost friendly—but the venom underneath it was unmistakable.

I kept my posture straight, my hands folded neatly in front of me like any other staff member would. Inside, my pulse thudded hard against my ribs.

Ingrid let out a soft laugh, the sound deliberately loud enough for her friends to hear.

"I’m surprised to see that you’re still here, honestly," she said casually, her eyes fixed on me before she glanced at her friends. "Because I recently heard a rumor that no one wants to hire you anywhere you go—not even as a janitor."

One of the women beside her—a tall brunette wearing diamond earrings—snorted softly.

"Is she the lowly woman you were talking about? The one who tried to steal Rome from you before, and the reason he divorced you again?" she whispered to Ingrid, not bothering to lower her voice.

"Yes. That’s exactly the woman I was referring to.." Ingrid replied.

"Really? How pitiful... if I were her, I would certainly hide out of shame.." the woman murmured, making no effort to hide her disdain.

"That’s how shameless she is." Ingrid added, her sarcastic smile widening as she glanced at the staff behind me, as if trying to humiliate me.

"I even thought the first time I saw you here," she continued, "that you wouldn’t be coming back. But it looks like this restaurant doesn’t know how to choose its staff."

She gestured vaguely around the restaurant, her wrist flicking as if everything here suddenly offended her.

"They even accept people like you," she added. "Or maybe they’ve been deceived by your innocent little act."

Her friends chuckled.

"Looks can be very misleading," another woman commented lazily. "Especially when desperation is involved."

I couldn’t stop my fingers from curling into fists. There was a sharp flicker of heat in my chest—anger, hot and biting but I forced myself to breathe.

Be calm, Sylvia....

Before I could respond, Ingrid turned slightly toward Mrs. Hariston, as if I had already ceased to exist.

"Mother," she said, her tone suddenly softer. "Isn’t this uncomfortable? I mean, I thought Sylvincolm was supposed to be the best restaurant in the city."

"But seeing this..." she added with mock concern. "...doesn’t it lower the standard a bit?"

Mrs. Hariston didn’t respond.

Instead, she avoided Ingrid’s gaze entirely and continued walking toward their reserved table. Her friends followed, whispering quietly among themselves, casting curious glances back at me—but wisely keeping their mouths shut.

That silence made Ingrid frown.

She slowed her steps, clearly expecting Rome’ mother to agree. Or at least to react. When Mrs. Hariston didn’t, Ingrid shot her an irritated look before turning back to me, that same insulting smile firmly in place.

She followed her group to the table, but not before adding one last remark over her shoulder.

"Try not to embarrass the restaurant too much," she said lightly. "If you can."

They took their seats.

I stayed where I was for a moment, my polite smile frozen on my face, my nails pressing lightly into my palms.

Be calm, Sylvia.

It’s only your first day as the owner. You can’t retaliate. Cairo is in the office. You should think that you’re doing this for him.

I glanced subtly toward the hallway leading to the back. Knowing he was there grounded me.

At the table, Ingrid’s friends were already laughing again.

Mrs. Hariston sat quietly at the corner of the table, her expression unreadable.

She had never been quiet before. She was one of the first to look down on me when everything in my life started falling apart.

And yet now... she said nothing. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

I watched as one of the servers approached their table with menus, only to be dismissed with a sharp wave of Ingrid’s hand.

"We’ll wait," Ingrid said coolly. Then she tilted her chin toward me. "I want that woman over there to bring the menu," she added. "And explain everything on it."

The way she looked at me made my stomach tighten.

I took a slow breath and stepped forward, forcing my voice to remain steady.

"Our restaurant’s specialty is the truffle-infused wagyu tenderloin," I began, naming one of the most expensive dishes on the menu. "paired with a—"

"Oh," Ingrid interrupted with a small laugh. "I don’t think that’s really your specialty."

One of her friends leaned forward, eyes sharp.

"Can you even pronounce those ingredients properly?"

Another chimed in.

"She probably memorized that this morning."

Ingrid leaned back, clearly enjoying herself.

"I suddenly lost my appetite," she said. "Why don’t you tell us more about yourself instead?"

She smiled sweetly.

"Entertain us. Right?"

A few of her companions nodded halfheartedly. Two of them laughed outright, covering their mouths with manicured hands.

"I’m sorry," I said carefully, "but I’m not an entertainer. I’m here to work professionally, and the way you’re speaking—"

"Oh?" Ingrid cut in sharply. "Do you have a complaint?"

She leaned forward, eyes cold.

"Do you even have the right? What if I report you to your manager for not satisfying a VIP customer’s demands?"

She turned to the server standing beside me.

"You," she snapped. "Call your manager. I want to speak to whoever’s in charge."

The server nodded nervously and hurried away.

I glanced toward Anna, who was standing a short distance away. Our eyes met briefly. She inhaled slowly, as if bracing herself for what she knew was coming.

Mrs. Hariston finally spoke.

Her gaze shifted not toward me, but toward Anna.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice calm but firm. "Are you the manager here?"

Anna stiffened slightly, then stepped forward and bowed politely.

"I’m sorry, ma’am," she said carefully. "I’m no longer the manager. I’m Anna Reyes, the newly promoted secretary of Sylvincolm Restaurant."

Mrs. Hariston’s brows knit together.

"Secretary?" she repeated. "From manager to secretary?"

One of Ingrid’s friends scoffed openly.

"That’s a downgrade if I’ve ever seen one."

Mrs. Hariston continued, "Then where is your manager? Why hasn’t she come to greet us?"

Anna swallowed. I could see her throat move from where I stood.

"There is... no manager at the moment, ma’am.." she replied.

The silence that followed was brief—but heavy. Ingrid let out an incredulous laugh.

"No manager?" she echoed loudly. "Is this some kind of joke?"

She glanced around the restaurant, her eyes sweeping over the staff.

"This is highly unprofessional," she continued, her voice rising. "We made a VIP reservation. We expect to be welcomed by your best staff, not—"

Her gaze snapped back to me.

"—by a low woman who doesn’t even know her place."

A few heads turned. Whispers rippled through the dining area.

"She really said that?"

"How embarrassing..."

Anna opened her mouth to speak, but Ingrid cut her off.

"So let me get this straight," Ingrid went on, crossing her arms. "You don’t have a manager, and instead you thought it would be appropriate to let her greet us?"

She gestured sharply toward me.

Mrs. Hariston finally looked at Ingrid. Her expression was unreadable.

"Ingrid." she said quietly, a warning threaded through her tone.

But Ingrid was already on a roll.

"I’m offended," she declared, turning toward her companions. "I truly thought Sylvincolm was still worthy of its reputation. But clearly, standards have fallen."

One of her friends nodded.

"Anyone can stand at the door now."

Ingrid tilted her head, her smile sharpening.

"Even someone like her."

That was when Anna spoke. Her voice was steady, though her hands trembled slightly at her sides.

"We don’t have a manager because the owner is personally overseeing the restaurant today."

Ingrid scoffed.

"Oh?" she said sarcastically. "And where exactly is this mysterious owner?"

Anna didn’t answer immediately.

She turned her head. And looked at me.

Every eye at the table followed her gaze.

The clink of cutlery somewhere in the restaurant suddenly sounded too loud.

Ingrid’s smile faltered—just for a fraction of a second.

I took a slow breath. Then I stepped forward.

The polite smile I had been forcing onto my face faded—not into anger, but colder and controlled.

"You were looking for me?" I said evenly.

I stopped beside their table, standing tall despite the uniform, despite the weight of their stares.

"I’m the one you asked for."

Ingrid blinked.

Mrs. Hariston stared.

"What are you doing?" Ingrid snapped. "Don’t tell me you actually think—"

"I didn’t think," I interrupted calmly. "I know."

I met her gaze directly.

"I’m Sylvia Lincolm," I continued. "And as of two days ago, I am the new owner of Sylvincolm Restaurant."

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Ingrid laughed—loud and sharp.

"That’s ridiculous," she said. "You expect us to believe that?"

Mrs. Hariston didn’t laugh. Her eyes were fixed on me now.

Anna stepped forward again.

"It’s true, ma’am," she said respectfully. "All ownership and authority have been transferred to Miss Sylvia."

Ingrid’s laughter died abruptly. She turned to her mother.

"Mom?"

Mrs. Hariston didn’t answer right away. She studied me carefully, her gaze sharp and assessing.

"Is that true?" she asked finally. "What is your relationship with the former owner?"

Before I could respond, Ingrid snapped,

"So this is some kind of joke? You’re telling me this place is owned by her?"

"Yes." Anna replied.

Ingrid’s fingers curled against the edge of the table.

"How convenient," she sneered. "You’re really a user, aren’t you? Using the Lincolm name now?"

She leaned forward, eyes cruel.

"Don’t tell me you seduced Mr. Sylvester just to get in here."

"Ingrid, that’s enough." Mrs. Hariston cut in sharply.

Then she turned to me, her voice cold.

"Do you know that lying about ownership is a serious offense?" she said. "I could report you to Mr. Sylvester himself."

I leaned forward slightly, resting my hands on the back of an empty chair.

"I am the owner," I replied calmly. " And I have nothing to gain from lying to you."

Her eyes flashed.

"Sylvia," she said slowly, my name sounding unfamiliar in her mouth, "why are you wearing a staff uniform?"

"Because today," I answered evenly, "I’m learning every corner of this restaurant."

I straightened.

"And because I don’t believe ownership makes someone too important to serve others."

Silence followed.

Ingrid scoffed again, but it lacked conviction.

"Well," she said stiffly, "that’s... admirable. If you enjoy playing pretend."

I smiled faintly.

"Unbelievable. I’ll really report you to Mr. Sylvester, and we’ll see where you end up after this!" Ingrid scoffed.

"Then report me to him. I’d be happy to hear that."

"Uhm..a-actually...Miss Sylvia Lincolm," Anna interjected. "is the only sister of Sylvester Lincolm, the former owner."

Shock rippled through the table.

"What!?"

Ingrid opened her mouth but Mrs. Hariston raised a hand.

"That will be enough, Ingrid."

Ingrid stared at her in disbelief.

"Mother?"

"We came here to dine," Mrs. Hariston said calmly. "Not to cause a scene."

She turned to me.

"If you are truly the owner," she said, "then I expect excellence."

I inclined my head slightly.

"You have my word."

As I stepped away, signaling the staff, something unfamiliar settled in my chest.

Not fear but resolve.

I would handle everything starting from now. And no one would ever look down on me here again.