The Mistress Who Ran Away With The Twins-Chapter 182: Unspoken Truth

"Is this really everything I need to do?"

My voice came out quieter than I intended as I stared at the mountain of documents stacked neatly but mercilessly across my desk.

Invoices. Contracts. Expansion permits. Payroll summaries. Complaint reports. Internal memos.

All of them left behind by one man.

Sylvester.

I lifted my gaze slowly toward my secretary, who stood stiffly in front of my desk, fingers nervously twisting the edge of her tablet. When she met my eyes, she winced and scratched the back of her head.

"A-actually..." she began, hesitating. "That’s not even half of it, Ms. Sylvia. There are still documents from three other branches that haven’t been consolidated yet."

She quickly looked away, as if afraid of my reaction.

I closed my eyes and tapped my foot against the floor—once... twice... three times.

Now I understood.

Now I finally understood why Sylvester had handed everything over to me so suddenly. Why he’d laughed—too lightly—when he said, You’ll be fine.

That jerk...

He had opened branches even though the main restaurant was not even a year old. Most establishments waited years before expanding. They built stability, reputation, loyal clientele.

But this place?

It survived on prestige alone—on the Lincolm name.

People didn’t come here just to dine. Most of them came to build networks with the Lincolms. To shake hands with Sylvester Lincolm himself and take a chance at becoming business partners.

And now?

Now he was gone.

And I was the new owner.

A woman with no formal business experience. No real background in management. To some, I was probably just someone who didn’t know how to run a business—someone whose weakness was that I had once been a server, washing dishes before ever owning a restaurant.

I swallowed hard.

I knew exactly what would happen next.

There would be doubt.

There would be whispers about whether I was capable. Whether I deserved the position. Whether the restaurant would remain the same—or crumble under new leadership.

Some patrons would stop coming. Not because the food would change, but because Sylvester was no longer here.

And I expected it.

I had prepared myself for it.

Still... knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

I inhaled deeply, straightened my shoulders, and forced myself to stand taller.

I can do this.

I had raised two stubborn, chaotic, brilliant children on my own.

Surely, running a restaurant—no matter how overwhelming—was something I could learn.

Right?

"Thank you," I said to my secretary, my voice steadier than I felt. "You can leave the rest with me for now."

She nodded and quietly slipped out of the office, leaving me alone with the paperwork—and my thoughts.

I didn’t realize how much time had passed while I reviewed complaint reports and emails about the "new management."

Uncertain direction.

Different atmosphere.

Less personal.

Bring Mr. Lincolm back.

I sighed.

By the time I leaned back in my chair, my neck ached and my head throbbed.

I was seated behind my desk, sleeves rolled up, papers spread everywhere—contracts, inventory sheets, staffing schedules, branch performance reports. Sylvester’s handwriting appeared on most of them.

Managing one restaurant was already exhausting.

Managing several branches he had quietly placed under my care felt like drowning while pretending I could still breathe.

I exhaled slowly and rubbed my temples.

You wanted this, I reminded myself.

You chose this.

A soft knock broke the silence.

Barely louder than a whisper.

"Mom?"

I looked up instantly.

Relief flooded my chest.

I had asked Haide to bring the kids to me earlier, knowing I’d lose my mind if I didn’t see them soon. They were my anchors. My grounding force. My happiness wrapped in small, chaotic bodies.

My happy pills.

The door opened just enough for three heads to peek through.

Paris stood in the middle, eyes bright and curious. Egypt leaned in from the left, already wearing a mischievous grin. Cairo hovered behind them, half-hidden.

I smiled before I could stop myself.

"Yes?" I said gently.

They slipped inside together and closed the door behind them like they were guarding a secret.

Paris climbed onto the chair across from my desk without waiting for permission. Egypt leaned casually against the desk, arms folded dramatically. Cairo stayed standing, hands clasped neatly in front of him.

I raised an eyebrow. "Did you enjoy touring the restaurant?"

Paris grinned. "Yes! We saw someone familiar."

My pen froze mid-air.

"Someone familiar?" I repeated.

"Our ghost neighbor.." Egypt answered immediately, eyes sparkling.

I blinked. "Ghost... neighbor?"

"Yes!" Paris nodded eagerly. "The one who lives in the ghost house. He was here, Mom."

I straightened in my chair. "Here? Inside the restaurant?"

Egypt nodded hard. "He was wearing a lot of clothes. Like... a lot."

Cairo finally spoke, his voice soft but serious. "He looked sick."

That made me pause.

"Sick?" I echoed.

"He was covered from head to toe," Cairo explained carefully. "Mask, cap, glasses. Like he didn’t want anyone to see him."

Something shifted in my chest—not alarm, exactly.

Did they mean the man who always left breakfast at our doorstep?

Paris leaned forward. "At first, we thought he was scary."

"But then," Egypt interrupted with a grin, "he ordered a lot of food."

"Wait," I said slowly. "Did he talk to you?"

"Yes!" Egypt said proudly. "He even gave us all the desserts he ordered."

My stomach dropped.

"All... the desserts?" I repeated.

Paris nodded. "With toppings."

"And then," Egypt added in a hushed, dramatic voice, "he gave them to us and promised he’d come back again and treat us to more good food!"

Paris shot her a look. "Hey! He didn’t say that. You made him promise. Not the other way around."

My pen slipped from my fingers and clattered softly onto the desk.

"Wait," I said carefully. "Did he really share his food with you?"

"Yes, Mom," Cairo said simply. "He shared. He said he liked sharing."

My heartbeat quickened without my permission.

I stood slowly. "You talked to him?"

"Yes!" Paris said. "He’s quiet. Mysterious. Weird. And he kept looking at us sadly while smiling."

"Very weird.." Egypt agreed.

"But kind!" Cairo finished.

I swallowed hard.

Just a customer being nice, I told myself. That’s all.

Still—

"Are you sure he’s our neighbor?" I asked.

Paris nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! He didn’t even complain when we called him Mister Ghost."

"He fed you?" I pressed.

"Yes," Egypt said proudly. "He fed me first."

My stomach twisted.

"Did Haide know about this?" I asked, already stepping away from the desk.

"She came after," Paris said. "She said you were looking for us."

I didn’t wait any longer.

I pushed the office door open and stepped back into the restaurant, my heart pounding for reasons I didn’t fully understand. My eyes scanned the dining area automatically.

Empty.

Too empty.

"Haide!" I called.

She looked up immediately. "Yes, Ms. Sylvia?"

"The man the kids were with," I asked, trying—and failing—to sound casual. "Where is he?"

Haide hesitated. "He just left... a moment ago."

I turned toward the entrance.

And then I saw him.

The door was closing slowly, catching the light just enough to frame a retreating figure—dark jacket, shoulders slightly hunched.

Something about the way he moved felt familiar.

His posture.

My chest tightened sharply, as if someone had pressed a hand against my ribs.

That’s strange.

The man stepped outside. The door shut softly behind him.

I stood there longer than necessary.

Because that silhouette didn’t match the image of our new neighbor.

This man walked like someone carrying regret.

And for reasons I couldn’t explain, the thought hurt.

The house was quiet when we got home.

The kids rushed inside ahead of me, shoes abandoned at the entrance, laughter echoing down the hallway as they headed straight for the living room.

I followed more slowly, exhaustion finally catching up to me.

Handling everything Sylvester left behind had drained me more than I wanted to admit. I wasn’t sure I had the energy to manage anything else that day.

I was about to set my bag down when something outside caught my attention.

A familiar silhouette stood near the entrance.

My heart skipped.

Thinking it was our neighbor again—maybe with food, or another quiet gift—I stepped outside quickly.

Then my breath caught.

"No way." I whispered.

As I stepped fully into view, there he was.

Steve.

Standing near the window, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed.

Still unmistakably Steve.

He turned when he heard me.

"Syl."

The world tilted.

"Bern..." I said slowly.

Cairo appeared beside me, eyes widening. "Dad?"

Bern smiled softly. "Hey, buddy."

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

I shouldn’t have been there.

That was the first thought that crossed Rome’s mind as he stood a few houses away, holding a simple white cake box in his hands.

He remembered how Egypt’s eyes had lit up when she tasted the whipped cream. How Paris had insisted that chocolate syrup should always come first. How Cairo had quietly handed him the blueberries he didn’t like.

It shouldn’t have meant anything.

And yet—

Rome found himself stopping by the bakery without thinking. Ordering a small cake, nothing extravagant. Telling himself it was just a thank-you for spending time with him. A harmless gesture—something he was practicing in case they ever saw him bringing them a cake. Something neighbors did.

Rome was still wearing a disguise—cap pulled low, mask in place, jacket zipped up despite the heat. It was what he wore when he wanted to feel close without crossing a line.

Sylvia’s house came into view.

Warm. Soft. Beautiful, as always.

Rome slowed his steps instinctively.

And then stopped.

Someone was already there.

A man stood near the entrance, his back turned toward him. Tall—like him. Broad-shouldered—like him. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets, flowers held loosely in one hand.

Something cold slid down Rome’s spine.

He didn’t recognize the man’s face—yet but he recognized that posture. He had seen it before, once, when he was digging up information about Cairo.

Bern.

The one who had stepped into a role that was never supposed to be his. The man who had raised Cairo as his own. The man Cairo believed to be his father—his family.

The man Sylvia trusted.

Rome’s grip tightened around the cake box.

So this is where you are, he thought.

He stayed where he was, half-hidden in the shadow of a tree, his heartbeat slow and heavy. Bern hadn’t noticed him or Sylvia yet. He was focused on the doorway, waiting. Sylvia hadn’t even glanced around. She was too shocked when she saw the man in front of her; something in her expression shifted—surprise, then disbelief.

Rome couldn’t hear what they were saying.

But he didn’t need to.

It already hurt.

Then Cairo appeared.

"Dad?"

The word hit Rome hard—painfully.

Bern turned, smiling softly, and crouched just enough to meet him at eye level.

Something tightened painfully in Rome’s chest.

So that’s how it is now.

The box in his hands suddenly felt ridiculous. Intrusive. Out of place.

What was he even doing?