When Preston saw her, there was no trace of annoyance at being interrupted. Instead, his expression softened as he asked her gently.
“Savannah, what brings you here?”
Savannah flipped straight to the last page. “Preston, sign here.”
He didn’t even glance at it; he just signed his name.
Seeing how easy it was for him, Sydney let out a bitter smile.
‘So this is what it means when he loves someone—meetings can be interrupted, documents can be signed without a glance,’ she thought.
She had once foolishly thought he loved her. ‘Damn, that’s hilarious,’ she thought to herself.
Savannah handed the signed divorce papers back to Sydney. “Here. Don’t pester him again.”
Sydney took them and went straight to the clerk’s office.
She glanced outside; rain had started, cold and fine, whipping through the wind. She wrapped her coat tighter around herself, still shivering.
When she stepped back into the villa, she saw Preston and Savannah on the couch, entwined in intimacy.
Sydney turned a blind eye and headed upstairs.
But Savannah wasn’t done with her.
“Hey, Sydney. You grew up in the countryside, didn’t you? You must be good at cooking, right? I haven’t had much of an appetite lately. I want some soup made by you.”
Sydney’s face remained blank. “I’m not your maid,” she replied flatly.
Savannah pouted and whined at Preston. “Preston, I just want some soup. But she won’t even make it for me. Is she still mad that we let Loki stay in Julien’s room?”
Preston frowned, his eyes darkening as he glanced at Sydney. “It’s just a bowl of soup. You’ve used to make it before. If Savannah wants it, make it for her.”
Sydney froze. At that point, it felt like all the love she had poured out had gone to the dogs.
She had been pampered by the Strykers since childhood—her foster parents and Brooks had treated her like a little princess, never letting her touch chores.
She had learned to cook only for Preston because he was picky and refused anything the servants made. Feeling sorry for him, she took the initiative to learn.
Her hands had been burned with blisters more than a dozen times, every finger cut and scarred, before she finally mastered the skill.
And now that had become the very reason he bossed around her.
But Sydney sneered, firmly enunciating, “I won’t do it.”
She turned to leave when Preston’s face darkened. He barked, “Stop! If you want Julien’s ashes, go make the goddamn soup!”