“Anyone who harms the Strykers will regret it,” he swore.
After hanging up, Sydney’s eyes hardened.
She would leave Preston for good!
The Strykers weren't just a wealthy family. They were the most mysterious top-tier tycoons in the capital, controlling the country’s entire economy.
Sydney lifted her hand to caress her lower belly. The surprise she had planned for Preston no longer felt necessary—after today, there was nothing left to tell him.
She turned and walked toward the cemetery.
Today was Julien’s birthday. Alone, Sydney knelt in front of her son’s grave.
The tombstone was cold and bare, not a single flower laid there. Preston hadn’t even glanced at his son once.
The night air was chilling, but not nearly as cold as the hollow ache in Sydney’s chest.
‘My baby… You could have survived if only your father hadn’t given your heart to Chicago instead,’ she thought, her chest aching and suffocating her.
She failed to protect him, and she blamed herself for that.
Her fingers trembled as they brushed over Julien’s face etched into stone. “My baby… those who hurt you—they’ll get what they deserve…” she promised through clenched teeth.
Exhausted, she dragged herself home. But when she pushed open the door, the scene that greeted her ripped her chest apart—Preston and Savannah were celebrating Chicago’s birthday.
The table was laden with food, a cake pristine and sweet, and the three of them wore smiles that seemed to mock her grief.
Preston’s long, elegant fingers shelled lobster one by one, carefully placing the meat on Savannah’s plate.
The tenderness in his gaze stabbed at Sydney like knives.
He had always been obsessive about cleanliness. Every time he ate lobster, Sydney had shelled each one for him. And now… he was doing it for Savannah.
Chicago stood on his chair, yelling for cake. Preston didn’t scold him at all; he cut the cake and gave him a slice, coaxing him gently and patiently.
The scene reminded Sydney of her own son, the memory of him so painful she had to catch her breath.
Preston had never once celebrated a birthday with Julien. The father that he was had been “too busy,” and when he was home, he was stern. ‘Boys shouldn’t be delicate,’ he would say, never embracing Julien, never feeding him at the table.
Julien had died without ever seeing his father celebrate him. Meanwhile, Savannah’s son easily won Preston’s affection.