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!”
Sydney spun around, disbelief and rage igniting. “Preston! What have you done?! You dug up Julien’s ashes?!”
Preston frowned at her furious gaze.