Savannah, pretending to reason, stoked the fire. “Don’t blame Preston, Sydney. After Chicago returned to the country, he wasn’t feeling well. Someone said some unclean spirit was harming him, so Preston had Julien’s ashes dug up.”
Sydney glared at Preston. “You fucking dug up Julien’s ashes?! Aren’t you afraid of karma?”
Savannah clutched her mouth, gasping. “Sydney! How can you curse Preston like that?”
Preston’s expression turned menacing. “Get lost! Make the soup!”
Sydney’s chest heaved violently, rage threatening to scorch her sanity.
Her Julien had been so obedient, so gentle, tormented by illness in life, and now, even in death, he was disturbed.
She couldn’t let him suffer further.
For him, she went to the kitchen.
The soup was ready when Savannah suddenly cried out, “Ouch! My hand! Sydney! Why did you pour this hot soup on me?!”
Hearing the panic, Preston rushed over and held Savannah in his arms.
His gaze, dark and murderous, shot to Sydney. “Do you want to die?!”
Sydney stood tall, her back straight. “I didn’t do it. She’s pretending.”
Veins bulging on his forehead, his eyes cold as steel, Preston suddenly pressed Sydney’s hand into the boiling soup.
“Ahhh!”