Once a Doormat Now Untouchable (Caleb and Sydney) novel Chapter 169

Sydney saw no reason to cozy up to Charlotte. Perhaps her refusal had been too blunt, because the ever–smooth Charlotte’s expression stiffened for the first time.

Nearby, others glanced over.

Charlotte recovered quickly and said lightly, “Alright, next time then.”

“Sure.” Sydney inclined her head, and Charlotte soon departed.

As Sydney approached the lab, mocking voices drifted from the common area.

“Wow, she really thinks she’s something. Even Ms. Lindstrom doesn’t matter?”

“Exactly.” The second voice was familiar–it belonged to a member of her own team. “Does she not realize who Ms. Lindstrom is? Eight or nine times out of ten, she’ll be the future Mrs. Sterling.”

Sydney froze mid–step.

The voices continued.

“If you ask me, your whole department had better stop wasting your time. If she dares to offend the future CEO’s wife, your group will be shut down any day now.”

Sydney’s face hardened. She strode over, dropped her coffee on their desk with a heavy thud, and said coldly, “If your idea of research is currying favor and bowing to power, you might as well disband now!”

They were grown men, but their expressions changed uneasily under her scathing reprimand. By the time they recovered, Sydney had already entered the lab and buried herself in work.

Henry arched a brow. “Don’t you think she’s right? Then get moving. You’re all men. Being left in the dust by a girl isn’t a good look, is it?”

Sydney ignored their muttered protests, immersing herself completely. The sooner she made a breakthrough, the more lives she could save and more families she could give hope to. And for herself, it meant leverage-

freedom.

After work, Sydney detoured to pick up Tiffany’s favorite dish for dinner. She excelled at medicine and could handle most things, but cooking was hopeless. As a student, she had survived on pasta three meals a day. After marrying Caleb, she had hoped cooking might bridge the distance between them. One disastrous meal later, she had given up.

Nancy had gently urged her to leave the kitchen alone. Sydney was better at prescribing medicinal diets than preparing them, and household meals were best left to staff.

That night, Sydney sat with Tiffany until she finished both the food and her medicine, then began clearing the table. She gathered the remaining trash, tied up the bags, and prepared to take them downstairs. She had showered already, now dressed only in a nightgown.

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Tiffany, still hoarse from her fever, called out, “At least throw on a coat. Don’t get sick too.”

Sydney disliked the dark underground garage, so she always carried the trash to the bins on the first floor.

Outside, the winter wind howled, sharp enough to cut through bone. She slipped into a long down coat, grabbed the trash bags, and opened her door only to halt.

A woman was standing at Julian’s door. Even from behind, Sydney recognized Charlotte.

Charlotte tapped in the code with practiced ease, pushed the door open,

and walked in.

Sydney slammed her own door shut. A strange discomfort twisted inside her.

It was his home, and Charlotte came and went freely. The sensation was sharp and perverse, like someone had sliced a lemon and let the juice trickle into her mouth, slide down her throat, and spread through her chest. Her nerves burned with the bitter tang.

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