Rosy didn't seem to have heard my last words, but she instinctively stood up, blocking my cold glare toward Anthony. "Honey, it's your birthday and we finally got everyone together. What's going on?"
"I'm giving you a chance to explain," I offered.
That woman suddenly lost her patience and swept my birthday cake onto the floor. "Explain what? It's just a game. What's there to explain? You insist on making a scene, huh? Does this make you happy?"
Rosy had always managed to stay composed, even in the midst of a crisis. Yet this time, when I was merely testing her, she reacted so erratically.
Wasn't this a typical case of anger and humiliation caused by a guilty conscience?
Although it's almost inevitable for the birthday person to end up with cake smeared on them during the final part of the party, the sticky sensation on the top of my feet at this moment made me feel sick.
Noticing my disheveled state, Anthony couldn't even suppress the smirk at the corner of his mouth.
After cheering loudly, he called everyone over to play with the cake, as if everything that had just happened was really nothing more than a joke.