As he spoke, tears streamed down his cheeks, making it seem like I had bullied him.
"If you really mind, I’ll just take my mom and leave."
But though he said he would leave, his feet never moved.
I spoke coldly, “Alright then, leave. Now.”
Carson cried even harder, his shoulders trembling like a wounded rabbit, barely holding himself together.
Just as he turned to go, Jenna reached out and grabbed his arm.
“Carson, there’s no need for you to leave. I agreed to this arrangement today. I said we’d combine Aunt Symonne’s third death anniversary with the birthday banquet, and I always keep my word.”
Then she turned to me with a look of growing impatience.
“Bryce, that’s enough. Stop making a scene.”
I glanced at the funeral wreath and memorial display behind me, and fury surged like wildfire through my chest. My voice turned sharp with disbelief.
“You said your assistant would handle the birthday preparations. This is what you call a celebration?”
“Jenna, whether it’s superstitious or not, I’m not sick enough to celebrate my birthday in a damn memorial hall. Get rid of all this, now.”
Seeing that my tone left no room for argument, her frown deepened, and her expression hardened.
“Bryce.”