Anyone walking in would’ve been stunned.
At the center of the venue stood a large standee with my portrait.
Behind it, an enormous funeral wreath. The whole place reeked of death.
To someone who didn’t know better, it looked more like a funeral than a birthday.
Jenna looked displeased.
"Isn’t a wreath made of flowers, too? Stop being so superstitious. Carson is kind and gentle. How could he possibly curse you? I think these flowers are just as meaningful as roses. It’s only a birthday. You should be thankful. Why make a fuss like some spoiled young master?"
Seeing the tense atmosphere, Carson, still holding the black-and-white photo, stepped forward, flustered. His eyes were red, his voice trembling.
"Brother Bryce, please don’t be angry. Today is the third anniversary of my mom’s death. She never celebrated a birthday in her entire life. President Walton knew I only earn 3,000 dollars a month and couldn’t afford a ceremony, so she said it was fine to combine it with your celebration, so my mom could also feel joy. I didn’t think you’d be so upset..."
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.”
She stepped forward and gently pressed down on my hand, her brows furrowed as she tried to coax me with a soft tone.