“I already told you how pitiful Carson is. He never tried to take anything from you; he just wanted a little grace, a chance to honor his mother’s third death anniversary. Now even her portrait is gone. You must be thrilled.”
Without waiting for a response, she rose to her feet, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.
“Wreck this birthday party.”
“If Carson can’t properly mourn Aunt Symonne, then Bryce doesn’t deserve a celebration either.”
On her command, the bodyguards began swinging their clubs recklessly, destroying everything in sight. Glass shattered, wood splintered, and chaos erupted.
My heart dropped when I saw the porcelain vase, my mother’s gift, worth two hundred million, teetering on the edge of a table.
I lunged forward in panic.
“No!!”
But I was too late.
The vase hit the floor and shattered into pieces, fragments scattering like a cruel farewell.
Stunned, I turned to find Jenna. She was already walking away, holding Carson tightly in her arms, never once looking back.
I heard Carson cried so hard he nearly passed out, and Jenna spared no expense in helping him. She ordered her assistant to urgently commission a new black-and-white memorial photo of Carson’s mother, this time, framed in glass and adorned with delicate diamond inlays.
To help her assistant save face, she even live-streamed the entire memorial through the company’s intranet. A few media reporters were invited as well, publishing flattering pieces that praised Carson as a symbol of filial devotion, declaring that such loyalty was rare among today’s younger generation.
Meanwhile, I crouched in silence, carefully gathering the shattered pieces of the blue-and-white porcelain vase. My mother’s final gift, now lying in fragments.
I had no idea if it could ever be restored, but I couldn’t stop myself from trying.
As I turned on my phone, a message from Carson lit up the screen.
[Bryce, so what if you come from a good family and were once Jenna’s fiancé?]
[In the end, didn’t she still choose me over you?]
Right after those two lines, another message appeared, this time, a photo. Jenna’s hand, still wearing the engagement ring, was tightly entwined with Carson’s fingers.
[See this hand? She touched me with it last night. You’re engaged to her, but you’ve never even gotten a taste, have you?]