After seven long years of being together, Eliana finally agreed to marry me.

The wedding hall was filled with guests, laughter, and endless blessings.

But I couldn't feel a trace of joy.

And just as I expected—when it came time to exchange rings, Eliana's so-called godbrother burst through the doors.

In front of everyone, he snatched the wedding ring, tossed it into the trash, and smashed the nine-tier champagne tower into shards. Then he clung to Eliana's leg, sobbing hysterically.

"Sister, I don't want you to get married!"

"You promised you'd stay with me forever!"

Eliana hurried to comfort him softly, then lifted her eyes to me.

"Jared, Gideon's having another episode. Let's cancel the wedding for now—we'll talk about it when he's better."

She said it so casually.

As if this disaster—like every one before it—was just a minor inconvenience.

I pressed my lips together, forcing my tone to stay calm.

"Eliana, we're either getting married today... or we break up."

"You choose."

——

Her face instantly turned cold. "Jared, you know what Gideon's condition is. How could you say something so heartless just to corner me?"

I searched her eyes, trying to find even a flicker of the warmth that once lived there.

But all I saw was indifference.

Seven years—and this scene had replayed countless times.

Eliana once told me that when they were children, she accidentally caused an injury that damaged Gideon's brain.

Since then, he's been prone to fits of madness.

Her guilt became a lifelong chain—one that she willingly wore, and every time, she shielded him.

On my birthday during our third year together, when all our friends were gathered, Gideon suddenly burst into the room and pointed at me, shouting, "You piece of trash! You think you deserve my sister?"

He smashed the cake into my face, and wrecked the entire room.

When my friends tried to retaliate, Eliana stopped them with outstretched arms.

"Jared, he's not well. Don't take it personally."

On Valentine's Day, I took her out for dinner.

Gideon showed up again.

He flipped the table, sending boiling hot oil splashing across my leg—leaving me with second-degree burns.

As Eliana wiped his hands, she looked at me and said gently, "Jared, he didn't mean it. He's having an episode."

But the worst came at my mother's funeral. Gideon crashed the ceremony, banging on a gong, laughing wildly.

"Serves her right! The old hag is dead—next is the bastard who stole my sister!"

"You deserve to die too!"

I clenched my fists until my nails dug into flesh.

And again, Eliana held me back, pleading, "Don't blame him. He can't control himself right now."

Every time, her compassion went only to him.

And me? I was always the collateral—second place to her pity.

Now, in the wreckage of our wedding hall, Eliana was once again holding Gideon, patting his back gently.

Then she looked at me with that same frosty calm.

"Jared," she said quietly, "if you truly loved me, you wouldn't force me to make this choice."

I looked down at the broken glass and spilled champagne, at the wedding ring lying in the trash.

And suddenly, I found it all absurd.

"I gave you seven years, Eliana," I said evenly.

"Seven years of waiting for you to choose."

"Today is the deadline."

"It's me—or him."

Gideon buried his face in her dress, crying, "Sister, please don't leave me..."

For a brief moment, Eliana's eyes flickered with conflict. But just as quickly, they turned to ice.

"If that's the case," she said, her voice steady, "then let's break up."

The answer didn't surprise me. It only confirmed what I'd known all along.

I nodded once, turned to the stunned guests, and said quietly, "The wedding is canceled."

"My apologies, everyone."

Gideon whispered something into Eliana's ear and she immediately led him away. She didn't even spare me a glance as they left.

After the guests had filtered out, I went back alone to the carefully decorated bridal suite and started packing my things. Not long after, Gideon updated his social feed. The short video showed a haze of club lights and booming music. He held a wineglass in one hand and had his other arm wrapped possessively around Eliana's slim waist, winking and mugging for the camera. Her veil was askew, cheeks flushed with drink, her eyes glassy.

The caption read, "Celebrating my sister's newfound freedom! Best sibling times—let certain dogs stop dreaming." It wasn't the words that stung so much as the image. The wedding dress I'd spent six months choosing looked like a joke.

A few minutes later Eliana messaged me.

[Jared, Gideon's still very emotional. I have to stay with him a little longer.]

[What I said at the wedding wasn't heartfelt. I only said it to calm him down.]

[You know about his condition—I had to be tough.]

[Don't be angry, and take it to heart, okay?]

[I'll come back once he's steadier and we'll set a new date.]

Reading those lines, I could practically see her expression as she typed. I picked up my phone, let my fingertip hover for a moment, then slowly typed two words. [No need.]

I'd almost finished packing when the lock clicked and the door opened. Eliana supported a very drunk Gideon into the room.

"Gideon's had too much. He insists on sleeping in our bed and I couldn't say no," she said. "Jared, please understand."

"Please understand." Those words turned like a rusty key in the lock of memory.

Six months earlier, this suite had been brand new. My mother had come over delighted, wanting to sit on the new bed and test the mattress. However, Eliana had brusquely blocked her.

"Auntie, in my hometown we never let outsiders touch the marital bed—it's unlucky."

I still remembered my mother's embarrassed, disappointed face as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. Now that rule meant nothing in front of Gideon.

I was too tired to look at her, too tired to argue a single word. I zipped up my suitcase and walked toward the door.

Eliana froze, surprised by my reaction. She asked on impulse, "Where are you going?"

I didn't answer. I didn't even slow my step. There was nothing left to say to someone blind to their heart.

The instant my hand reached for the doorknob, a gust of air came from the side and a sharp, unexpected blow cracked across my face. The force was heavy; heat and pain flared across my cheek.

Gideon had somehow broken free of Eliana. His eyes, bloodshot from the alcohol, glared at me as he jabbed a finger in my direction.

"My sister is talking to you! Scum! Are you deaf?!"

At first I didn't want to engage with him—scenes like this were nothing new after seven years. But my silence only fed his arrogance. He lunged, swinging the half-empty bottle he held, and smashed it toward me.

I turned my head instinctively, but it was too fast, too savage. The bottle struck my temple with a bone-rattling impact. A sharp explosion of pain ripped across my head.

However, he wasn't finished. Pointing at my nose, his voice a mix of malice and madness, he bellowed, "Get out! Scum! You're an eyesore just like your dead mother! Serves her right, she's dead!"

The last taut wire in my head snapped completely.

Without thinking, my right hand curled into a fist and I drove it with every ounce of strength I had straight into his face.

"Ah!!"

Gideon let out a short, terrible cry and staggered back a few steps before collapsing hard to the floor. He clutched his nose; bright red blood gushed through his fingers and splattered onto the floorboards. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop.

"Gideon!" Eliana's shrill cry cut through the silence. She rushed over, flustered, supporting him and using her sleeve to wipe his face, her eyes wide with shock and fury as they landed on me.

"Jared! What are you doing? Are you crazy?!" she snapped. "Don't you know Gideon is ill? How could you hit him so hard?!"

I watched her. Her whole world was the moaning figure on the floor; she didn't even glance at the blood seeping from my head. I wanted to ask her—is anything he does can be forgiven because he's "sick"? Am I always meant to be the sacrificial one, the one expected to understand?

Before I could say a word, a ripping pain exploded through my skull, as if something inside had detonated. The room spun, lights smeared into streaks, and I blacked out.

...

When I woke up, the first thing that hit me was the sting of disinfectant—cold and clinical in my nostrils. I forced my heavy eyelids open; blurred shapes resolved into the hospital ward's bland white ceiling. A man in a white coat stood at the bedside, looking down at the medical record folder in his hand.

"You're awake," he said, then came closer and checked the bandage on my head. "How do you feel?"

He examined my head, then looked up. "You have a mild concussion and a skin laceration on your forehead. You need five stitches." He gave a small, professional half-smile. "You were lucky. The glass fragments didn't hit any vital areas."

He paused, then his tone shifted to puzzled seriousness. "The girl who brought you in—she's your girlfriend, right? What happened? Her brother seemed extremely agitated in the emergency room; he was crying and making a scene. She's been trying to calm him down and didn't even have time to come see you during surgery."

I forced a tight smile and said nothing. The doctor sighed and didn't press further.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth and didn't say anything.

In the evening, the ward door was gently pushed open.

Eliana walked in. Her makeup was smudged; exhaustion flickered in her eyes. She paused at the bedside, staring at my bandaged head for a few seconds before speaking.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Not going to die," I answered flatly.

Eliana's brow knit. "Jared, don't say that. Gideon—"

"What about him?" I cut in, lifting my gaze to meet hers.

She pressed her lips together. "Your punch fractured his nasal bone. They're still treating it. More importantly, he was terrified—his emotions are unstable and his condition has gotten worse."

A fractured nose. Hearing that caused no ripple in me; if anything, the punch felt too light.

"So?" I asked.

Her usual lecturing tone snapped back at me, flustered by my coldness.

"Jared, I know you're angry, but can't you be rational? He was drunk and having an episode—he couldn't control himself! You're a normal person; how could you stoop to his level and hit him so hard?"