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?"

Here we go again.

I looked at her—the woman I'd loved for seven years, the woman who had almost become my wife—and suddenly she felt utterly foreign.

"Eliana," I said slowly, "just because he can't control himself, it's okay for him to smash a bottle over my head?"

Her eyes flickered. "He didn't mean it—"

"Then his insult to my mother was unintentional too?" I fixed my gaze on hers so she couldn't look away. "Was all that just ‘unconscious babbling'?"

"He was talking nonsense!" Eliana raised her voice. "Why are you picking on a patient?"

"Why can't I?" My tone cooled. "Just because he's ill, does that give him the right to trample my dignity, my feelings, and my mother's memory? Why must I always be the one to suffer and understand?"

"Eliana, the things you did back then, the guilt you carry—why should I pay the price for them?" I pushed.

Her face went blank. After all, she had never heard me speak so bluntly.

"That's not what I mean, Jared. Let's calm down, okay? I'm sorry—once Gideon calms down, we'll talk properly—"

I cut her off. "There's nothing to talk about. You don't owe me an apology either."

I closed my eyes; the cut at my temple throbbed. "Between us, it was already over when you went to the bar with him in your wedding dress."

Eliana's brow knitted tightly; her voice pitched higher. "I said that to settle him down! Can't you understand? I'm stuck in the middle here!"

My gaze was steady and empty. "Don't trouble yourself. Leave, Eliana. Go take care of the brother who can't do without you. He's more important than me."

She opened her mouth as if to protest, but only pressed her lips together and left the ward.

She didn't come back for the next few days.

After I was discharged, I went alone to the cemetery to say goodbye to my mother and leave the city.

When I arrived, the sight made my blood rush to my head and my limbs went cold.

Gideon.

He was there with a shovel—where he'd gotten it, I had no idea, but he was frantically digging at my mother's grave. Soil lay overturned everywhere; the headstone had been knocked askew.

"Stop!" My mind went blank. I lunged forward without thinking.

Before I could reach him, two burly, black-clad bodyguards sprang out from the side and pinned me down, one on each side. No matter how I struggled, I couldn't break free.

"Let go of me! Gideon! I'll kill you!" I screamed, veins bulging in my neck.

Eliana came running up, stepping between us. "Jared! Don't be rash! Calm down!"

"Calm down?" I shouted. "You expect me to stay calm while this lunatic digs up my mother's grave?!"

She averted her eyes, speaking with the weary tone she always used. "Because of your punch, Gideon's condition has worsened. He can't be provoked—you have to understand!"