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."