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.