The tumor had been discovered shortly after my father's coma. For years, Layla had blocked the procedure, forcing me to manage it conservatively.

The surgery carried a high risk of amnesia. She'd claimed she couldn't bear the thought of me forgetting her. And because I was a fool who loved her more than my own life, I'd endured the headaches and seizures, terrified of losing my memories of her.

I had fought until my body convulsed, refusing to surrender.

But now, that surgery wasn't a threat. It was salvation.

I didn't just accept the risk of forgetting Layla Matthews.

I prayed for it.

I turned to the cabinet behind me, my gaze landing on a small figurine. Hidden inside was a USB drive.

It contained a digital archive of our history—every memory I had cherished. I had planned to give it to Layla at the wedding, a testament to our journey.

But that gift would never be delivered.

Just like the wedding that had been aborted halfway through, our story would have no second half.

I held the funeral for Mom. The mourning hall was awash in the scent of gardenias, her favorite flower.

The solemn atmosphere shattered when Layla walked in, holding Bryce's hand. The audacity of it made my blood run cold. As I watched, Bryce stepped forward, picked up three sticks of incense, and moved toward the burner as if he had every right to pay respects.

"Who gave you permission to be here?"

I intercepted him, sweeping my hand down to knock the incense from his grip.

The lit sticks scattered. A few flakes of hot ash landed on the back of Bryce's hand. He shrieked, instantly diving behind Layla for protection.

"Sis... it hurts! It hurts so much!"

Layla examined the faint red mark on his skin, her eyes flashing with misplaced indignation.

"He only came to offer incense, Brandon. Was that really necessary?"

Bryce peered out from behind her, his eyes already swimming with practiced tears. He reached out and grabbed my hand with a look of utter devastation.

"Brandon, I'm sorry. I just wanted to give you both a gift at the wedding. I really didn't know it would end like this! Sis has already punished me. I know I was wrong."

Bryce had mastered the art of playing the victim, and Layla was his eternal, willing audience. In the past, I had endured his theatrics for her sake.

But I was done enduring.

"Layla, I will say this once," I said, my voice low and dangerously even. "Get him out of here."