The sound of the shattered vase echoed in the suddenly silent fitting suite. Delia looked at George, her expression unreadable.
" George." She said, her voice low out of surprise. She thought to herself . "What is he doing here?"
He stared back, his eyes fixed on her, taking in the sight of her in the magnificent wedding gown. The salesperson who had been leading him bent down, her hands fluttering nervously as she began to pick up the broken pieces of glass.
"Oh dear, oh dear! Lady Tremaine will be furious," she whispered, her voice trembling.
George ignored her completely. He entered the room, his eyes never leaving Delia.
"Sir... sir, you cannot be in here, it’s off limit." the salesperson said, trying to stop him.
He walked slowly, as if in a trance, seeing Delia looking more beautiful, more ethereal, than he had ever imagined. He stopped a few feet from her, his gaze sweeping over the luxurious room, the expensive dress, the priceless jewels.
"So, it wasn’t enough for you to just marry another man?" he began, his voice low and harsh. He looked around the room with a bitter sneer. "You didn’t even bother to let know."
Delia gave him a look of pure, cold indifference. "It’s none..." she started to say, but he cut her off.
"Excuses, excuses, excuses," he spat, his voice filled with a self-pitying rage. "You don’t need to make any more excuses, Delia. I see the truth right here in front of ." He continued to stare at her, his expression twisting into sothing ugly. "To be honest, when I saw you just now in that dress, I hated you. I hated you so much that you betrayed ."
Eric, standing beside Delia, took a protective step forward, his own face hardening into a mask of anger. He wanted to interfere, to throw this man out on his ear, but Delia, without looking at him, gave a slight, almost imperceptible shake of her head, signaling for him not to. She wanted to hear what he had to say.
George took this as an invitation to continue his sly words. "Wow," he said, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. "So you are really doing this to ? You are going to mock this hard?" His voice began to rise. "All this ti, I thought I shouldn’t be the one who is angry. I thought, ’I don’t need to feel sorry for her anymore.’"
His eyes flashed with a sudden, violent anger as he took another step towards Delia. But before he could get any closer, Eric moved, pushing him back with a firm, powerful shove.
"Stay away, George," Eric said, his voice a low, commanding growl as he stood protectively in front of Delia.
George stumbled back, but he wasn’t finished. He looked past Eric, his eyes fixing on Delia’s impassive face. "But I don’t need to be angry, do I?" he taunted. "Because you don’t look half as happy as you were when you were getting ready to marry . Do you rember that, Delia? You were so excited then. You were glowing. Now..." He looked her up and down with a contemptuous sneer. "Now you’re just standing there, a doll in a pretty dress, as though you are being sold off sowhere."
That was the last straw. The insult, so cruel and so personal, made sothing inside Eric snap. He lunged forward and, with a speed that was terrifying, he punched George squarely in the face.
The force of the blow sent George sprawling to the floor. Before anyone could react, Eric was on top of him, his face a mask of pure, unrestrained fury. He began to punch him again and again, each blow landing with a sickening thud. The sounds of the fight, the grunts of pain from George, and the raw, animalistic rage from Eric filled the once-elegant room.
George, his face already a ss of blood and bruises, managed to smile up at the man beating him. "Great," he coughed, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "Kill . Just like what you wanted to do to your brother."
The words, a direct and venomous accusation, seed to break through Eric’s rage. Delia, who had been frozen in shock, rushed forward. She grabbed Eric’s arm, pulling him away from George with all her strength. "Eric, stop!" she cried. "Stop it! He’s not worth it."
He looked at her, his chest heaving, his eyes still wild with rage. But her touch, her voice, seed to be the only thing that could reach him. He allowed her to pull him back, to calm him down.
George slowly, painfully, pushed himself up from the floor. He wiped the blood that was trickling from his nose and his split lip with the back of his hand, saring it across his cheek. His face was already beginning to swell.
He looked at the two of them, standing together, and let out a short, bitter laugh. "I wish you two the best of luck," he said, his voice thick and slurred from his injuries. He then looked directly at Delia, who looked back at him with that sa unnerving, indifferent expression. She felt nothing for him anymore. Not pity, not anger, not even hate. Just... nothing.
"Delia!" he said, her na a last, desperate plea for a reaction. "I truly wish you happiness." He paused, his bloodied face twisting into a final, pathetic sneer. "Though I don’t know if you will ever be able to be truly happy."
Delia didn’t answer him. To her, his words were just empty sounds, the aningless noise of a man she no longer knew. They didn’t affect her. They didn’t an anything to her. And so, they did not require a response.
George took one last, long, painful look at her in the beautiful white dress, a dress that should have been for him. Then, he turned and left, leaving a trail of blood and broken glass in his wake.
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