Chapter 1Love and Hate Are Too Luxurious

Two years in a cell, sent there by my own wife. The moment I got out, I changed my name and fled the country.

Seven years later, we met again before my sister’s gravestone.

Our eyes locked. She froze, the cloth in her hand hovering over the cold marble. A storm of emotions I couldn't decipher flashed across her face—shock, elation, guilt…

"Paul," she breathed. "I've been looking for you for years. I thought… I thought you were gone, too."

Her voice trembled. "Where have you been? Why didn't you ever call me?"

When I said nothing, she quickly dabbed the corner of her eye. "You've been avoiding me on purpose, haven't you? You still hate me for what happened back then. But you have to understand, I had no choice."

I couldn't fathom how she had the audacity to say those words in front of my sister's grave. Not after she’d orchestrated my sister's death, stolen her husband, and driven me to the brink of utter ruin.

But love and hate are luxuries I can no longer afford.

To me, she was nothing.

* * *

With a final, lingering look, Linda turned and walked away.

I knelt, placing the bouquet of snow-white chrysanthemums before the headstone. In the photograph, my sister, Amelia, was forever twenty-five, her smile warm, her eyes clear and full of light.

If she were still here, she would have been at the airport to pick me up today. She would have ruffled my hair, just like she always did when we were kids.

"Hey, kiddo, why the long face?"

No. If she were still here, she never would have let them bully me into leaving in the first place.

I crouched lower, my fingertips gently tracing the curve of her smile etched into the stone.

"Amy," I whispered, "I have some good news…"

Before I could finish, Linda returned, holding out a heavy-looking gift bag.

"I promised you I’d make you a gift for your birthday, every single year," she said, her voice soft. "I couldn't find you, so… I saved them all."

Inside were an electric razor, the latest gaming console, a designer watch… I could tell she’d put thought into them.

I remained unmoved.

Her hand hung awkwardly in the air, a flicker of hurt and embarrassment on her face. "You don't like them? I can have my assistant get something else. We could… we could have lunch?"

"No, I have plans."

She started to protest, but her phone buzzed. "Linda, when are you coming back?" a man's voice demanded from the speaker. "It's our seventh wedding anniversary today. I've already booked the restaurant…"

My fingers paused as I brushed a fallen yellow leaf from Amelia’s name.

This, Amy, I thought, is the man you once saved, the man you gave everything for.

You saw him all wrong.

And I trusted him all wrong.

A sudden tickle in my throat forced a pair of dry coughs from me.

"Linda, where are you? Who is that? Is there a man with you?"

She hung up without a word and pulled a disposable mask from her coat pocket, offering it to me. "Your allergy to the cold air… it always makes you cough in the fall. You should wear one of these."

I turned my head away. "I'm over it now."

After a final goodbye to my sister, I walked toward the cemetery gates. Linda hurried to catch up, her presence a clinging shadow I couldn't shake. I didn't understand. Seven years ago, she had warned me to never show my face to her again. Now, she was stuck to me like glue.

A rack of city bikes stood by the entrance. I scanned a QR code and unlocked one. Just as I was about to push off, her Mercedes pulled up smoothly beside me.

"Paul," she asked, a fragile, hopeful light in her eyes under the autumn sun, "have you been alone all these years?"

I nodded once, offering no explanation. The truth was, I’d come back to tell my sister that I was getting married. That was a joy I was willing to share only with her.

"Paul, don't try to be strong all by yourself out there. If you ever need anything, please, call me." She rushed the words out. "My number is still the same. I never changed it. I was so afraid that if you ever wanted to reach me, you wouldn't be able to find me."

A bitter smile tugged at my lips. Ironic, wasn't it? The very person who had severed every tie between us, who had wished me out of her life forever, was now playing the part of a devoted, long-suffering lover.

"No thanks," I said, my voice flat. "I'm not interested in getting tangled up with a married woman."

I pushed down hard on the pedal, and the bike carried me away, down the long path paved with golden gingko leaves. The wheels rustled over them, a sound that echoed with ghosts of the past.

I knew this path better than my own reflection. As kids, Amy and I would come here for morning runs, for bike rides. She was better than me at everything, except running. I would always slow down to let her catch up, and she’d mess up my hair, laughing as I pretended to be annoyed. She used to say that even when we were eighty, we’d still be here, arm in arm, walking this path and enjoying the sun.

But now, I was two years older than she would ever be.