The day I tried on my wedding dress, my fiancé's "buddy", Charlotte Cole, suggested we play a game called "Ask Anything, Answer Nothing". The rules were simple: no matter what question you were asked, you had to answer with something completely unrelated. Anyone who broke the logic chain would have to drink as a penalty. Charlotte went first. "The bride's dress for tomorrow looks stunning—what's the color of your tie?" My fiancé, Harvey Sterling, answered with a chuckle, "Got your skirt dirty in the backseat last night. You weren't wearing anything underneath." His friends around the table burst into knowing laughter. I stood there frozen—the only one who didn't get the joke. I asked Harvey what he meant by that. He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his voice soft and patient. "It's just the game, babe. You're supposed to say nonsense. The whole point is to say the dumbest thing that pops into your head. Anyone who makes sense loses." Charlotte shot me a defiant glance and asked her next question, "Steak or sushi for dinner tonight?" Harvey didn't miss a beat. "Better not. I'm afraid she might still smell your perfume on me." I went rigid on the spot. All this time, I'd thought these ridiculous games he played with his rich friends were just for fun. They were known in their circles for being wild, after all. And I was just a quiet, bookish girl who spent most of my time in the lab. But what they didn't know was that while I may have lived in the lab, my specialty was micro-expression psychology. I was also a court-certified lie detection expert. When a person recalled a real memory versus fabricating a lie, the subtle shifts in their eye movements and micro-expressions were impossible to hide from me.