Chapter 1
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.
******
I kept my eyes fixed on Harvey.
When he spoke, his gaze instinctively drifted down and to the right. The zygomaticus major on his right side twitched slightly upward, and his pupils dilated in that instant. These were not the reactions of someone fabricating a story on the spot.
He was clearly recalling something that had actually happened—and that he'd enjoyed. Every question Charlotte asked, every answer Harvey gave, was a confession of something they'd done together.
I'd been quiet too long. Harvey draped an arm over my shoulder and pulled me against him. "What's wrong, babe? Spacing out?"
He slipped his suit jacket over my shoulders, his tone dripping with affection. "It's just a stupid game. You're always reading those academic papers—you've lost all sense of humor, haven't you?"
I didn't answer. I just stared into his eyes, searching for even a flicker of guilt. But there was none. His micro-expressions showed only the arrogance of someone in full control and the lazy habit of brushing me off.
Charlotte swirled her drink, drawing out her words with deliberate slowness. "That reception dress has such a fussy hemline. What hairstyle are you thinking for tomorrow?"
Harvey raised his glass, gazing at me with theatrical tenderness—but his answer had nothing to do with me.
"Whatever you want. As long as you moan as loud as you did in the hotel room last night."
The room erupted in laughter. Amid the raucous noise, Harvey leaned in close. "Tired, sweetheart? We've got the wedding menu tasting early tomorrow. I'll drive you home."
All I felt was revulsion. "You know," I said, "your game sounds awfully real."
Harvey's brow flickered—a barely perceptible furrow—and his pupils dilated. His body had reacted defensively the moment his secret was touched. But he recovered quickly, reaching over to pinch my cheek. "Come on, babe. Tomorrow, you'll be Mrs. Sterling. Don't be that person who can't take a joke. You've always been a bit too sensitive."
Charlotte slid her arm through mine. "Exactly, Yvonne. Harvey and I grew up together—we're practically family. And if he ever makes you cry, I'll be the one to spoil you in his place."
The smugness in her eyes was practically spilling over. I was about to call them both out when Charlotte suddenly clutched her ankle. "Ouch. That hurts."
Harvey's arm released me instantly. He crossed the room in two strides, crouched down, and cradled her foot in his hands. The sudden loss of support threw me off balance. My lower back slammed into the glass coffee table. A sharp jolt of pain shot through me. I couldn't help the gasp that escaped. Harvey didn't even turn around.
Charlotte leaned back on the sofa, her eyes fixed on me over his shoulder, her eyebrows lifting in undisguised triumph. The look they exchanged was full of unchecked intimacy.
In the three years we'd been together, Charlotte always had a reason to call Harvey away at every gathering.
Stomachaches. Low blood sugar. Insomnia. Couldn't get a cab. And every single time, Harvey would drop everything to run to her. All this time, while I thought I was happy and secure, they'd been hooking up right under my nose.
After checking her ankle, Harvey turned to me like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Charlotte sprained her ankle. I'm taking her to the hospital for X-rays. You can take a cab back to the apartment. Get some sleep—don't wait up."
I shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the sofa. "Don't bother finalizing the menu for tomorrow."
Harvey blinked. He thought I was just jealous. He reached out to pat my head—his usual habit. I turned away. He frowned, exasperated. "Are you throwing a tantrum again? Charlotte's not you. I can't exactly let her limp home on her own. You're an adult. Don't act like a child."
He gave my forehead a perfunctory kiss. "Be good. You're the one I'm marrying, okay?"
With that, he scooped Charlotte into his arms and strode toward the door. Charlotte rested her head against his chest, her smile as bright as ever. "I wonder if it's raining outside—did you remember to bring an 'umbrella'?"
Harvey's Adam's apple bobbed. "Yeah. Got three whole boxes of strawberry-flavored ones in the car."
Back at the apartment, I blocked Harvey on every platform.
The wedding was off.
