“What are you going to tell the um … Aurelius?”
I shrug. “I’ll figure something out. I could say the camera broke or something… Don’t worry about that.”
She nods, and with the relief on her face, you’d think I just made all her problems disappear.
“You know this means you’re going to have to fake obedience with them?” I watch her carefully, searching for a sign that she understands the seriousness of this. When she gives me a smallsmile, I’m certain she doesn’t. I feel no less guilty than I did before.
She scoots toward me, the corners of her eyes crinkled with misplaced gratitude. As her delicate hands slowly circle my torso, I open my arms for her and cradle her to me.
I’ve lied. I’ve manipulated. I’ve deceived.
But never before have I felt like a bigger imposter.
She has no idea what’s coming
CHAPTER 19
LUNA
My arms squeeze Sawyer tight, my cheek snug with his pec as he smooths a palm over my back. Small, gentle circles meant to comfort me, console the pitiful casualty of his noble mission.
It isn’t until his lips press to my hair that I allow myself to smile.
Two weeks. For two weeks, I’ve done everything I could think of to open him up. I’ve prodded him with anger, tried to appeal to him with pity, and even warmed to his advances all in the name of figuring him out.
Now, finally … a breakthrough. Ironically, one that’s been in front of my face the entire time.
Sawyer Hansley is a liar.
Animpeccableone.
One so good he could brainwash more than a hundred women with very little fight. One who can conjure tears, look youdead in the eye, draw up a story with all the details of a novel without thought.
He lies like a man who’s forgotten the truth, and it is wildly impressive until you realize that the one person Sawyer fools most…
Is Sawyer.
He is not soulless. Hehasa conscience.
He’s a thief who believes he’s stealing for a good cause.
He was a human trafficker who believes he built a paradise for the vulnerable. Believed it so much he convinced them of it too.
He can sell delusions because heisdelusional.
And those susceptible to their own delusions are susceptible to manipulation.
My dress snags on splintered wood when I shift onto my knees, pulling my hair from my face with a sniff. My eyes still feel puffy from assaulting them with my fists, and I let my eyelids be lazy, hanging halfway while I ‘pull myself together.’
Sawyer looks me up and down, assessing me. Lips curved upside down.
Both of our gazes draw to the ground as a woman yells out for the children to come inside. Playtime is over.
“You about ready to head back?” Sawyer asks, recapturing my attention.
Head back.
When we’ve been making so much progress.
