For just a moment everything had felt so raw, so real. If I were to lie next to him in his bed, we’d start to talk, and with the words would come all the old manipulations and deceptions. Just for one night I want to put all those words aside and savor this feeling. It’s funny because Micah knows my story but he doesn’t know anything about who I am. Lander doesn’t know a damn thing about my history . . . and yet he sees me with clearer eyes than anyone ever has. Sometimes I think that if all my interactions with Lander were in silence, he would know everything. But with words I can throw him off and distract him from the truth he so clearly senses but can’t yet pinpoint.

So I sit in the back of a cab, replaying the events of the night as the driver rushes through the busy streets, breaking traffic laws like they’re nothing more than false promises.

I spent so much time studying Lander from afar, but none of that prepared me for the man he is. I don’t know if I hate him or love him . . . but then, I feel the same way about myself.

My cell rings in my handbag, and reluctantly I fish it out. Travis’s number flashes across the screen. I know I have to answer but I really don’t want to.

I let it ring again. When I started this game I had lumped all the Gables together. They were a singular enemy. But now I can see that my categorization of these men was much too simplistic. They’re all charged with the same crime, but if I were Lander I’d want to be tried separately.

My phone rings again. I squeeze my eyes closed and pick up, pressing it against my ear without saying a word.

“Bell? Is that you?”

No! I want to scream. I am not Bell! But instead I put a smile in my voice as I answer, “Yes, Mr. Gable, it’s me.”

“What did he say?”

I look out the window of the cab. On the sidewalk a woman laughs as a man waves his hands about, desperately trying to make some point. And over there is another man who looks homeless. He’s trying to sell a knockoff purse to a pampered child.

“Bell?”

The cab keeps moving and the faces keep changing. I spot a woman crying as she taps out a message on her phone. There’s a man in a suit walking past her, not seeing her at all.

Winners and losers. It’s the formula for the world.

“Bell, can you hear me?”