Books On Lying And Deception Novels & Stories

He didn’t look afraid—not of Seraphina, not of Father, not of anyone. “Seraphina isn’t the only one who knows how to lie,” he said at last, his voice low, steady, carrying a dangerous calm that sent a shiver down my spine. “Or how to mold the truth to suit her needs. I may know a thing or two myself.” I blinked at him, stunned. He spoke as if deception were a skill, something he could wield just as easily as a blade. My hands twisted tighter in my dress. “You’re playing with fire,” I whispered.

Everything that feels wrong in her eyes she will cover up with little lies so that it will look better in her eyes. Even in the last two weeks, she had repeatedly lied to Mrs. Eden. First about not going to work because she was sick for two days, then followed by other lies the next day when she came into the office. The one lie she concocted at the start has created many more lies over the past two weeks to cover up other lies she has created before. So lying is really addictive. Once you tell a lie, then you will continue to lie to cover up the first lie. Great!

A smile like a fingernail down crystal curled his lips, and yet his voice sounded soft as a lullaby. "I detest lies. Sharon, if you speak honestly, I will spare you. If you lie…" He leaned forward, and the threat hung in the air like a blade. "Don't expect me to show any mercy." He paused, then added with a clinical certainty, "By the way, I studied psychology. I can tell when someone is lying." His voice went quiet and measured. "Now, Sharon. Tell us. Did you orchestrate Victoria's exposure?"

R. I crawled at the center of my lumpy bed, hugging myself as I let out a yawn. I'm tired, hungry and I feel miserable. I closed my eyes while I let the thick silence envelop me in its cold embrace. It did nothing to calm my thoughts, but it help me ease the growing turmoil in my gut. Deceit is an intricately beautiful masterpiece, weaved from countless of lies until it becomes someone else's truth. Perhaps, the deceit Enrico weaved a long time ago had already sunk in his head, making him incapable of grounding himself into the reality of the present.

She had me there. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” I said. “But you did say it.” Hurt laced her voice and I felt it. “Everything I told you is the truth,” I said. “Which time? Because you did lie at some point,” she said. I didn’t answer her, because she wasn’t wrong. I had lying down to a fine art. My heart rate didn’t even change when I lied. I was a master at deception and I could pass a polygraph with flying colors.

For a moment, I wanted to open up again, but I know that's not what I am going to do, ever again. My head was placed on her right shoulder, hiding my hurtful expressions, "You don't need to worry so much. I look after myself well, just like you asked me to." I lied feeling guilty. But I try to look after myself. I do, I really do try. Maybe that was just a justification for my lie She pulled apart from me and looked at me, like she knows, I am lying but didn't question me further about it. I felt horrible. I am lying alot these days, lying to people, to friends, to the one's I care about and to myself.

“Then why does it look like you? Why does it sound like you?” “Because someone wants me destroyed,” Montez bit out, his voice low and feral. “And they’ve mastered the art of lies.” “It’s as if they’re all popping out of thin air.” She swallowed hard. “The exposé… the testimonies…” He scoffed, his lip curling. “Fabrications. Paid mouths and forged documents. They think they can bury me with rumors.” She clutched her phone tighter, the screen still showing headlines. MONSTER IN A SUIT: WOMEN SPEAK OUT.

That she had been lying, spying, playing him? God help her. God help them both. ‘Maybe I should fake my own death now,’ she thought wildly. ‘It worked for Shakespeare. I'm an author afterall.’ She shook the thought away, stabbing a piece of pancake with unnecessary violence. The meal dragged on, full of polite small talk so brittle it could have snapped if someone breathed wrong. They were all good at this: pretending. Professional liars, all three of them. Stefano eventually leaned back, wiping his hands with a cloth. "There’s a reason I wanted you both here," he said, looking between them.

" His voice echoed like a blade. My pulse spikes. I try to pull away. He doesn't let me. “It's nothing,” I say. Lie. He sways more and more. “Please don’t deceive me.”. Despite my heart-pounding shiver, I still managed to laugh with great force. “You have no right to demand the truth from me, Ethan.” He sighed. When you keep your own secrets, it's not possible. His jaw flexes. His speech emits a flickering light, leaving it unreadable.

Lily had given him an easy exit, and he had taken it without hesitation, because taking it meant he didn't have to confront the alternative — that he had been deceived, again, by a woman who had made deception into an art form. He chose the comfortable lie over the difficult truth. Not because the lie was more convincing. But because the lie was easier. That was what broke something in me. Not the false accusations in the article. Not Lily's performance. Not even Zorro's accusations. This. The quiet, devastating realization that the man I had spent years of my life with — the man I had trusted to see me clearly — had looked at me in a room full of proof and seen exactly what Lily told him to