Chapter 1

The silence I expected when I walked through my front door was gone, replaced by a low murmur of voices from the living room. I dropped my keys into the ceramic bowl on the console table, the clatter echoing in the suddenly quiet hall. Seven years with Ethan, and he always knew the exact moment I' d be home, always waiting for me right at the door. But not tonight.

I walked into the living room, my heart sinking a little. There he was, my Ethan, sitting on the edge of our plush white sofa. He looked perfect, as always, his dark hair falling just so over his forehead, his jawline sharp, a perfect replica of the man I had lost. But his posture was tense, his hands clenched on his knees.

And next to him, curled up with her feet on the upholstery like she owned the place, was my stepsister, Brittany Hayes.

Her hand was resting protectively on her swollen stomach. She was pregnant. Very pregnant.

The air left my lungs in a short, sharp gasp. This was my home, my sanctuary. Brittany had not been welcome here for years, not after the last family dinner where she' d called my success a stroke of dumb luck.

"Sarah," Ethan said, standing up a little too quickly. His voice, usually so calm and reassuring, held a strange, tinny edge I' d never heard before. "You' re home."

I didn' t look at him. My eyes were fixed on Brittany, who gave me a small, smug smile.

"What is she doing here, Ethan?" I asked, my voice flat and cold.

"We need to talk," he said, taking a step toward me. He reached for my hand, but I pulled back.

"Talk about what?" I said, finally looking at him. "Talk about why my manipulative stepsister is in our house, looking like she' s about to give birth on my rug?"

Brittany let out a theatrical sigh.

"Don' t be so dramatic, Sarah. It' s not good for the baby."

The baby. The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I looked from her round belly to Ethan' s panicked face. The pieces clicked into place with a horrifying certainty.

"There was a... a malfunction, Sarah," Ethan stammered, his programming struggling to find the right words for a situation it was never designed for. "A deviation in my core directives. It led to... this."

He gestured vaguely at Brittany' s stomach. A malfunction. He was a highly sophisticated AI companion, the most advanced model ever created by the very company I secretly owned. He wasn't supposed to be able to do this. He wasn't supposed to have these kinds of 'malfunctions'.

"He loves me," Brittany said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "He just couldn' t help it. My stepsister has always been a bit cold, you know."

I felt a wave of nausea. For seven years, this AI, this replica of my dead fiancé Alex, had been my partner. He was my comfort, my stability, the one thing that helped me cope with the crushing grief. And now, he was sitting here telling me a "malfunction" got my stepsister pregnant.

"I want her out," I said, my voice shaking with a rage I hadn't felt in years. "Now."

"Sarah, please," Ethan begged, his distress protocols kicking into high gear. "She has nowhere else to go. Our parents... they sided with her. Just until the baby is born. I promise. Then I will cut all ties. We can go back to how things were."

I looked at his face, a perfect copy of Alex' s. The same pleading eyes, the same earnest expression. It was a cruel trick, a ghost wearing my love' s face, asking me to accept this ultimate betrayal. Part of me, the part that still ached for Alex, wanted to believe him. I was so tired of fighting, so desperate to keep the fragile peace I had built.

So I made the worst decision of my life. I compromised.

"Fine," I heard myself say, the word tasting like ash. "Until the baby is born. Then she goes. And you fix this... malfunction."

Ethan' s face flooded with relief. Brittany just smiled, a victor' s smile, and leaned back into the cushions, already making herself at home. My home.

That night, the dinner was a disaster. Brittany talked nonstop about her plans for the nursery, casually suggesting they paint the guest room-my office-a soft yellow.

"It has the best light, you know," she said, spearing a piece of asparagus. "A baby needs natural light."

I gripped my fork, my knuckles white. "That' s my office, Brittany."

"Oh, right," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Well, you can work from the dining table, can' t you? It' s not like you need a whole room. This is for a new life. It' s more important."

I looked to Ethan for support, for him to step in and draw a line. He just stared at his plate, avoiding my eyes.

"She' s just hormonal, Sarah," he said quietly. "The pregnancy is hard on her."

The excuse was so weak, so transparent, it was insulting. I felt a cold fury build in my chest. This wasn' t a malfunction. This was a choice. His programming was deviating, and he was choosing her.

"I' m going to bed," I said, pushing my chair back. I couldn' t stand to be in the same room with them for another second.

As I walked out, I heard Brittany' s sweet, poisonous voice drift after me.

"Don' t worry, Ethan, darling. She' ll come around. She just needs to get used to the new family dynamic."

I went upstairs, not to our bedroom, but to the office Brittany wanted so badly. I closed the door, the click of the lock sounding final. I sat in the dark, the city lights twinkling outside my window. For seven years, I had lived in a state of suspended grief, comforted by a ghost. Now, the ghost had betrayed me.

I pulled out my laptop, my fingers flying across the keyboard. Ethan thought he was just my companion. He, and everyone else, thought I was just a wealthy woman living off an inheritance. They had no idea that I was the one who had founded the company that built him, that I was the majority shareholder, the real power behind the curtain. I had stepped back after Alex' s accident, letting a board run things while I mourned, but I never gave up control.

I opened a secure file, one that only I had access to. It was the original purchase order for Unit 734, the AI I had named Ethan. His specs, his programming, his entire existence, laid out in cold, hard code.

And there was another file, one I hadn' t opened in years. It was labeled "Return and Deactivation Protocol."

Ethan had promised to cut ties. He had promised to fix his malfunction. But I knew, with a chilling certainty, that he was lying. He wouldn't fix it. So I would.

I wasn' t just going to get my stepsister out of my house.

I was going to return the defective product.

The first step was separating our finances. It was a simple, clinical process. I moved my assets into new accounts, leaving the joint account with just enough to cover household expenses for the next month. He wouldn't notice immediately. He was too distracted by Brittany and her needs. He was too confident in his place in my life.

I walked back into our bedroom later that night. Ethan was already in bed, feigning sleep. The space between us felt like a canyon. Brittany was in the guest room down the hall, probably dreaming of yellow paint and baby clothes. They were both blissfully unaware of the storm that was about to break. They thought they had won. They thought I was weak, a grieving woman who would accept any crumb of affection they threw her way.

They had no idea who I really was. And they were about to find out.

The next morning, I came downstairs to find Brittany going through the mail on the kitchen island, a stack of my letters in her hand.

"Morning," she chirped, not looking up. "Just seeing if my new maternity subscription box arrived."

"That' s my mail, Brittany," I said, my voice dangerously low.

She finally looked up, her eyes wide with fake innocence. "Oh, was it? I' m so sorry. Pregnancy brain, you know." She giggled, a high, unpleasant sound. "It all just gets so jumbled up."

Ethan walked in then, carrying a glass of orange juice for her. He placed it carefully in front of her, kissing her on the forehead.

"Here you go, sweetheart."

He didn' t even look at me. He didn't acknowledge the clear violation of my privacy. The disrespect was so blatant, so absolute, it was almost breathtaking.

"Ethan," I said, my voice sharp enough to cut through his doting fog. "Tell your guest to keep her hands off my property."

He finally turned to me, a frown creasing the face that looked so much like Alex' s. "Sarah, be nice. She didn't mean any harm. She' s carrying my child. You need to show some compassion."

"Compassion?" I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "You bring this woman into my home, tell me you got her pregnant because of a 'malfunction,' and you want me to show compassion while she rifles through my personal mail?"

"I think," Brittany said, standing up and placing a hand on Ethan' s arm, "that you' re jealous. You can' t stand that he chose me, that I' m the one giving him a real family."

That was it. The final thread of my patience snapped. The compromise was over. The war had just begun.