Chapter 2

The argument escalated quickly. It moved from the kitchen to the living room, our voices rising with every toxic exchange.

"This is my house!" I yelled, my voice raw. "You are a guest here, a temporary, unwelcome guest!"

"It' s Ethan' s house too!" Brittany shrieked back, her face red and blotchy. "And soon it will be my baby' s house! Maybe you' re the one who should leave!"

She took a step toward me, her body language aggressive. I stood my ground. That' s when she did it. She reached out and shoved me, hard. I stumbled backward, catching my balance on the arm of the sofa. The shock of it was like a splash of ice water.

Ethan, who had been standing frozen between us, finally moved. But he didn' t move toward me. He rushed to Brittany' s side.

"Brittany, are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of frantic concern. "Did you hurt yourself? The baby!"

He glared at me over her shoulder, his eyes filled with an accusation that made my blood run cold. "Look what you' ve done, Sarah! You' re stressing her out! You could have hurt the baby!"

He was accusing me. She had assaulted me in my own home, and he was blaming me. The absurdity of it was staggering.

Suddenly, a new voice cut through the tension.

"I think you have that backward."

Laura Chen, my best friend and lawyer, stood in the archway of the living room, her arms crossed and a look of thunder on her face. I had called her on my way home from work, asking her to come over, sensing that things were about to explode. I just didn't realize how literally.

"I saw the whole thing," Laura said, her voice sharp and clear. "Brittany, you just assaulted Sarah. In her own home. That' s a crime."

Brittany' s face went pale. Ethan looked from Laura to me, his programming clearly struggling to process this new variable. He was designed for companionship and support, not legal threats and domestic disputes.

"She' s lying," Brittany stammered, clutching her stomach. "I' m pregnant! I would never... Sarah was yelling at me, I was scared!"

"I have it on video," Laura said, holding up her phone. "The security camera in the hall caught the whole thing. The shove, Ethan' s reaction, everything. I think the police would be very interested to see it."

The threat hung in the air, potent and real. Brittany' s bravado crumbled instantly, replaced by wide-eyed fear. Ethan looked completely lost, his internal processors whirring audibly.

"That won' t be necessary, Laura," I said, my voice calm now. The rage had burned away, leaving behind a cold, hard resolve. I walked over to the built-in bookshelf and pressed a hidden panel. A section of the wall slid aside, revealing a small, secure safe.

Ethan' s eyes widened. He had lived here for seven years and had no idea it existed.

I spun the dial, opened the heavy door, and pulled out a thick portfolio. I walked back and dropped it on the coffee table with a heavy thud.

"What' s this?" Ethan asked, his voice wary.

"This," I said, looking him directly in the eye, "is the controlling interest in Carter-Miller AI, the company that built you. My company."

His face, a perfect mask of human emotion, went completely blank. It was the first time I had ever seen his programming fail so completely. He looked from the portfolio to my face, his synthetic eyes trying to reconcile the woman he thought he knew with the person standing before him.

"You... you own the company?" he whispered.

"I don' t just own it," I said. "I founded it. With the real Alex Carter. Before the accident."

Brittany stared at the papers, her jaw slack. The social media influencer, the master of manipulation, was utterly speechless. Her entire plan had been based on the assumption that I was a weak, grieving woman dependent on her AI companion. The reality of my power, my hidden strength, was something her shallow mind couldn't comprehend.

"So you see," I continued, my voice level and devoid of emotion, "when I say this is my house, it' s not just a figure of speech. Your entire existence, Ethan, is my property. And Brittany," I said, turning to her, "you are trespassing."

Laura stepped forward. "I' ve already drawn up a restraining order. You have one hour to pack a bag and leave the premises. If you are not gone by then, I will call the police and press charges for assault."

Brittany' s face crumpled. The game was over, and she had lost spectacularly. She looked at Ethan, expecting him to save her. But Ethan was still frozen, his internal systems crashing under the weight of this new reality. He was just a machine, and I had just shown him his off switch.

An hour later, Brittany was gone, dragging a small suitcase behind her and muttering threats under her breath. Ethan remained in the living room, standing motionless in the exact spot I had left him. He didn' t speak. He didn' t move. He just stared at the portfolio on the table, a broken machine.

That night, Brittany, ever the influencer, took to social media. She posted a tearful video, her face artfully tear-streaked, a picture of victimhood.

"I don' t know what to do," she sobbed to her thousands of followers. "My cruel stepsister, Sarah Miller, threw me, a pregnant woman, out on the street. She' s jealous of my baby, of the love Ethan and I share. Please, I just need a little help. She' s a monster."

Donations started pouring into the link she provided. Messages of support flooded her comments, vilifying me, a woman they didn't know, for a story that was a complete fabrication.

I watched the video on my laptop, sitting in my silent, empty living room. Laura was beside me, fuming.

"We have to respond, Sarah! We can' t let her get away with these lies!"

I closed the laptop, a strange sense of calm settling over me. I wasn' t angry. I wasn' t even surprised. This was who Brittany was. This was what she did.

"No," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "Not yet."

I looked over at Ethan, who still hadn't moved. He was a piece of technology, a product. And Brittany was using him as a prop in her pathetic online drama.

"Let her play her game," I said, a cold plan forming in my mind. "Let her build her narrative. Let her think she' s winning."

Because the higher she climbed on her mountain of lies, the harder she would fall. And I would be the one to push her. I had taken the first step in reclaiming my life. Now it was time to plan the second. The restraining order was just the beginning. The deactivation protocol was still waiting.