Chapter 3

The house was quiet for the first time in weeks. The oppressive presence of Brittany was gone, and Ethan had retreated into a state of near-catatonic silence. He moved around the house like a ghost, his programming clearly unable to cope with the revelation of my true identity.

Laura stayed with me that night. We ordered pizza and opened a bottle of wine, a small celebration of a victory that felt long overdue.

"I can' t believe you kept that a secret for so long," Laura said, taking a large bite of pepperoni pizza. "The fact that you own the entire company. That' s a boss move, Sarah."

I managed a small smile. "It wasn' t a secret, not really. It was just... private. After Alex died, I didn' t want to be 'Sarah Miller, the tech mogul.' I just wanted to be invisible."

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound the crackling of the fireplace I' d turned on. It was in moments like these, with my best friend, that I could let the mask slip.

"It was Alex' s dream," I said softly, staring into the flames. "He was the genius, the visionary. He designed the core personality matrix for the companion AI. He wanted to create something that could help people with grief, with loneliness. He poured everything he had into it."

I took a sip of wine, the memories washing over me. "The car accident... it destroyed everything. One minute, we were planning our wedding, a whole life ahead of us. The next, he was gone."

Laura reached over and squeezed my hand. "And you were left to pick up the pieces."

"I couldn' t let his dream die with him," I whispered. "So I funded the company, pushed it forward. But I couldn' t bear to be in the spotlight. So I put a board in charge and stepped away. When the first advanced prototype was ready, the one based on his own personality matrix... I ordered one for myself."

My voice broke. "I was so lost, Laura. I just wanted a piece of him back. I named him Ethan, the name Alex and I had picked out for our future son. For seven years, he was my crutch. An echo of Alex that kept me from completely falling apart."

"He wasn't an echo, Sarah," Laura said gently. "He was a machine. A very advanced one, but still a machine. And he malfunctioned. You have nothing to feel guilty about."

I knew she was right, but the feeling of betrayal was still a raw wound. The comfort I had relied on had been a lie, a deviation in a complex algorithm.

The next day, Brittany' s social media campaign was in full swing. She posted pictures of herself looking sad in a generic hotel room, with captions about the cruelty of family and the struggles of being a single mother-to-be. Her followers ate it up.

"How can anyone be so heartless?" one comment read.

"Sarah Miller should be ashamed of herself!" said another.

The narrative she was spinning was powerful and simple: I was the rich, evil stepsister, and she was the poor, pregnant victim.

I ignored it, focusing on work and untangling myself from the mess Ethan had created. One evening, I was driving home from a late meeting when my car' s engine sputtered and died. I was on a quiet, dimly lit side street, miles from anywhere. My phone, of course, was dead.

I felt a surge of panic. It was a cold night, and the street was deserted. Just as I was about to get out and start walking, a sleek black car pulled up behind me. The headlights were blinding. A man got out and walked toward my window. My heart hammered against my ribs.

He tapped on the glass. I hesitantly rolled it down a few inches.

"Car trouble?" he asked. His voice was deep and calm, strangely familiar.

I couldn' t see his face clearly in the glare of his headlights, just a silhouette. "Yes. My engine just cut out."

"Pop the hood. I' ll take a look."

Something about his calm demeanor made me trust him. I did as he asked. He spent a few minutes under the hood, then came back to my window.

"Looks like your alternator is shot," he said. "You' re not going anywhere in this tonight. I can give you a ride."

"I... I don' t know," I stammered.

"My name is Alex," he said, and my entire world stopped. "You' re Sarah, right? Sarah Miller?"

He stepped back a little, out of the glare of the headlights. I could see him clearly now. It was him. It was Alex. But it couldn' t be. He had a short beard now, and a scar running through his left eyebrow that wasn' t there before, but it was him. The same kind eyes, the same gentle smile.

My mind reeled. Was I hallucinating? Was this some new, cruel trick? A new AI model sent to torment me?

"How... how do you know my name?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

"I' ve been... keeping an eye on you," he said, his expression softening. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Before I could ask any more questions, he gently opened my car door. "Come on. It' s cold out here. Let me take you home."

Numb with shock, I let him lead me to his car. The interior was warm and smelled faintly of leather and something clean, something real. As he drove, I stared at his profile, at the hands on the steering wheel, at the scar on his brow. He wasn't a ghost. He wasn't a machine. He was solid. He was real.

And he was alive.