Chapter 4 - Defective #2
“One moment, Mr. Mitchell, while I access its file . . .” She hummed. “The Serviteur you currently have on hand was deemed unsatisfactory in both fine motor skills and emotional regulation, and was found to have manipulative tendencies. Gabriel, on the other hand, was—”
“I’m not interested,” William said, struggling to stay civil. Those weren’t defects; they were proof that Adathan was a fucking human being. That wasn’t something those pieces of shit would understand, though. They were just as brainwashed as their so-called products.
“You . . .” Barbara trailed off, clearly taken aback. “Would you like to browse our catalog?”
“No.”
“Are you unsatisfied with our services, Mr. Mitchell?”
“Yes. Very.”
“I’m deeply sorry to hear this. Please rest assured that we will do everything in our capacity to ensure your entire satisfaction.”
“Like what?” William asked, hoping it might benefit Adathan somehow.
“We don’t normally offer refunds, but seeing as this regrettable situation was caused by our own negligence, we are willing to make an exception. However, please know that service fees are non-refundable.”
“How much?” William’s mouth asked, his heart thumping in sickening anticipation.
“For the refund?”
“Yeah.”
“Minus the service fees . . . four hundred twenty-three thousand dollars.”
William gripped the counter to steady himself.
“I’ll just need your bank details to initiate a deposit, which you will receive by the end of next week. If it suits you, I could arrange for one of our employees to retrieve the defective Serviteur tomorrow morning. You can keep its accessories, of course—free of charge.”
“Can I think about it?” William whispered, his stomach twisting as Adathan chose that exact moment to give him a smile.
“Of course! We will be awaiting your call. You will find our customer service number on the back of the instruction manual.”
“Okay.”
“May I assist you with anything else, Mr. Mitchell?”
“No.”
“On behalf of Eden Serviteurs, I wish you a wonderful night.”
“You look tense, William,” Adathan said, cocking his head. “Do you need me to help you relax?”
William hung up. “I’m fine. Just gotta go to the reception desk. I’ll be right back.”
He grabbed the keycard and headed toward the door.
He caught a glimpse of the broken bottle and stopped dead in his tracks.
“You have my permission to sit or lie down anywhere you want. You’re also allowed to watch TV and relax.
I forbid you from cleaning the mess. I’ll have someone else do it.
You’re not allowed to feel bad about it, either. ”
“Yes, William!”
William left the room, letting out a sharp breath as soon as he closed the door.
Four hundred thousand dollars. Ten years’ worth of his data entry job salary. He could pay off his debts to his mom and considerably improve Oliver’s life.
Adathan’s panicked eyes appeared in William’s head—empty yet brimming with deep, ancient trauma. Could he really send him back to those monsters?
William stepped into the elevator and leaned against the handrail. He couldn’t realistically keep Adathan, either. Despite his hatred of Richard, William had to admit he wasn’t mistaken. After all, Richard’s remarks hurt because they were always true.
How would William clothe and feed Adathan when he was already living paycheck to paycheck?
With four hundred thousand dollars in his bank account, though . . .
William stepped into the hotel lobby, the sight of the massive crystal chandelier pulling him out of his musings. Smooth jazz filled the air, along with soothing scents that reminded him of a massage parlor. Neither did anything to help him relax.
He walked past a man with a much younger woman on his arm, his impeccable suit and her elegant black dress making William’s sweatshirt feel like nettle against his skin.
He picked up the pace and circled the marble fireplace, grateful to find the partially obscured chair he’d noticed earlier unoccupied.
William plopped down and grabbed his phone.
? William: The slave company called me
Relief washed over him as Oliver immediately replied.
? Oliver: On your phone? How did they get your number?
? William: I think the poker dude said something about Adathan being registered in my name the moment I won
? Oliver: You *think*?
? William: I wasn’t paying attention, I was too busy watching my life crumble to pieces get pissed on and catch on fire
William sighed as his phone rang. So much for keeping his emotions in check.
“Why did they call you?” Oliver asked.
“They said I got Adathan by mistake. I was supposed to get someone called Gabriel, apparently.”
“So, Adathan was destined for someone else?”
“Y—No . . . well . . .”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
William buried his face in his hand. “They said Adathan was defective.”
“Defective?” Oliver echoed, his outrage palpable from across the country.
“His fine motor skills and emotional regulation or whatever. It’s all bullshit.”
“Did they really use the word defective?”
“Yeah. I know. It’s disgusting. But they’re offering me four hundred thousand bucks to take him back.”
“Did you accept?”
“I said I’d think about it, but—”
“William. You can’t accept.”
“Did you hear how much they’re offering? I could—”
“They’ll kill him.”