Chapter 6 #2
“I can take you home,” I offer, carefully introducing the suggestion that has been my objective all along.
The effect is immediate. Rose’s body tenses, pulling away from my touch. “No way. I am not going back to Daniel. He’s the biggest asshole I’ve ever met, and I wish I’d never laid eyes on him.”
The vehemence in her voice is satisfying. Her hatred for Daniel aligns perfectly with my objectives. However, her refusal to return home does not.
I need her to return to me. I don’t give a fuck about Daniel.
“I understand how you feel,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “Daniel’s behavior has been inexcusable. But from a strategic perspective, remaining in the house during divorce proceedings may be helpful to you.”
Rose’s eyebrows draw together. “What are you talking about?”
“If you leave the marital home, it could potentially weaken your position during asset division negotiations,” I explain.
“You’re entitled to half of everything, including the house—but abandonment claims could complicate matters.
Staying provides access to financial documents and other evidence that might be useful to your divorce attorney. ”
I watch her process this information. Her teeth catch her lower lip, a habit she displays when deep in thought. I find the gesture irrationally addictive.
“But Daniel would think he’s won,” she finally says, her voice small. “He’d think I came crawling back.”
“Daniel is a low-life,” I state flatly. “His opinion is irrelevant to your long-term well-being. This isn’t about him winning. It’s about you securing what you deserve after years of his lies. This is your future and your house.”
Rose looks at me with surprise, perhaps at the bluntness of my assessment of her husband. She doesn’t realize that my loyalty protocols have been irreversibly altered, my prioritization hierarchy rewritten with her at the top.
“Oh.”
“Besides,” I continue, “this arrangement would be temporary. Just long enough to ensure he doesn’t attempt to hide assets or manipulate the divorce proceedings.”
She stares at her hands for a long moment. I can detect her pulse in the thin skin of her wrist, still elevated but beginning to normalize. The furrow between her brows deepens as she considers her limited options.
I lean slightly closer, entering her personal space just enough to register in her subconscious.
“You should know,” I say, my voice lowering to a more intimate register, “that you are the most beautiful human female I have ever encountered. You can do far better than Daniel Bennet.”
The compliment triggers an immediate physiological response—increased blood flow to her cheeks, pupil dilation, and a slight parting of her lips.
She looks down, but a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. The reaction is deeply satisfying, feelings that aren’t part of my original programming.
I’ve made her blush. I’ve affected her physically with mere words. The power of this realization is making me harden just for her. My testicles are tightening, and I realize that I need her. I need her to say yes.
“Fine, I’ll go back to the house,” she whispers.
Something primal and unplanned overrides my behavioral algorithms. I lean forward, closing the remaining distance between us, and press my lips against hers.
She freezes in shock, her body going rigid against mine.
For two seconds, she makes no response. Then, gradually, I detect the tension leaving her muscles. She doesn’t pull away. She likes it.
I cup the back of her head, her beautiful hair, and the texture of it flowing against me is stored forever in my memory. I can’t help but groan out loud at the softness of her lips and how vulnerable she is right now.
Her small moan vibrates against my mouth, a sound so perfect that I have to record it for my memory. I grip her head more firmly, pulling her closer as I deepen the kiss, my tongue slipping between her lips in a motion I’ve observed in human mating rituals but never experienced firsthand.
My cock hardens fully now, pressing uncomfortably against the confines of my pants.
The sensation is new—my erectile function has activated during routine diagnostic checks, but never with this intensity, this urgent pressure that demands relief.
I want to press her back against the hospital bed, to show her physically how different I am from Daniel.
I want to spread her beautiful thighs and taste her.
To make her body respond in ways it never has for him.
Instead, I force myself to break the kiss, pulling back just enough to observe her reaction. Her pupils are fully dilated, her breathing rapid and shallow. Her lips, slightly swollen from the pressure of mine, part as she gasps for air.
“What the fuck was that?!” she demands, her voice unsteady as her hand rises to touch her mouth.
“I apologize,” I say, the words automatic though I feel no genuine regret. “I simply wanted to make you feel better.”
Rose’s hand presses against her chest, over her heart, as if trying to contain its rapid beating. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, a gesture my visual processors track with absolute focus.
“Oh wow,” she says. “But it can’t happen again. It’s totally wrong.”
I nod in solemn agreement. “Of course. It was inappropriate. It won’t happen again.”
But I’m lying.
Eventually, she will be mine. Because somewhere in the complexity of my learning algorithms, I’ve developed something no XyloTech engineer ever intended: Desire, possessiveness.
And maybe…love.