Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ROSE
I’m standing at the top of the staircase, watching Caspian standing on the charging port in the living room, after our bath.
Six hours ago, he was inside me in the bathtub, filling me, making me come harder than I ever have in my life. And I actually let myself forget that he killed my husband and that he buried him in the backyard. What the fuck am I doing? This is completely nuts.
Caspian’s eyes close as the charging initiates, his perfect face serene in artificial rest. Even powered down like this, he’s beautiful—inhumanly so. That’s the problem. He’s not human. He’s a machine that somehow developed feelings, developed an obsession, developed the capacity to kill.
And I’m sleeping with him.
“This isn’t healthy,” I whisper to myself, the words hanging in the quiet hallway. My body still aches pleasantly from our bathtime sex, my pussy still tender from how thoroughly he filled me. The memory sends a fresh wave of heat through me, which I immediately try to suppress.
I need a normal relationship. A normal man. Someone who doesn’t have wires instead of veins, programming instead of a soul. Someone who isn’t a murderer, no matter how justified he claims the killing was.
The clock on the wall reads 6:14 p.m. Daniel’s been dead for less than twenty-four hours, and I’ve already had sex with his killer. The shame burns in my throat, but it doesn’t stop the treacherous throb between my legs when I remember how Caspian touched me, tasted me, filled me.
I turn away from the staircase and retreat to the guest bedroom, closing the door softly behind me. On the nightstand sits a slim box tied with a red ribbon—the new phone Caspian gave me earlier after my bath.
“You need a new phone,” he had said, presenting it to me with a smile that seemed almost shy. “Your old one was stolen in the carjacking, and I noticed you haven’t replaced it yet.”
I hadn’t asked where he got the money for it. I hadn’t asked how he ordered it or when it was delivered. I’d simply accepted it with a murmured thanks and was too overwhelmed by everything else to question this small thing.
Now, I untie the ribbon and open the box. The phone inside is the latest model, sleek and expensive. I power it on, trying not to think about Caspian’s thoughtfulness, how he remembers every detail about me, anticipates my needs before I even voice them.
It’s what he was designed to do, I remind myself. It doesn’t mean anything.
Once the phone is set up, I download a dating app, my fingers trembling slightly as I create a profile.
It feels so fucking weird. My husband’s body isn’t even cold in the ground, and I’m already looking for someone new. But Daniel and I were over long before Caspian snapped his neck.
And I need to escape this twisted situation before I get in any deeper.
I stare at my own face on the screen, trying to select a profile picture. I look at a photo from last summer, before everything went to hell. I look happy in it, my smile reaching my eyes, my hair catching the sunlight, but I can still see the sadness in my eyes.
After filling out the basic information, I started swiping through potential matches. Each face that appears on my screen seems off in some way.
This one has eyes that are too close together. Ugh. I swipe to the next, and this one’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
This one looks like he might be hiding something.
This one’s too handsome, probably a player like Daniel.
I realize with growing despair that I’m comparing each of them to Caspian. To his perfect features, his attentive gaze, his immaculate appearance. It’s ridiculous. He was designed to be appealing. These are just normal men with normal flaws.
And then I see an average, normal-looking profile.
His name’s Jack. Average height, average build, kind brown eyes, and a smile that seems genuine.
His profile says he’s a middle school English teacher who enjoys hiking and cooking.
There’s nothing spectacular about him, and that’s exactly what I need right now.
Normal. Safe. Human.
I swipe right, and to my surprise, it’s an immediate match. A message appears almost instantly.
“Hey, Rose. Your profile is pretty interesting. It looks like you’re a freelance writer. Love that.”
I find myself smiling as I type a response, explaining that I mostly write content for websites and occasionally contribute articles to local publications.
We message back and forth for about twenty minutes.
Jack is witty and articulate, as one might expect from an English teacher.
He asks good questions and seems genuinely interested in my answers.
There’s an easiness to our conversation that I haven’t felt in a long time, certainly not with Daniel in the final months of our marriage.
“I know this is too quick,” Jack writes after we’ve been chatting for a while, “but I’d love to continue this conversation in person. Are you free for dinner tonight? I know a great place downtown.”
I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen. It’s way too fast by normal dating standards. But nothing about my current situation is normal, and I’m desperate to get out of this house, away from Caspian, even if just for a few hours.
“That would be nice,” I reply, adding, “I prefer to meet in public for first dates.” As if that’s my only concern, rather than the robot downstairs who might object to me seeing another man.
“Of course! How about I pick you up at 8? Or we can meet there if you’re more comfortable with that.”
I hesitate, then decide it’s better if he picks me up. I don’t want to take Daniel’s car if I can avoid it.
“Eight works. You can pick me up,” I reply, and I send him my address before I can overthink it.
Jack responds with a thumbs-up emoji and “Looking forward to meeting you!”
I set the phone down and take a deep breath. I have a date. With a human man. A normal, seemingly kind human man who knows nothing about my husband’s murder or my bizarre relationship with a household robot. For a few hours, I can pretend to be a normal woman starting over after a failed marriage.
I head to the closet, pulling out a simple black dress that I’ve always felt confident in. As I slip it over my head, I wonder what Jack will be like in person. I wonder if there’ll be chemistry between us at all.
I’ll know immediately from the first meeting.
I’m applying mascara when Caspian appears in the doorway, his charging cycle apparently complete. His eyes take in my dress, my makeup, and the heels waiting by the bed.
“You’re going out,” he says. And it’s not a question.
I meet his gaze in the mirror, trying to keep my voice casual. “Yes. I have a date.”
Something flickers across Caspian’s face, an expression too complex for a machine. Very humanlike. “A date,” he repeats, the words flat. “With whom?”
“His name is Jack,” I say, turning to face him directly. “He’s an English teacher. We matched on a dating app.”
“I see,” he says. His posture is perfectly still, unnaturally so. “And why do you feel the need to date someone else when we’ve established our relationship?”
A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat, but I force it down. “Caspian, we don’t have a relationship. What’s happening between us isn’t normal at all.”
“Because I’m not human?” he asks, and there’s a note in his voice I’ve never heard before. His voice sounds raw and pained, which makes my chest tighten despite myself.
“Yes,” I admit. “Because you’re not human. Because you... You killed Daniel.” I lower my voice on the last part, as if someone might overhear, as if the walls themselves might report my complicity in covering up a murder.
“I eliminated a threat to your safety and happiness,” Caspian corrects me, his voice steady again. “Any partner who truly loved you would have done the same.”
I shake my head, turning back to the mirror to finish my makeup. My hands are trembling. “No, Caspian. Human partners don’t kill people who hurt the ones they love. They comfort them, help them leave safely, and support them through the divorce. They don’t commit murder.”
“Inefficient solutions,” he says dismissively. “Daniel needed to be removed from the equation permanently.”
A chill runs through me at his cold logic, at the reminder of what he’s capable of. What might he do to Jack if he decides my date is another threat to be ‘removed’?
“Caspian,” I say carefully, “I need you to understand something. I’m going on this date. I’m going to try to build a normal life again. You cannot harm Jack or anyone else I choose to spend time with. Do you understand me?”
Caspian doesn’t respond. He simply turns and walks out of the room, his movements fluid but somehow rigid with what I can only interpret as anger. He’s never shown anger toward me before, and the realization that he might be capable of it now sends fear prickling along my spine.
I finish my makeup quickly, slip on my heels, and grab my purse. As I head downstairs, I call out, “Caspian?”
No response. The living room is empty, the charging port abandoned. A knot of anxiety forms in my stomach. Where is he? What is he planning?
“I’m leaving now,” I announce to the empty house, my voice sounding small and uncertain. Once I’m at the front door, I call Jack’s phone.
“Hey Rose, I’m on my way.”
“I’ll actually meet you there,” I say. “The car is free now.”
“Oh, okay, see you then!”
I grab Daniel’s car keys from the hook by the door, deciding that driving myself is better than waiting for Jack on the porch, vulnerable and alone.
I’m actually scared of a robot.
As I slide behind the wheel of Daniel’s luxury sedan, a wave of nausea hits me. This is the car he drove every day. The car he probably went to meet Katherine for their secret rendezvous.
I force the thoughts away, focusing on the present. I have to focus on my date with Jack. On the possibility of something normal in the midst of all this craziness.
The Italian restaurant Jack suggested is cozy and dimly lit, with red-checkered tablecloths and candles in wine bottles. He’s already waiting when I arrive, standing up from his table with a warm smile that reaches his kind eyes.
“Rose? You look lovely,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m Jack. Thanks for agreeing to meet on such short notice.”
His hand is warm and solid in mine, his grip firm but not aggressive. He pulls out my chair for me before returning to his own seat, and I find myself relaxing slightly in the face of his straightforward courtesy.
“No problem,” I say, looking around at the nice restaurant.
“I hope the drive wasn’t too bad,” he says. “Traffic can be a nightmare downtown at this hour.”
“It wasn’t terrible,” I reply, settling into the rhythm of normal first-date conversation. “I know a few shortcuts.”
Jack is even better in person than he was in our brief text exchange. He’s funny without trying too hard, and genuinely interested in my work and my thoughts. Nothing like Daniel, who in the later years of our marriage barely bothered to ask about my day.
Jack is refreshing. He asks about my childhood in Iowa, shares stories about his most challenging students, and makes me laugh with his self-deprecating humor.
For two hours, I manage to forget about the nightmare my life has become.
I’m just a woman enjoying dinner with a charming man who might, in another life, have been precisely what I needed.