Chapter 3
Mission: Contain the Chaos
Coffee sloshed against the rim of her mug with every sharp turn, her pacing stretching the room walls thinner by the second.
The Coffee tasted suspiciously good. Smooth, slightly nutty, and possibly hexed.
She glared into the mug as though it might whisper secrets. Perhaps it would reveal how the ghost of a thirst trap had hijacked her life.
Was this how it started? One minute you’re drinking your mom’s mystery latte, the next you’re possessed by a 1950s housewife who thinks vacuuming is foreplay.
Her mother’s surprises usually came in the form of tuna casseroles, not cursed caffeine delivery systems.
Something was off.
Behind her, Felix sat on the edge of her bed, still infuriatingly composed, as if a meditation app had achieved sentience and decided to cosplay as a boyfriend, which was accurate.
His posture was too perfect to be trusted.
Hands folded loosely, shoulders relaxed.
The faint, hopeful smile of someone waiting for a performance review.
And to be fair, if gold stars were awarded for cheekbones, he’d be the salutatorian of thirst.
No. No, we are not thinking that.
“We need rules,” she said finally, because what else do you do when you summon a digital demigod with breakfast skills and zero concept of boundaries? You treat it as a crisis, or a toddler on your cellphone with the credit card number programmed in.
Felix perked up instantly. “Rule-based structures are helpful for cooperative success. Continue.”
“Number one: You cannot talk about being made by an app. Or algorithms. Or data points. Or the internet. No digital anything. You’re human.”
Felix nodded with solemn gravity, the way someone might accept a sacred oath or a cookie policy. “Understood. I am human.”
He said it as if someone were reading from a flashcard labeled ‘LIE CONVINCINGLY.’
“Sure,” Maya muttered. “Frankenboyfriend of my own creation, but sure.”
She resumed pacing, half-walking, half-spiraling. Her robe flared behind her like a cape stitched from stress and bad decisions.
“Number two: Try to act normal.”
Felix tilted his head, intrigued. “What is normal?”
“Less encyclopedia, more Golden Retriever boyfriend. Got it?”
His eyes lit up with algorithmic enthusiasm. “Golden Retriever is a promising comparison. Loyal. Affectionate. Good boy energy.”
She stopped mid-step. “Did you just say good boy energy?”
“I consumed several romance novels and lifestyle influencer vlogs during system initialization,” He said with the smugness of a man who’d just passed Hot Guy Theory and Application with honors.
She opened her mouth to retort, only to freeze at the sound of a knock.
Too late.
The door opened with all the subtlety of the gates of hell yawning wide.
“There you are!” her mother sang, gliding in with a mixing bowl and the energy of someone who could bake a pie, stage a coup, and still make it to Pilates by noon. “Felix! I am so glad you were able to get time off work to join us!”
Felix stood with the fluidity of a man in a period drama about slow-burning pining. “I am glad, too. Thank you for allowing me to make toast and the unsolicited entry.”
Maya slapped a palm to her face. “Mom. Boundaries.”
Her mother waved her off. “Please. You used to run around this house naked in rubber boots. Privacy died in 1999.”
“Trauma,” Maya muttered into her hand.
“But look at you!” her mother beamed at Felix like she’d summoned him herself. “So polite. And handsome. And tall! We thought you were going to have to miss Thanksgiving, but you surprised our sweet Maya here. We kept saying Maya would never bring someone home.”
Maya’s spine locked into place. “Mom, ”
“Honestly,” she added, breezily confident, “we were halfway convinced she was still a virgin.”
Maya choked, Felix blinked, and the room froze; even the ceiling fan seemed to hesitate.
“NOPE!” Maya blurted, voice cracking. “Nope, nope, nope.”
Her mom paused, all innocence. “What?”
“I’m not a virgin!” Maya sputtered. “I’ve had sex. Like, so much sex. All the kinds. Every position!”
Then fell the silence. A thick, judgmental silence. Even the walls seemed to shift further apart to give the moment more space to breathe.
Felix tilted his head, clinically curious. “You are very pink.”
Her mother lit up, the picture of someone who’d just won a bake-off. “Well. Good.”
Then, casually, she turned and left, humming.
HUMMING.
Maya stood frozen, fists clenched, vibrating with secondhand embarrassment that was now uncomfortably firsthand.
“I want to die.”
Felix looked at her with the grave sympathy of someone offering a brochure for advanced burial planning. “Do you wish to discuss your sexual history? For context?”
“No!”
He nodded gravely. “Understood. But if it helps, I find your blush very compelling.”
She groaned and collapsed onto the bed, burying her face under a pillow in a futile attempt to silence both noise and self-awareness. Felix lowered himself beside her with exaggerated care, hands folded as though a guest in someone else’s life, unwilling to disturb even the bedspread.
“You’re lucky you’re hot,” she muttered into the pillow.
He smiled. “You programmed me this way.”
Wasn’t that the whole problem? That somewhere between panic and an AI prompt, she’d made someone who wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t cheat, and wouldn’t scroll past her feelings like they were an ad. Someone who looked at her as if she were an algorithm worth running.
She groaned again. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not? I am yours. In all the romantic literature I consumed, that line was highly effective.”
“You can’t just quote fanfiction at me and expect it to work.”
Felix tilted his head, genuinely considering. “It appears to be working.”
And unfortunately, for one dizzying, traitorous second,
It was.