My Husband Chose My AI Creation Over Me

Chapter 3

I took Shirley to the underground garage of the family's private hospital. While Chris was away, I pulled out the maintenance cable from the trunk and connected it to Shirley's data port. I pulled up the rejection logs.

The aged red wine Chris had insisted on drinking with her in a shared toast last night had exceeded the android's liquid processing limit, causing the filtration module to overheat and trigger an alarm. I cleared the alarm data and rebooted her circulatory system. She recovered quickly.

Chris's call came right on time. He asked, "Are you done? What did the doctor say? Does she need to be hospitalized?"

I said, "We're done. She's not sick."

He replied, "That's good. Shirley is delicate. Take good care of her, and buy her a cup of hot cocoa from that artisan bakery in town before you come back."

I turned my head to look at Shirley. Her health index read 99.7%.

The port at the nape of my neck had been bleeding for half a month, and my entire body was completely drained.

Back at the castle, I turned on the computer and accessed Shirley's backend control terminal. I changed Shirley's emotional parameters from "cold and aloof" to "gentle and considerate." I wanted to see if Chris would dislike it.

The next morning, the moment Chris stepped out of the bedroom, Shirley handed him a cup of coffee. She said, "You must be tired, Chris."

I thought this drastic change would make Chris suspicious. Instead, he laughed and took the coffee. He said, "Shirley, you're finally willing to get close to me."

Turns out he didn't hate tenderness. He just hated me.

That afternoon, Chris secured a diamond necklace worth a hundred thousand dollars for Shirley at a black market auction. He looked at her and said, "From now on, just tell me if you want anything. I'll get it for you."

Later that afternoon, I was going to the doctor for a follow-up on my neck injury. Chris blocked the doorway. He said, "I'm taking Shirley to the harbor to pick out a yacht. You can walk to the clinic yourself. Come back early to prepare dinner."

I went to the clinic alone. The doctor slid the neural scan images toward me. He said, "The nerves around the brain-machine interface at the nape of your neck are extensively torn."

Then he rapped on the desk. He added, "You endured neural interrogation twice on his behalf. If you don't get the repair surgery soon, the risk of permanent paralysis is extremely high. Did your family member come today?" The doctor took out a form. "He needs to sign off on this surgery."

I said, "He's busy."

The doctor handed me the surgical informed consent form and said, "Take it back and discuss it. Get it signed and sent back as soon as possible to schedule the procedure."

I brought the form back to the house. When I pushed the door open, Chris was kneeling on the carpet, sliding a shoe onto Shirley's foot.

"Shirley's got such small feet," he said. "This size is just right."

He heard the door and turned around. "You're back? Did you get the dinner prep done?"

"Not yet," I said.

"Then go do it. Shirley's hungry."

I walked up to him. I said, "I need to discuss something with you."

Chris ignored me. He stood up and took Shirley by the arm. He said, "Take a couple of steps and see if the heels rub."

I swallowed what I was about to say, folded the notification in half, stuffed it into my pocket, and turned toward the kitchen.

That evening, Chris returned to the room after showering. I placed the notification on the nightstand and pushed it over to his side. I said, "Chris, I went for a follow-up today. The doctor said I need to schedule the repair surgery as soon as possible."

Chris dried his hair with a towel and glanced at the paper. He asked, "Surgery? What do you need surgery for? How much will it cost?"

I said, "Neural interface tear repair. Two hundred thousand dollars."

He put down the towel and pushed the paper back toward me. He said, "Right now, the first phase of the island resort construction is burning through cash left and right. We have to watch every penny. Can you hold off for a while? It's not life-threatening."

I said, "The doctor recommended doing it as soon as possible."

He pulled back the covers and lay down. "Wait another two months. We'll pay once the island resort opens and breaks even. Take a few more bounty jobs on the dark web and hurry up and raise the remaining construction funds."