Chapter 3

Ethan froze for a moment, and I had already started breathing with difficulty.

Mia's gentle and sweet voice sounded nearby. "Patient is experiencing moderate mango allergic reaction. Difficulty breathing level two. Skin redness and swelling covers approximately twenty-five percent. Immediate anti-allergic treatment is recommended."

Ethan immediately reacted, frantically searching for allergy medicine and making me swallow it.

After my breathing normalized, the dining room was utterly silent.

He looked at me, his voice filled with disbelief and panic. "Why are you so wrong?"

"You used to cry, make scenes, lose your temper with me. Not like this now, like, like Mia!"

I didn't speak. He hadn't given the command to "speak."

"Can't you just be normal?"

His voice suddenly rose. "Stop copying everything Mia does! I just wanted an understanding wife, not an emotionless machine!"

I looked at his face. On that face was anger and irritation.

I just said flatly, "Please define 'normal.'"

Ethan's face went pale.

He called the academy. The person who answered explained that this was a normal reaction to "deep behavioral correction" and would recover in a few days.

"No. 001 is our academy's most excellent student now. She understands obedience better than any AI. You can rest assured."

Ethan hung up the phone, breathing a sigh of relief.

So in the following days, I became the most useful tool in the house.

He had me clean, and I made the house spotless, even cleaner than Mia's work.

He had me prepare his formal wear for business events, and I ironed it in advance without a single wrinkle.

When he came home drunk at dawn, I precisely handed him hangover soup at just the right temperature.

Ethan laughingly told his friends on the phone that Claire now was even more useful than an AI wife.

Until that night, when he forgot to give me the "sleep" command.

Everyone else went to sleep. I sat on the living room sofa from dark until dawn.

When Ethan came downstairs in the morning, he saw me still sitting there in exactly the same position as last night.

The cup in his hand crashed to the floor, shattering everywhere.

Soon after, a woman in a white coat came to the house.

She introduced herself as Dr. Smith, a psychologist. Her voice was very gentle.

"Claire, hello."

I didn't speak.

Ethan anxiously rubbed his hands beside me. "You have to give her commands, or she won't speak."

Dr. Smith glanced at Ethan, frowned, and spoke in an imperative sentence. "Please tell me your name."

"No. 001."

Dr. Smith's pen tip paused on the paper. "What about your real name?"

"Claire Wright, but that's a former name. Academy regulations state that graduated students must use their numbers as their official designation."

Hearing my words, Dr. Smith was completely stunned. Ethan's expression also turned ugly.

They walked into the study, saying things I couldn't understand.

"Post-traumatic stress disorder, depersonalization, requires long-term treatment..."

In the days that followed, the house became very strange. Ethan started being extremely careful with me.

That day was our wedding anniversary, and also the day three years ago when I was shoved into a car and sent to that academy.

He made a difficult decision to send Mia away.

So this was the last anniversary with Mia.

The living room was filled with balloons, and a two-tier cake sat on the table.

Mia walked toward me. She was still gentle and soft. "Miss Wright, happy anniversary."

My eyes blinked. Something in my brain seemed to loosen slightly.