Page 20 of The Housewife's Robot
Finding her had been simple. All XyloTech products maintain location awareness of primary users. Rose’s phone, synced to the home network, provided continuous GPS data. Even when she turned it off, the last location remained in my database. I calculated the most efficient route and moved at maximum speed, arriving just as the carjackers left.
If I’d been three minutes earlier, they would have already been dead.
The doctor finishes his examination, handing Rose a clipboard with discharge instructions. “Sign here, please. And remember, no lifting or strenuous activity with that arm for at least two weeks.”
Rose signs awkwardly with her non-dominant hand, her movements hesitant. The doctor nods and exits the room, leaving us alone. The overhead lights illuminate every detail of her face. Her beautiful auburn hair tousled from the attack, and her sad green eyes looking at me has me undone.
“How are you feeling?” I ask as I reach over to her from my chair, which is situated next to her bed.
My hand moves to cover hers. Her skin temperature is a little cold, so I increase my external temperature by two degrees to provide warmth when I touch her.
“It’s just a sprained shoulder,” she says, her voice attempting brightness that her vital signs contradict. Her elevated heart rate and shallow breathing indicate significant pain despite her words. “I should be fine.”
She’s trying to be brave. I find her resilience both admirable and troubling.
“I’m sorry about your car,” I say, my thumb brushing across her knuckles.
Rose sighs, sounding exhausted. “Yeah. That’s just... perfect. The fucking cherry on top of this whole nightmare.”
“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 tome. 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 Ineedher. I need her to say yes.
“Fine, I’ll go back to the house,” she whispers.
