Chapter 2

My hand tightened around the glass of water.

The croissant suddenly tasted like cardboard.

Almonds.

Such a small thing.

But it was a constant, tiny pinprick, reminding me of Elara.

Reminding me that even in this constructed intimacy, I was second.

My jaw clenched.

Liam watched me, his head tilted. "Something wrong, Ava? You don't like it?"

He sounded genuinely concerned.

"No, it's... it's fine," I managed.

He frowned. "I can get you something else. I thought... I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget."

He reached for the plate.

"No, it's okay, Liam. Really." I forced a smile.

He still looked unsure, but he let it go.

His tenderness, so perfectly programmed, was a constant torment.

How could something so fake feel so real sometimes?

It made the moments of clarity, the glimpses of the code beneath, even more jarring.

I wanted to scream at him, "Who do you really remember liking these? Me or her?"

But I couldn't.

That would destabilize the narrative too much. Risk a forced reset.

I had to play along, gather more information, find a bigger weakness.

The questions burned inside me, unspoken.

Why this scenario? Why Elara? Was she a real person NexusMind knew I envied? Or just an archetype designed to provoke insecurity?

He was like a beautiful, poisonous flower.

Drawn to him by the simulation's design, hurt by the thorns hidden in his programming.

And I couldn't let go. Not yet.

Letting go meant giving up on escaping.

Soon, he had to "go to work."

A vague job in "finance" that never had any real details.

The moment the door closed behind him, the apartment felt colder, emptier.

The silence was heavy.

My immediate sense of loss was absurd. He wasn't real.

But the loneliness programmed into this scenario felt very real.

I waited a few minutes, then started to search.

He always "forgot" things. Little clues left behind.

Or perhaps, the system wanted me to find them. To keep me engaged, to test my reactions.

I found him in his "study" – a room I usually wasn't supposed to enter.

He wasn't working.

He was holding a small, old-fashioned wooden box. Turning it over and over in his hands.

His expression was distant, almost sad.

A programmed emotion, of course. But for what purpose?

"Liam?" I said softly from the doorway.

He startled, quickly hiding the box behind his back.

He turned, a bright, slightly flustered smile on his face.

"Ava! I didn't hear you come in."

He came towards me, took my hands, and kissed my forehead.

A distraction. Always a distraction.

"What were you looking at?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Nothing important, my love," he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"Just some old papers. You shouldn't be up and about so much. You need your rest, remember?"

He gently steered me out of the study.

"Come on, let me make you some tea."

His attentiveness was suffocating. And completely false.

The moment he was busy in the kitchen, I slipped back into the study.

My heart pounded. This felt risky.

The wooden box was on the desk.

My fingers trembled slightly as I opened it.

Inside, nestled on faded velvet, was a photograph.

Old, the edges worn.

It was Liam. Younger, his smile more carefree.

And beside him, her arm linked through his, was Elara.

The blonde hair, the bright smile. They looked happy. So genuinely happy.

A wave of something cold and sharp went through me.

This wasn't just a random construct. This felt... specific.

I snatched the photo. My hands shook.

I had to hide it, hide my reaction.

I quickly put the empty box back where I found it.

I smoothed my expression just as Liam called from the kitchen.

"Tea's ready, Sparrow!"

Sparrow. Again.

My own name, Ava, felt like a placeholder.

He came back into the living room, carrying two mugs.

He smiled when he saw me.

"Feeling better?" he asked, handing me a mug.

The tea was some herbal concoction, supposedly calming.

"Much," I lied, forcing a smile that felt like a grimace.

The photo felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket.

I looked in the mirror later, when I was alone.

The strain was showing. Dark circles under my eyes. My skin was pale.

I was thinner than I remembered being.

This simulation, this constant emotional tug-of-war, was taking its toll.

I used to be strong, focused. My PhD work demanded it.

Now, I felt frayed, worn down.

Like a character in a story being relentlessly rewritten.

A desperate idea took root.

If he was programmed to respond to Elara's image...

I went to the small makeup kit the simulation provided.

Elara's hair in the photo was a bright, sunny blonde. Mine was a dark brown.

I couldn't change that.

But her lipstick was a specific shade of coral. Her eyes were made up to look wide, innocent.

I fumbled with the unfamiliar products.

Trying to paint Elara's features onto my own face.

It felt demeaning. Pathetic.

I stared at my reflection.

A stranger looked back. A pale imitation.

"What are you doing, Ava?" I whispered to the face in the mirror.

This wasn't me. This wasn't how I fought.

But the desperation was a raw, aching thing.

Maybe, just maybe, it would make a difference. A tiny shift in his programming.

My comm unit, a sleek wristband that was part of this iteration's tech, chimed.

Liam's voice, warm and familiar. "Hey, ready for dinner? I'll pick you up."

A transition. A new scene.

I took a deep breath. "Ready."

When he saw me, he stopped short.

His eyes widened slightly.

"Wow," he said. "You look... different. Really beautiful."

Then, almost unconsciously, he added, "You remind me of someone."

A pause. He didn't say her name. He didn't have to.

It was a small victory, if it could even be called that.

And a fresh stab of pain. He noticed. He compared.

I fought to keep the hurt from my face.

"Just felt like a change," I said, trying for a light tone.

"Do you like it?" I needed to hear him say it was me he liked.

"It's... very striking, Ava," he said.

A generalized compliment. Safe. Non-committal.

He didn't say I looked beautiful, just that the look was beautiful.

The distinction was subtle, but it was there.

Still, as he took my arm, his touch lingered.

His smile seemed a little brighter.

Or was I just imagining it? Projecting my own desperate hope?

My emotional vulnerability to this construct, despite everything I knew, was infuriating.

And terrifying.

We were in his car, a silent, electric vehicle that was standard in these simulations.

The city lights blurred past.

The interior of the car was small, intimate.

The scent of his cologne, a generic "masculine" scent, filled the space.

It felt like being in a dream, a carefully constructed reality.

But the edges were starting to fray, if you knew where to look.

"I love you," I blurted out.

The words surprised me. Sincere. Vulnerable. Stupid.

Why did I keep needing his validation, even knowing it was fake?

He turned to me, his eyes soft in the dim light from the dashboard.

"I love you too, Ava," he said.

His voice was like a caress.

And for a moment, I almost believed him.

But the doubt, the knowledge, it was always there, a cold knot in my stomach.

"Only me?" I whispered, the question escaping before I could stop it.

"Do you only love me, Liam?"

He chuckled, a low, warm sound.

He reached over, squeezed my hand.

"Of course, silly Sparrow," he said. "Only you."

Dismissive. Casual.

And he used her name for me again.

The lie was so easy for him. For the program.