I had been deeply infatuated with Ethan since our freshman year of college. He was tall, handsome, outgoing, and friendly. Whenever he played basketball, every girl in the bleachers swooned over him—including me.

But I was just an average girl. I never dared to confess my feelings.

Everything changed the night of our graduation party.

He had too much to drink. He grabbed my hand in a crowded room, pulled me into a dimly lit VIP booth, and kissed me through a masquerade mask.

I had loved him for years. One thing naturally led to another.

But the next morning, when the sun came up and he saw my face, he bolted out the door looking like he'd seen a ghost.

Terrified and heartbroken, it took me days to track him down.

To my utter shock, he told me he wanted to take responsibility. He proposed. I was ecstatic; my life felt like a fairy tale.

It wasn't until much later that I learned the truth: Serena had dumped him and moved to Paris. Devastated, he just picked a random girl to marry as a rebound to numb the pain.

After we got married, I could never let go of my jealousy over Serena.

We fought constantly. Our relationship deteriorated until he practically moved into his office.

And then, I died.

And that submissive android took my place.

She yielded to his every whim.

Immensely frustrated, Ethan started bringing women home. He flirted, kissed, and touched them right in front of "me," trying to provoke the hot-tempered, jealous wife he remembered.

But he failed. Because "I" was nothing more than a machine.

The android's core directive was simple: love Ethan unconditionally and obey all commands.

So, "I" showed zero anger or jealousy.

Instead, "I" would politely greet his mistresses at the door. "I" would even brew tea and pour it for them while they cuddled on the sofa.

Wasn't this exactly the kind of woman Ethan always claimed he wanted? Submissive, understanding, drama-free, and never nagging?

He had the perfect wife he asked for. So why was he still so angry?

One day, three years ago, Ethan brought Serena to our penthouse.

Coincidentally, that day was also the day I died.

I remember the final hours of my life with absolute clarity. Cancer had ravaged my body, turning me into an emaciated, unrecognizable ghost.

The agony was so unbearable that I couldn't even grip my pill bottles.

I knew that if I dragged it out, I would die without a shred of dignity, looking like a monster.

So, on my birthday, I decided to end it all on my own terms.

I ordered a custom cake and some gourmet takeout, arranging everything on the dining table to create the illusion of a warm home.

I put on the white dress I wore the night we officially met, and carefully applied makeup to cover my dark circles and pallid skin.

Then, I called him. I just wanted him to come home, to share one last meal and one last birthday with me.

He rejected the call.

Clutching my agonizing stomach, I called him over and over again. Finally, he picked up.

Before I could even speak, he exploded. "Chloe, are you crazy?! Serena is carsick, and I'm taking her to the clinic right now! Why do you keep calling me?!"

Cold sweat rolled down my forehead. My voice was so weak it was barely a whisper. "Ethan... can you come home and have dinner with me tonight? Today... is my birthday."

"Is it your last birthday ever?! What, are you going to drop dead tomorrow?!" Ethan roared. His words sliced through my soul like a razor.

He warned me through the phone, "Listen to me, Chloe! This is your final warning. Stop playing the victim, I'm not buying it! Don't call me again, or I'm calling my divorce lawyer!"

The dial tone rang in my ear, sounding like a countdown to an execution.

I curled up on the floor, clutching my phone tightly as tears ruined my meticulously applied makeup.

I wanted to tell him I wasn't acting. I really was dying.

And no, I wouldn't drop dead tomorrow.

I was going to drop dead today.

I forced myself to stand, stumbled down to my basement lab, and scanned my fingerprint.

Inside the glass pod stood the android I had spent the last year meticulously building. She had my face, but a gentle, flawless personality I could never hope to achieve.

I initiated the activation sequence. A blue light flashed across her synthetic eyes, and a mechanical voice chimed:

"Bionic Unit Chloe, online."

For three whole years, Ethan remained completely unaware that "I" was a robot.

But his hatred for this "perfect" version of me grew by the day.

He escalated his abuse—starting with verbal insults, then calling me fake and repulsive. He was convinced that my submissiveness was a calculated form of psychological torture meant to mock him.

But "I" would just stand there, maintaining a gentle smile as he screamed and raged, which only fueled his fury.

And so, the women started coming over. He kissed them, took them into our bedroom, and left the door wide open.

He expected me to break. He expected me to storm in, smash things, and scream at him.

But "I" followed my programming. Sometimes, when ordered, "I" would even stand by the bed, silently watching him sleep with someone else.

Our mutual friends gossiped behind my back. They called me a pathetic doormat, a cuckquean who watched her husband cheat and still made him breakfast the next morning.

If only they knew. My soul had already been shattered beyond repair long ago.

"Chloe! We have a guest, are you blind? Get out here!" Ethan's voice snapped me back to the present.

I walked out of the kitchen.

Serena was leaning against Ethan's chest, giggling. "Oh, I didn't know Chloe was home. Coming back to the penthouse with Ethan so late... you're not jealous, are you?"

I stood stiffly by the hallway, saying nothing.

Ethan sneered. "She's too obsessed with playing the perfect housewife. She wouldn't dare get jealous."

A cruel smirk tugged at the corner of Serena's mouth. "I heard a rumor down at the country club that Chloe is practically a saint now. Word is, she'll even wait on the girls you bring home. I wonder if she'd be willing to wait on me?"

I waited for a command.

A flash of disgust crossed Ethan's eyes. "Are you deaf? Go get Serena some slippers."

I immediately opened the shoe cabinet, took out a pair of guest slippers, and knelt at Serena's feet.

Suddenly, Serena shifted her weight, bringing her stiletto heel down hard, pinning my hand brutally against the floor.

"Oh! So sorry, I lost my balance!"

She ground her heel down viciously.

If it were human flesh, the bones would have snapped instantly, leaving a bloody mess.

But, "I" felt no pain.

Ethan watched Serena do it. His jaw tensed slightly, but he didn't stop her.

He looked down at "me," his gaze unwavering. He stared so intently, as if trying to catch some subtle flaw in the act.

"Not even a peep when getting stepped on now?"

I didn't answer, and his face clouded over. He draped his arm over Serena's shoulder and walked past me, shooting me one last vicious glare before leaving.

"Let's see how long you can keep up this little charade."