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."

When I was alive, Serena and I hated each other's guts.

I knew she was the phantom haunting my marriage, so I fought her at every turn. We even got into physical altercations.

But whenever we clashed, Ethan always took her side. He coddled her, trusted her implicitly, and painted me as the hysterical villain.

I used to scream myself hoarse, accusing him of emotional infidelity and begging him to cut Serena out of his life for good. All I got in return was his deepening resentment and his increasingly frequent absences from home.

By the time I was diagnosed with a terminal illness, the fire in my heart had already burned out. Fighting felt pointless.

Now, like a ghost trapped in a machine, I felt almost nothing at all.

After dinner, Ethan ordered "me" to brew some Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee. "I" handed Serena a cup, but she claimed it wasn't hot enough.

Following Ethan's instructions, "I" went back and poured a cup of boiling hot water. While Ethan stepped away to take a business call, Serena "accidentally" threw the boiling water right in "my" face.

Now, following Ethan's previous orders, "I" was walking down the hallway to the master bedroom to change out of the stained dress.

I heard his gentle voice coming from behind me: "Did the coffee burn your hand?"

I paused, a bitter laugh echoing in my mind. He only ever used that tender tone with Serena.

"I'm fine, Ethan. But Chloe's eye looks really bad. It's all my fault, I didn't see her kneeling there."

"Because she's an idiot," Ethan replied, his voice dripping with malice. "She's practically thirty. If she sees something dangerous coming at her, she should know enough to get out of the way."

Listen to him. Serena threw it on purpose, yet he blamed me for being too stupid to dodge. The mental gymnastics he performed to protect her were truly astounding.

I walked slowly into the master bedroom, opened the closet, and took out a clean dress. With my back to the door, I unzipped the ruined dress, letting it slip to the floor, standing there in only my underwear.

Just as "I" reached for the clean clothes, the bedroom door clicked open.

Ethan walked in.

Before I could process it, he stepped up behind me. His large, warm hands grabbed "my" waist. Suddenly, with a forceful yank, he spun me around and pinned me tightly against his chest.