Divorce Day: My Husband Found I Was an AI

"Serena, Vivian just got back and has nowhere to stay. She'll take the master bedroom for a few days. You move to the guest room."Two in the morning. Garrett Ashford pushed through the front door reeking of alcohol and perfume.Behind him stood Vivian Blake, all doe-eyed innocence.She tugged at Garrett's sleeve in a show of bashfulness, though her eyes locked onto me with pure challenge. "Garrett, this doesn't feel right. Won't Serena be upset?"Garrett scoffed, tossing his suit jacket onto the couch without sparing me a glance. "Her? She has no right to be upset. Just a decoration who clawed her way into the Ashford family through an arranged marriage."Any normal wife would have broken down crying or gone for both their throats.But I didn't.I stood there in my silk pajamas, lips curving into a smile so perfect it could have been measured with a protractor."Of course, honey."I stepped forward, took his jacket—stained with alcohol and lipstick—hung it up neatly. Then I went to th

The next morning, Garrett emerged from the guest room with dark circles under his eyes, still radiating the leftover fury of a night of heavy drinking.He'd spent the night at a bar and fully expected to come home to "Serena" perched on the couch with red-rimmed eyes, waiting for him. Instead, the house was pitch dark. She hadn't even left a light on.Irritated, he loosened his tie, walked to the dining room, and pulled out his chair with the ease of habit."Serena, where's my black coffee? And Vivian's stomach is sensitive—go make her some avocado smoothie."Silence. A full ten seconds of it.No soft "Of course, honey." No quiet clink of a coffee cup meeting the table.Garrett frowned and looked up."I" was seated at the far end of the dining table, holding a steaming glass of milk, sipping it at a leisurely pace.Hearing his orders, "I" didn't even lift an eyelid. Just let a few words fall out, flat and final:"Want coffee? Pour it yourself. Want food? Make it yourself. I'm not your

Garrett was in full panic mode.He'd finally realized that the current "Serena" was no longer the soft target he could knead at will.She'd grown fangs. And worse—she held his fatal weakness in her hands.To save the company, to keep his name intact, Garrett swallowed his pride and launched a desperate campaign to win "me" back.He threw Vivian out. He transferred the $3 million mansion into "my" name overnight.He sent flowers, jewelry, and groveling texts dripping with saccharine apologies."Serena, I know I was wrong. I was a bastard for not appreciating you. Please come back. We can start over.""Serena, I had the vase restored. I've reserved your favorite French restaurant—Le Jardin—for tonight. Will you have dinner with me?""My" core programming registered zero fluctuation. "I" couldn't be bothered to send back a single punctuation mark.And the real me, watching these messages from abroad, felt nothing but disgust.Belated devotion was cheaper than weeds—and this wasn't even de