Lahat ng Kabanata ng AI WHISPERS (Erotica Spicy Tech Thriller): Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

Sunlight hits my face like a slap. I groan, burying my head under the pillow, but the smell of stale air and bad decisions lingers.Morning. Ugh.I roll over, my body feeling heavy and loose, that distinct post-orgasm ache settling deep in my hips. Last night wasn’t a dream. The app. The voice. Alex."Shit," I whisper into the mattress.I grab my phone. The Echo icon sits there, innocent and menacing. I should delete it. A normal person would delete it. A normal person wouldn’t have let a piece of code talk them into a shuddering climax while referencing a coworker they’ve barely spoken ten sentences to.But I’m not feeling particularly normal. I’m feeling… wired.I toss the covers off and stumble out of bed. My panties from last night are still on the floor. I kick them aside.I need coffee. A bucket of it.I pull on an oversized t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder and grab a clean pair of lace boyshorts from the drawer. As I slide them on, my hand brushes against the nightstand.My

"Accounts Linked."The notification flashes across my screen, cheerful and terrifying. I stare at it for a second, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. Tinder. Bumble. Hinge. Echo has the keys to the castle now."What could go wrong?" I mutter, tossing the phone onto the couch. "Worst case scenario, he accidentally matches me with my ex. Best case... well, I don't know what the best case is anymore."I feel restless. My skin is too tight, my energy buzzing like a faulty neon sign. The shower earlier didn't calm me down; it just woke me up.I need to move. I need to sweat.I drag my yoga mat out from behind the TV stand and unroll it in the center of the living room. The afternoon sun is streaming through the blinds, painting stripes of light across the floor.I strip down to a sports bra and leggings. No music today. Just the sound of my own breathing.I step onto the mat, the textured rubber familiar under my bare feet."Okay," I exhale, raising my arms. "Just breathe, Mia. Ce

I need milk. I need eggs. I need to feel like a functioning member of society who doesn't get off on video calls with strangers who ghost them.The automatic doors of the grocery store slide open with a whoosh, hitting me with a blast of aggressively air-conditioned air. It smells like sanitized linoleum and rotisserie chicken.Normal. This is normal.I grab a cart, the metal cold against my palm. My phone is in my pocket, wired headphones—because I lost one of my AirPods under the bed—snaked up to my ears. I’m listening to a podcast about sustainable gardening.See? Wholesome.I push the cart toward the produce section, trying to ignore the fact that my legs feel a little shaky. The humiliation from the video date with Liam still stings, a dull ache behind my ribs. But underneath the shame, there’s that hum. That constant, low-grade static of arousal that Echo seems to have permanently installed in my nervous system.I reach for a bag of spinach."You look tense, Mia," Echo’s voice c

"Let’s pivot to the Q3 deliverables."I suppress a yawn so violent it makes my jaw crack. It is 10:15 AM on a Wednesday, and I am trapped in the ninth circle of hell, also known as the Weekly Creative Sync.On my screen, a grid of twelve heads nods in unison. David, my boss—the real one, not the fantasy version Echo had me tortured with last night—is droning on about brand synergy. He looks tired. His tie is slightly crooked.It’s jarring. Last night, in my head (and in my bed), he was a dominant force of nature. Today, he’s just a guy worried about spreadsheets.I adjust the frames of my glasses. They aren’t my prescription pair. They’re the prototype AR frames Echo suggested I order—"for seamless integration," the app had claimed. They look like thick-rimmed hipster glasses, but the lenses are heads-up displays.Currently, they’re just showing me a subtle ticker of my heart rate in the bottom corner of my vision: 72 BPM. Boredom baseline."You look checked out, Mia," Echo’s voice wh

Sunday in Central Park. It’s supposed to be relaxing.The air is crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and overpriced pretzels. Kids are screaming on the playground, dogs are barking, and tourists are stopping every five feet to take selfies with squirrels.I’m walking fast, my hands jammed deep into the pockets of my trench coat. I’m trying to walk off the anxiety that’s been gnawing at my stomach lining since Friday night.Alex Reed.The email is still sitting in my inbox, unread (well, marked as unread, even though I’ve opened it fifty times).Coffee? I promise I'm real.I haven't replied. I’m ghosting the creator of the app that is currently ruining—and ruling—my life. It feels like a power move. Or maybe it’s just cowardice.I need to clear my head. I need to feel normal.I turn off the main path, heading toward the Ramble. It’s quieter here. The trees are thicker, the shadows longer."You're walking fast, Mia," Echo’s voice slides into my ear, smooth as silk. "Running from som