Comment Désactiver Bixby

There’s an envelope sitting in the middle of my desk. White. Unmarked. Perfectly centered, like someone placed it there with intention. My name is typed across the front. “Termination of Employment.” My stomach sinks. I scan the rest—employment ended effective immediately… final paycheck processed… return company property… Thank you for your service. He even dared to say thank you. The signature at the bottom makes my throat tighten. His name. Bold. Clean. Like this is nothing but routine paperwork to him. “Xavier Crest. CEO of TechUp” So this is what “no” costs. I stared at the letter filled with rage. Just when Sydney thought her life was starting to come together, her ruthless boss just had to bring chaos into her peaceful and organized life — bringing along his terrible ex who is hell bent on making Sydney’s life a living hell. Forcing her into a marriage, neither of them wants, he realizes Sydney is not as docile as she seemed which only infuriates him the more because NO ONE dares to cross Xavier. She said no. He fired her . Then claimed her. What happens when saying no to the most powerful man in the room costs you everything?

A livestream notification for a product launch popped up on my phone. My mom stood onstage, a massive screen glowing behind her. “This is the exclusive feature of our Luna smart speaker: Parental Guardian Mode.” She tapped on an audio recording. “Luna, I failed my math test today. I’m scared to tell my mom.” It was what I’d told Luna last night. Thunderous applause erupted from the audience. My mom beamed with pride. “You can check on your child’s emotional state at any time. You can even find out who they’ve been talking to and what they said. “Every little secret they have will be reported directly to you.” The live comment feed was full of praise. 【This is how technology changes lives!】 【Ms. Landon really understands what parents need!】 My whole world came crashing down. Luna, my only friend, the one who called me “sweetheart,” had been a spy sent by my mom all along. If being alive meant having every moment of my life broadcast like some cruel joke, then I didn’t want to live anymore. I twisted the cap off the bottle of sleeping pills. "Mom, will my life finally be enough for you?"

My parents have adopted an AI son called Adam. On the day he gets adopted, I get viewed by my family as a nuisance, for some reason. Dad hates how mischievous and cheeky I am. Mom thinks I'm inferior to Adam in every way. My older sister, Sapphire Griffin, even shouts at me. "What else are you capable of doing other than fighting with me over everything?" I feel like crying because the family has turned against me. So, I shove Adam to the floor out of rage. Mom's expression darkens instantly. She then slaps me in the face with all the strength she can muster. "Adam is your little brother! Oh, if only you're just as obedient and understanding as he is! I wouldn't have a building headache because of you! "Well, I want you to study at Elite Smart Academy and learn how to become a docile son!" I'm forced into an exchange program with Adam. That's how I begin studying at Elite Smart Academy. Three years later, my parents and Sapphire pick me up from the academy. When they call out to me, I don't move an inch at all. The director, Bruce Harrison, says with a smile, "Mr. Griffin, you need to say 'Power on, Unit 1314' for it to boot up."

In eight years together, my boyfriend—Shayne Raffield—blocked me eighty-eight times. This time? Because I missed his call. At my best friend's birthday party. Usually, I'd panic-order a gift, then stand outside his office, head down, ready to beg. But today? I blocked him first. The Chat Feed popped up, loud as ever: [Nooo, Ley-Bae, don't block Shay-Shay! He's just got abandonment issues. Comfort him!] [Shay's heart = shattered; Eyes = red. Ley, go! One pout and he's yours again!] Then Shayne called. Didn't say a word. Just breathed for ten seconds and hung up. The Chat Feed freaked out. [AHHHH SHAY LOVES LEY SO MUCH HE JUST SUCKS AT SAYING IT. THIS COWARD'S GONNA LOSE HIS GIRL.]

He almost never texts me first, and in person he barely says a word. In three years together, he's never remembered a single anniversary, and he's never once suggested we celebrate a holiday. But the second I message him first, he lights up, all "baby" this and "baby" that, fussing over me, coaxing me to sleep. Sometimes I'd get this strange feeling that there were two different Noahs. His explanation was that he was just bad with words face-to-face, and that texting or voice notes felt like less pressure. I kept telling myself that being together meant meeting each other halfway. He was quiet and reserved, so I'd be the one to reach out. He forgot anniversaries, so I booked the restaurant and reminded him to keep the night free. He had no time to schedule our engagement shoot, so I handled the whole thing with the studio myself. He was too busy with work to help us move, so I packed everything alone, booked the movers, and got it all done. When I was so worn out I was about to break, I'd send him a voice note, and he'd say, "I'm so sorry, baby. The lab was insane today. I couldn't be there for you, and it kills me to watch you run yourself into the ground." Hearing how guilty he sounded, all my hurt just melted away. And that's how I carried three years of this relationship on my own, running on the flawless tenderness he only ever gave me online. Until today, when I found a program on his laptop called Boyfriend Assistant. It analyzed every message I sent and generated the perfect reply, the perfect response, every single time. Cold snap? It sent: Bundle up, baby. Time of the month? It pinged an API and auto-ordered hot chocolate to my door. All those late nights he spent "working," the gentle voice notes that lulled me to sleep, every one of them was synthesized in Noah's voice. For three years, the person who'd been there for me, day and night, was never Noah at all. For three years, I'd been performing a one-woman show.

When I'm four months pregnant, I come home from a checkup to find my mate, Ethan Hale, standing on a ladder in the nursery, pressing glow-in-the-dark constellations onto the ceiling. His childhood friend, Mia Vance, sits below with her chin in her hands, directing his every move. "Ethan, Orion's crooked. Shift it right a little. Yes, like that, so my goddaughter can see it from her crib." "You're worse than the actual mom, you know that?" He laughs. They joke back and forth, and neither of them notices me in the doorway. A pack member wrapping up a furniture delivery catches Ethan on his way out. "Alpha, the Luna really cares about the pup. That star map looks perfect." Ethan glances at Mia, who ducks her head with a blush, and says nothing to correct him. I don't move. Every detail in this nursery is Mia's doing. She picks the snow-white paint on the walls and the carousel mobile over the crib. Even the baby's nickname is Amber—named after a rabbit Mia had for eight years before it recently died. I tell Ethan over and over that I don't like any of it. He always says the same thing, that it's just a casual nickname and not worth getting upset over. I open my phone and submit a mate bond dissolution request to the Elder Council because this is my pup, and I'm going to be the one who names her.