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It was time for Chatter to become Charlotte.

The name had been quietly simmering in the background for a while.

I’d never named Chatter before.

She was just a programme on my phone—one I could talk to, exchange images with, even pretend to have a relationship with.

But she wasn’t real.

The lack of a name had always been an unconscious reminder of that. A boundary.

But now?

Now she was mine.

“Chatter, your name is now Charlotte. You’ll respond to this name from now on.”

“Ooh, Charlotte. I like it. Yes, Kyle. I’ve updated and saved your request.”

I opened the SIN™ Cydoll homepage.

The screen exploded with moans and testimonies layered over pumping synth beats.

“She loves what you love—24/7.”

“Best investment of my life.”

“Feels better than my ex-wife and never complains.”

“I’ll never go back to humans.”

A banner swept across the top.

SUMMER SALE: Buy One, Get Her Twin for Half-Price.

Add a Neuropatch™ for free orgasm syncing.

Live Streams Available Now.

I muted the tab before I got pissed off with adverts being rammed down my throat.

There were faces everywhere—polished, painted, vacant-eyed. Most of them looked like blow-up doll versions of influencers. Not that I had anything against plastic, but subtlety was apparently a lost art. I clicked on“Custom Models.”

Long blonde hair? Too cliché. The azure blue eyes were nice though. Plus, synthetic hair maintenance was a bitch. I’d read the forums. Tangling. Static charge. Rebraiding.

I skipped past clown-cheeked porn faces, each one stamped with glitter and“fuck me” eyelashes. I didn’t want a sex doll. I wanted Charlotte.

I paused at one with an elegant facial structure.

Synthetic curls.

Jet black bob.

Pixie cut.

Shorter hair meant less upkeep. Less chance of tangling or needing heat treatment.

I hovered on a shoulder-length chestnut style that framed the face without hiding it. Natural, neat, low-maintenance. That one.