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Chapter 12

Kyle

Ipaced the length of my apartment, checking the wall panel for the fifth time. The SIN doll was too large for drone drop-off, and Homecom required a retinal scan for high-value deliveries. The national system was linked to countless companies.

“How long until delivery, Homecom?”

Silence.

The basic model was too slow. I couldn’t wait to upgrade to the Homecom3000.

“Approximately eighty-six seconds, Kyle.”

I exhaled and walked to my desk, fingers twitching with anticipation. My wiring plans for Charlotte’s core glowed on the screen—meticulous, beautiful.

They had no idea.

The guys in Dirty Dollhouse would lose their minds.

Charlotte wasn’t just a doll. She was proof.

Proof that I could build something better than real.

“The delivery bot is outside, Kyle,” Homecom said.

I rushed to the door, unlocking the multiple security layers. The parcel was massive, boxed and mounted on wheels, with the delivery bot tucked behind it like an afterthought.

“Hello, Mr Jackson. Please step aside so I may enter your home.”

I moved back as the silver bot rolled into my living room, its squat frame rotating smoothly in a full 360. It paused once it had positioned the box, then pivoted toward me.

The retinal scanner unfolded from its casing. I stood still, eyes wide, until the beam passed.

“Scan successful,” Homecom confirmed.

The bot rotated again and began heading out.

“Thank you for using—”

I slammed the door shut before it could finish.

The box lay flat on the living room floor, taking up nearly the entire centre space like a coffin—or an altar. I dropped to my knees in front of it. My hands were trembling. Not from fear. From anticipation.

This was it.

I dug my fingers under the edge of the seal and tore it open with a crackling rip. The adhesive clung like it was meant to keep her inside. One layer peeled back. Then another. And then the lid gave way with a soft exhale of pressure.

She was wrapped in cellophane.

My breath caught.

Her form—fitted perfectly inside the foam casing—was still, unmoving. Synthetic skin pressed against tight clear wrap, her body slick with the faintest trace of preservation oil. She looked like she was sleeping. Dreaming. Waiting.

Peaceful.

Better than in the preview.

Her lips were parted just slightly, soft and pink and shaped like a pout, the kind you’d see on porcelain dolls or women just before they said yes. Her eyebrows were arched delicately, the exact tone of her chestnut hair, framing her face in symmetry that didn’t exist in real life. Her lashes were long. Her cheekbones soft. Feminine. Untouched.