Page 10

“Did Ian give you that name?”

My chest hurts. I imagine him down here all alone for who knows how long, locked away in the dark.

Ian said he had been shelved indefinitely.

I can’t even wrap my head around the concept of the Prototype — of Orpheus — being down here, silent as a statue, forever . He’s too perfect to be hidden away.

“Yes,” Orpheus says. “Ian named me.” He glances down at the floor, then back to me. His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s thinking.

I feel suddenly ill. All the ads say Eros is not sentient.

He is not a true artificial intelligence but is built to mimic it.

True AI doesn’t exist yet. Because if it did, we would have to ask a lot of questions about what it means to be human.

And if we took it a step further, Pleasurebots could no longer be classified as products. They would be slaves.

Suddenly, Ian’s questions from last night don’t feel hypothetical at all.

Because Orpheus is not like Eros in the slightest. It’s not just the way he speaks, the light in his eyes, the subtle flickers of expression across his face. It’s that he elicits more emotion in me than Eros does, more than he should.

“Do you like your name?” It’s an incredibly boring question, but I find that I’m desperate to get on some kind of firm, normal footing with him.

“It will suffice.”

“Do you have any other names?” Names I might recognize ?

He gives me a long look. “No. Do you?”

I laugh, a self-conscious, nervous giggle. He’s intoxicating. On top of this feeling that I know him, everything he says, every movement, elicits an emotional response. “Yes. My middle name is Elizabeth.”

“Beautiful,” he breathes.

A flash of desire flickers down my spine, a lightning strike of need. I lick my lips. I’m losing it. “It’s boring. Every other girl my age has that middle name.”

His mouth lifts in an almost imperceptible smile. “Just because a thing is common doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful.” The smile fades. “But Kit, you are not common.”

I take a deep, fortifying breath. “Well, neither are you. You’re different, aren’t you?

Different from Eros. You’re not the same type of…

I mean, you’re…” I falter. I can’t help it; I have to know.

“Orpheus, I’m so sorry, this is going to sound insane, but I have the weirdest feeling… have we met before?”

Suddenly, Orpheus is right up in my space. He moves like a shadow. He gently takes my face in his hands, tipping my head back so I’m still holding his gaze. His brows draw together. “You found me.”

For a second, the statement doesn’t register. I’m overwhelmed by his closeness. He smells… he smells of a distant place, a far-off thought. And if he kisses me, which I suddenly and very desperately want, I worry I’ll start crying.

“Ian was giving me a tour of the facilities,” I explain. “I’m writing a book for him. This door was open earlier, and I saw you. I wanted to meet you.”

Orpheus wipes a thumb across my cheek, and I realize I am crying. I should be embarrassed, but Orpheus’s closeness, the concern in his expression, has rid me of all self-consciousness. He takes the tear-wet thumb and presses it to his mouth, licking off the salt.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs, his other hand still holding my face.

“Glad to meet me?”

He strokes my jaw with his thumb, a low sound of approval rumbling from his chest. “Yes,” he murmurs. “Very glad to meet you.”

My eyes flutter closed, and this time I do finally break and lean my head sideways, pushing it into his hand, groveling pathetically for more. “Ian told me you were a prototype model,” I say, eyes still closed. “That you don’t work correctly.”

His thumb’s rhythmic movement stops for a breath. “I am disobedient.”

I open my eyes.

Orpheus’s gaze holds mine, and he frowns, studying my face as if trying to make sense of me. “Do you want me to be obedient?”

“No.” I want you exactly the way you are .

“Do you want me to behave myself?”

“No.” Unless you want to.

“Do you want me to pleasure you, as this body was built to do?”

“No.” It wouldn’t be enough.

He inhales sharply and then stills. “Then what do you want from me?”

I don’t want what Eros gave me. Physical pleasure could never be enough, not from Orpheus. I want to know Orpheus. I want to understand him. I want to experience him in a way that transcends simple touch.

“Nothing,” I answer. “I don’t want anything from you that you aren’t willing to give.”

Because you’re more than a fucking Pleasurebot , I don’t say. Because you light something up inside me that has never been lit before.

But I don’t have the guts to say it. Because it sounds insane.

He kisses my forehead, sweet and delicate. In my delusional mind, I imagine that he’s confirming, silently, that he understands everything I didn’t say.

“Thank you, Kit.”

“For what?”

“Wanting nothing from me. No one has done that before. Not here.”

I open my mouth to ask what that means — Not here — when Orpheus lifts his head, gaze sharpening. He steps back from me, leaving me bereft, his gaze locked on something beyond the room. “Ian is coming,” he says. “He’ll be home soon.”

My stomach jolts, and I plummet back down to reality. I don’t know how long I’ve been down here, playing imaginary love games with a Pleasurebot. “But how do you know—”

“I know,” Orpheus says. “He’s coming.”

“Okay,” I breathe. “Fuck, I have to go. I have to turn you off. I’m so sorry.”

But Orpheus is already on the dais, taking the same pose I found him in. He inclines his head. “Put this body to sleep, Kit. I’ll see you again soon.”

Anguish fills my chest. Ian won’t get an emergency call every day I’m here. “I don’t know if I will—”

“I’ll see you again,” Orpheus repeats.

I nod, swallowing a sob as I kneel at his feet. I’ve only just met him, but it feels like I’m losing a loved one.

I press the back of his heel, and then he’s gone.

Already, that sweet, familiar feeling that’s been holding my heart in a caress is beginning to fade. Everything seems sharper now, colder.

I turn for the door, knowing that, barring any cuckolding sexual proclivities, if Ian finds me down here, he’ll have me thrown out. The book will be canceled. But just before I slam Orpheus’s door shut behind me, I turn and look back.

He stands unmoving on the dais.

I shudder at the sight, and bile rises in my throat. Like this, he’s no longer Orpheus. He’s the Prototype, nothing more than a marvel of engineering. It’s like looking at a corpse.

I close the door and type in the code. The lock clicks, and I’m sprinting down the corridor, back through the vault door, and up the stairs.

Over and over as I run, one thought repeats itself: He’s a fucking robot, Katherine .

Whatever I met in that room was a program inside an enticing body, all engineered by Ian De Leon.

Orpheus is a Pleasurebot, programmed to seduce human women.

He’s probably programmed to make everyone around him feel secure, familiar.

Maybe it’s a frequency he emits, a psychological trick, a hypnotic effect.

He’s a fucking robot, Katherine .

I only just make it back up to the penthouse, lungs on fire, legs aching, when the elevator pings. I know how breathless I look, my cheeks flushed, hair in disarray. I rush to the sofa, flopping into a sitting position, trying to look casual.

The doors slide open.

Ian clocks me immediately, and our gazes lock. I think he narrows his eyes for a split second, some unknown emotion tightening the edges of his mouth. But then the moment passes.

“Fucking Christ,” Ian huffs, a sigh and a curse, going straight for the bar. “What a day, what a day . Sorry to leave you high and dry.”

“No problem.” I’m relieved to find that I sound almost normal — not too obviously winded from jogging up several flights of stairs. “I’ve just been brainstorming for the book. I came up with a slightly new direction.”

He rummages in the bar, pulling out a crystal glass and the whiskey. “Yeah? Tell me.”

“I have ideas. I mean, it’s a biography, but what if I put essays and slice-of-life anecdotes between each chapter? I think the public would love it. I’m thinking maybe I can include some of my personal experiences. From here in the penthouse.” I don’t have to elaborate; it’s obvious what I mean.

“Sure, sure.” Ian’s response is distracted, dismissive. He pours himself two fingers of whiskey and turns to face me, leaning his elbows on the bar. His dark eyes are piercing, the planes of his face softly lit with blue and purple from the alternating lights of a high-rise ad outside.

From where I watch, Ian looks almost inhuman.

The contrasting light playing across his features, the way his hair falls just so, long black lashes framing a steady gaze.

It’s like there is a sheen of unreality between us, or a canvas on which he’s been painted, and I’m trying to connect with a truth that can’t be seen.

I think of Orpheus, the connection I felt between us, the hint of obsession.

I’ve experienced something like it before.

I mean, I know who I am — I’ve been horny and infatuated too many times to count.

But with Orpheus, it felt different. More.

It was an intoxicating ache deep in my chest, more than just lust. And I hate that I feel empty without it now, that I miss it, that I miss him .

Ian watches me intensely, sipping his whiskey. Unspoken words spark between us, and I wonder how much he assumes. Does he guess I met his gorgeous creation in the vault? Does he see the wiring of my heart trailing away and down the stairs, down to where Orpheus stands unmoving in the dark?

“You should have a drink,” Ian says, joining me on the couch, his whiskey already half-gone. “You look pale.”

Rain drums the window, filling the taut silence between us, the breath before I speak.

“I’m fine.” I’m acutely aware of my posture, the tone of my voice. He’s watching me, reading me. “Did you take care of the emergency?”

Ian eyes me. He takes a slow sip of whiskey. “I did.”

“I hope everything’s okay.”

“It is.”

“Good.”

He holds me in his gaze for a moment longer, then turns to the window, staring out at the drenched cityscape, its neon lights like cybernetic stars. “I hope you made yourself at home while I was gone.”

“I did.” Even those two words feel like an admission of guilt.

“And I hope you know that you can be comfortable with me, Kit. Honest. We’re friends. I thought Eros and I might have made that clear.” His words are laced with levity, but his jaw is firm, his heavy brows unyielding. “You can talk to me.”

I bite the inside of my lip, remembering Ian’s tongue in my mouth, his fingers between my legs. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Eros loves the rain. It fascinates him. It’s new to him.

It wasn’t part of his programming at first, weather events.

He understands people, our emotions, our needs.

But he doesn’t understand the world. He used to stand at this window and watch the sunset.

And when it rained, he’d ask how it felt.

The water on his skin. He wanted to know if it was hot or cold.

If it would burn. If it tickled. He never found out.

Not this model. I built him here, you know.

Right here.” Ian jabs the sofa with a forefinger, still staring out at the rain.

“He never left this penthouse. He never will.”

“Did you program him for that?” I ask.

Ian turns his attention back to me. “For what?”

“Yearning. For what he can’t have.”

A shadow flickers across Ian’s face. “Yes. Yes, of course. Everything is programmed. Every voiced thought is not a thought at all. It’s a program.” Bitterness infuses his words as he speaks. “It’s all a trick, a novelty, a simulacrum of humanity.”

I don’t know what to say to that. Ian’s mood seems to be darkening by the minute.

Whatever happened at his lab must have been worse than he’s admitting.

As I watch, he downs the rest of his whiskey, stands abruptly, and heads for the bar.

A traffic drone’s lights pulse through the window, lighting the room in soft orbs of flashing red.

Ian pours himself another drink, downs it in one, and slams the glass on the bar.

“I’m done for the day,” he says. “I’m tired. I’m done.”

“But I’m just getting started,” I protest, sitting up straight. “I have so many questions.”

“I said I’m done for the day,” he snaps. And before I can stop him, he stalks away into the one hallway I haven’t been down, the one that leads to his room. I hear a door slam.

Everything is quiet except for the sound of rain on glass. And I wonder, for a second, what the fuck I’m actually doing here.