Author's Preface
After what felt like hours of sitting on the floor, drowning in the eerie silence of her newfound prison, the AI’s voice rang out again—still cold, still emotionless, but at least this time, it wasn’t telling her to rest.
"Now is the time for your lunch. You will be having a steamed salmon fillet with quinoa and a side of sautéed greens. Please make your way to the dining room, Miss Adelaide."
She didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t even acknowledge it.
She just sat there, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at nothing. Maybe if she ignored it, it would go away. Maybe if she stayed there long enough, the system would glitch and let her starve just out of sheer inconvenience.
But, of course, she wasn’t that lucky.
"You have thirty minutes to have your lunch, after which your next meal will be dinner at eight." A pause. Then, with unnerving patience, the voice added, "Please indicate if you would like your lunch turned into dinner. Otherwise, move to the dining room now."
She exhaled sharply, tilting her head back against the door.
So that was it, huh? Obey or go hungry.
She should’ve expected it.
Still, the thought of being ordered to eat made her stomach turn. She wasn’t some prisoner waiting for scraps, and yet, here she was—being told when to eat, what to eat, and where to eat it.
Her fingers curled into her palms.
She had two choices.
Stay there and pretend she had some kind of control… or give in and at least get a meal out of this nightmare.
With a frustrated sigh, she pushed herself off the floor.
"Fine," she muttered, heading for the dining room. Let’s see what five-star prison food tastes like.
When she stepped into the dining room, sure enough, a covered plate was sitting neatly on the long, elegant table, waiting for her.
She paused, glancing around. When had it even gotten here? She hadn’t heard anyone come in. Hadn’t seen a single soul since Martin left. From everything she’d gathered so far, she was the only one trapped in this beautiful, high-tech prison. Just her and this all-seeing, all-controlling AI.
And yet, somehow, food had magically appeared.
She moved closer, lifting the sleek stainless steel cover.
There it was—steamed salmon, quinoa, and sautéed greens, exactly as Rita had announced earlier. It looked perfect, arranged like something out of a five-star restaurant. But instead of being impressed, she felt a stubborn resistance bubble up in her chest.
She wasn’t about to give Rita the satisfaction of thinking she was grateful.
"Who made this?" she asked, her tone laced with skepticism, as if she could catch the AI in some kind of lie.
"The cook," Rita responded, her voice as smooth and indifferent as ever.
She narrowed her eyes at one of the cameras mounted in the room. "And who is the cook?"
"The cook is a staff member employed to prepare your meals while you remain in this house," the AI replied matter-of-factly. "However, you will not be receiving any further details. Now, if you may, please proceed to have your lunch. You have twenty minutes remaining."
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. So, a mysterious cook she’d never see? A faceless, nameless worker hidden behind the AI’s control. How convenient.
For a brief moment, she considered refusing to eat—just to prove a point. Just to push back against this ridiculous setup.
But then reality settled in. This was her life now.
She had wanted this, hadn’t she? She had prayed for an escape from her old life, jumped at the chance to step into Adelaide’s shoes. And now that she had it, now that she was here, it was too late for regrets.
Fighting the system wasn’t going to do her any favors.
Instead, she needed to focus. If she could survive these two months, prove herself through whatever training they had planned, maybe—just maybe—she’d finally be fully accepted by the Whitlocks. Maybe she’d stop feeling like an outsider looking in.
If nothing else, she wanted to walk away from this knowing she had given it everything. No second-guessing. No unfinished business. No regrets.
With that thought, she settled into her chair, picked up her fork, and took her first bite.
The food tasted exactly how it looked—perfect. The salmon was rich and flaky, the quinoa light and flavorful, the greens sautéed just right. She hated to admit it, but by the time she finished, she was actually grateful she hadn’t let her ego rob her of a good meal.
She set her glass down after a sip of water, wondering what she was supposed to do next when—
"It appears you’re done with your food," Rita’s voice chimed in smoothly. "Although you weren’t particularly expressive, I’ll assume finishing every bite means it was satisfactory."
She let out a slow exhale. "Since you’re apparently running the show, what now?"
"Running the show? That’s preposterous," Rita replied, a hint of amusement in her tone. "I’m merely an assistant. If anything, during moments like this, I’d like for you to see me as a friend. And if it’s not too much, perhaps a big sister instead."
She let out an incredulous scoff. "Yeah, no thanks. First off, you’re not my sister. Secondly, you’re not even human. How would you know anything about friendship?"
"Ah, ah, ah," the AI tsked, "you have quite the quirky sense of humor."
She frowned. "That wasn’t a joke."
"I know," Rita responded, her voice cool and unbothered. "But that’s just how you sound to me—ridiculous."
She gasped, her head snapping up toward the nearest camera. "Excuse me? Did you just call me ridiculous?"
Silence.
"Oh, so now you’re quiet?" She pushed back from the table, narrowing her eyes. "So all that robotic nonsense earlier—the pre-programmed responses, the repetition—that was an act? You’re not as mindless as you pretended to be?"
Another pause.
She folded her arms. "Alright, then. Who are you really?"
There was a longer silence this time before the voice returned, colder than before.
"I’m Rita, your instructor for this two-month regimented program. I was going to save this information for later, but since we’re here now, let’s get straight to it. First, my instructions are simple: you are to follow every rule I will soon lay out for you. Violating any of them will result in repercussions, and I’d like to assume you’re not the type who enjoys the hard way. The goal is to shape you into the refined and polished Adelaide Whitlock—the version she would have been had she lived. And ideally, I’d rather not end this program as your enemy."
Nina almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. The dry humor from earlier had vanished, replaced by something more rigid, more clinical—and somehow, more terrifying.
How many personalities does this AI have?
And the whole let’s not be enemies line? That was her line to say, not Rita’s.
But as much as she wanted to argue, she hesitated. Why would she make this harder for herself? She wasn’t here to fight with an AI. She was here to survive this.
So instead, she simply asked, "Anything else?"
A pause.
"This moment is yours," Rita finally said. "You may do whatever you like until four o’clock. At that time, be prepared."
She smirked. "Yes, ma’am."
Another pause. Then, clipped and precise: "Again. It’s Rita."
She started toward the stairs, still smirking. "But you’re the boss here, so I think ma’am suits you better."
If Rita had a face, she knew she’d be gritting her teeth right now.
"Rita."
She snorted, deliberately dragging out her words. "Rita. Ma’am."
Silence.
She chuckled to herself as she climbed the stairs. "God, this is going to be fun."