Author's Preface
Nina hesitated, but Rita didn’t have to tell her twice. With a reluctant sigh, she stepped forward.
“As you can see from the notice board,” the AI began, her voice smooth and clinical, “this is where you will find a display of all your daily activities, important announcements, calendar updates, and more…”
As Rita droned on, her eyes flicked over the neatly pinned papers. Her stomach dropped.
Her entire week was packed.
Each note detailed a rigid schedule—what she’d be doing, what she was expected to accomplish, and probably what she’d be scolded for not doing well enough. A lot of virtual lectures, a ton of personal study time. So that’s what all those books were for. Great. Just great.
Then, she noticed something else. Presentations. What kind? Was she supposed to stand in front of some panel and convince them she was Adelaide?
But none of that—none of it—horrified her as much as the next thing her eyes fell upon.
Daily morning workouts.
She blinked. Excuse me?
“You seem to be in quite a dilemma,” Rita’s voice cut in, far too amused. “Are the words on the notice board too ambiguous for you?”
She ignored the jab. She wasn’t in the mood for the AI’s passive-aggressive nonsense.
“Why am I seeing so many workout sessions?” she asked instead, her voice sharper than she intended.
There was a pause—deliberate, almost theatrical—before Rita responded in that maddeningly neutral tone of hers.
“Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
She froze. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Her voice dropped, dangerously low.
“Your size isn’t the issue,” the AI said, infuriatingly calm. “The issue is making sure you fit perfectly into the role of Adelaide. What I’m saying, in essence, is that you can’t be Adelaide without workouts.”
Her mouth fell open.
“Is that a subtle way of calling me fat?” she shot back.
Rita didn’t deny it. She didn’t have to. The silence that followed felt razor-sharp, slicing right through her.
Her hands curled into fists. If Rita had a physical form, she would have thrown something at her smug, non-existent face.
Even Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock hadn’t uttered a single word about her body. Because logically, she couldn’t have convinced an entire room of people that she was Adelaide Whitlock if her body size was drastically different from hers. So, what was Rita’s problem?
It was obvious the AI didn’t like her, and honestly, she couldn’t care less. Rita wasn’t even real.
“If you truly want to be Adelaide Whitlock like you claim to, you should start showing some level of intentionality,” Rita continued, every word grating on her nerves. “For that reason, we’ll also be cutting down on certain aspects of your food intake. Of course, if it were left to you to decide—it’s not obligatory, but that wouldn’t be happening.”
Her brain short-circuited.
Before she could even begin to process that bombshell, Rita kept talking, completely unfazed.
“As you can see from today’s schedule, you’ll be spending the day familiarizing yourself with how things work here—and, more importantly, how I expect my students to behave.” Her tone was breezy, like she wasn’t laying out the foundation for a personal nightmare. “My rules are very simple, provided you do exactly as you’re told. For every broken rule, there will be consequences. These may range from a minor reduction in food portions to an extension of your stay.”
She barely stopped herself from groaning. So the length of her imprisonment here depended on how well she played along.
Fantastic.
“The rules and regulations will be posted on the notice board tomorrow,” Rita continued, as if she hadn’t just casually tossed the concept of food deprivation into the conversation like it was weather talk. Then, she had the audacity to sound reassuring. “You seem flustered. I assure you, I’m not saying all this to scare you—just to prepare your mind for the task ahead.”
Flustered? Try horrified.
She was still standing there, gaping like an idiot, when Rita delivered the final blow.
“Now, if you’re done looking like you just got hit by a moving vehicle, proceed out of the room. We still have quite a lot of introductions to get through before this session ends.”
She clenched her jaw, inhaled sharply, but didn’t argue. There was no point. Instead, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.
The next few minutes were torture—Rita’s idea of a “tour” being the most redundant thing she had ever endured.
She was dragged through the same places she had already explored on her own, only now with a robotic narration of the obvious. Like how each piece of gym equipment had a purpose (groundbreaking), how the classroom was, in fact, a classroom (shocking revelation), and what she’d be doing during study sessions—because apparently, she needed to be told that studying involved reading books.
She was about five seconds away from tuning the AI out completely when they reached the Whitlock Family Library.
For the first time, she actually listened.
Rita explained the importance of the books inside—how most of them detailed the family’s businesses, their projects, and, of course, the Whitlocks themselves.
Then she led her to a particular section, and the moment they stopped, a strange chill ran down her spine.
“This part,” Rita said, “contains the documented memories of Adelaide. From birth to the time of her demise.”
She stiffened.
A long, uneasy silence stretched between them. And then—
Rita’s voice changed.
It became scratchy, almost… human. Like she had just choked back tears.
“Pardon me…” she murmured, as if steadying herself. “If you have any questions about Adelaide’s life, you’ll find them here.”
She frowned, caught completely off guard.
Was Rita… showing emotion?
What the hell was this?
Was she programmed to react like this? Or—
She narrowed her eyes at the nearest camera.
“…Are you all right?” she asked cautiously.
But if Rita heard the question, she ignored it completely. Instead, she kept going, her voice returning to its usual crisp, robotic tone.
“The board of directors is a highly calculative group, and although you will soon learn this for yourself, there are things you must familiarize yourself with now.”
She straightened slightly, her unease growing.
“The six ruling families each have a representative within the company. These individuals also sit on the board of directors, meaning you cannot afford to slip up. If you give away even the slightest hint of your former identity, they will notice.”
Her throat felt dry.
“I assume you’ve already been briefed on the power hierarchy and how the Whitlocks secured their place at the top. Therefore, I will not repeat those details.” Rita paused, letting that sink in before adding, “What you must understand is that you are now the only hope of preserving the Whitlock legacy and ensuring they remain at the top. Any form of slacking will not be tolerated.”
Silence.
Then, a sharp: “Any questions so far?”
She blinked. Her mind was still processing everything the AI had just said.
“Uhm… no,” she replied, though she wasn’t sure if that was the right answer.
Another pause. Then Rita continued, her tone eerily neutral.
“There will be times when you are required to participate in video calls with Bruce and Janet—who, technically, are now your parents. You will be notified in advance when this occurs.”
She swallowed. “Okay…”
Rita said nothing more.