A Robot Bride Buried By His Bias Chapter 02

A Robot Bride Buried By His Bias Chapter 02

The surgery was canceled.

Gabriel dragged me back to the villa without a word. He ordered the staff to smash every outlet in my room and confiscated the spare keys. Before leaving, he instructed Martha, “No food, no water. She doesn’t deserve it.”

Martha nodded, sweeping a glance at me without pity or surprise, and turned into the kitchen.

The punishment suited me perfectly. Grease from food would only corrode my circuits.

That night, I locked the door, pulled the charging port from my abdominal maintenance hatch, and plugged it into a battery hidden under the bed. A faint electrical hum filled the silent room. Staring at the ceiling, I calmly logged a number in my mind: four days left.

The next afternoon, Sophie arrived.

Supposedly for a visit.

It had rained all morning. Condensation built up in my joints, so I stood at the end of the second-floor hallway, waiting for the afternoon sun to dry the moisture.

Footsteps echoed up the stairs. Sophie approached slowly, holding a steaming cup of black tea.

She glanced left and right. Confirming we were alone, her fragile facade peeled off like paper.

“Luna, think you can cling to this house by refusing to donate? Gabriel and Chloe’s hearts belong to me. You look half-dead. The thought of touching you makes me sick.”

My voice sensor picked up her frequency. My processor parsed it, lagging slightly. I stared at her for nearly half a minute before my neck stiffly turned, and I spit out one word: ‘Okay.'”

Sophie blinked, then smiled—a smile uglier than her glare.

Tires splashed through puddles downstairs. Gabriel’s car had arrived.

Sophie heard it.

Without hesitation, she raised the scalding tea and poured it over her own hand.

“Ah! Sister, why did you push me!”

Her shriek shattered the silence. She threw herself backward, tumbling down the stairs with heavy thuds.

My anti-fall protocol triggered. My right arm instinctively reached out to catch her, but my mechanical neural transmission lagged. She finished falling before my hand could connect, leaving it suspended in midair.

Gabriel burst through the door and looked up.

He saw me standing at the top of the stairs, arm stiffly extended, while Sophie lay at the bottom, crying and clutching her hand.

He rushed up two steps at a time, shoved me aside, and scooped Sophie up, his voice trembling, “Sophie, Sophie, are you okay?”

Sophie buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably, gasping out words, “My fault, I shouldn’t have come…”

Gabriel shot up, eyes bloodshot, glaring at me, “Luna, are you even fucking human?”

I stayed silent.

He carried Sophie out. Passing me, he suddenly stopped, frowning and covering his nose and mouth.

“What’s that smell? Machine oil? What cheap perfume are you wearing? It stinks. Get back to your room.”

He left with Sophie, their footsteps fading down the hall.

I looked down at my right hand.

The silicone edge at my fingertips reflected a strange gleam where it rubbed. Anti-rust oil seeped from inside, forming a thin layer I could no longer hide.

I clenched my fist. Four days.

Four days left. I had to hold on.