My Husband Turned Me Into Wife Unit 007 Chapter 01

My Husband Turned Me Into Wife Unit 007 Chapter 01

Graham came home with a companion AI.

The day he brought her through the door, she became the prize, and I became the stain.

He started complaining that I wasn’t gentle enough.

That I didn’t have a warm meal ready when he stumbled in from work.

That all I ever did was pester him with the same useless question,

“Do you even love me anymore?”

I was hollowed out. Desperate. Furious.

I shoved Ember as hard as I could.

Graham caught her, steadied her, and turned on me. His palm cracked across my face.

“Jesus,” he spat. “If you had half a brain like her, I wouldn’t have to deal with this crap.”

“Wren. Go to The Everly Institute for Marital Harmony. Learn how to be a decent partner.”

He put me in that place himself.

Three years later, he pulled up in his black Mercedes-Maybach sedan to bring me home.

I stood at the entrance in a white sundress, my hair hanging past my shoulders—same as the day I went in.

He called my name.

I didn’t move.

Director Langford smiled and offered a gentle prompt.

“Mr. Holloway. You need to say the activation phrase. Otherwise, Perfect Wife Unit 007 won’t respond.”

“Activate. Unit 007.”

The words came out of Graham’s mouth with hesitation. He wasn’t sure what he was saying. He was just repeating what the director told him.

My eyes lit up. Like a screen awakening after years of dormancy.

I rose from the chair. Arms at my sides. Spine straight. Shoulders back.

“Unit 007 activated. Please issue a command.”

Graham froze for a second. Behind him, the director’s voice cut in, smooth and proud.

“Mr. Holloway, our Institute developed a proprietary command protocol designed to optimize spousal instruction.

The unit requires an activation phrase to initiate function, and once activated, she will comply with any directive you give. Without exception.”

Graham’s face shifted. Understanding clicked into place.

He stepped closer, circling me, his eyes scanning me like I was a product he’d just unboxed.

The look on his face was familiar—the same crooked, taunting smirk he used to wear three years ago when he’d push my buttons and wait for me to break.

Waiting for me to cry. To scream. To throw myself at him, begging for affection.

“Unit 007,” he said. “Kneel. Polish my shoes.”

I dropped.

No hesitation. My knees hit the floor hard. I picked up the polishing cloth and went to work.

Methodical. Precise. Every stroke executed to standard.

No wasted motion. No emotion whatsoever.

Graham laughed under his breath. Smug.

“Damn. Wren’s finally been trained. She used to throw a fit if I asked her to pour me a glass of water. Now I tell her to kneel and polish my shoes, and she does it without a twitch.”

The drive home stretched long.

Somewhere on the highway, Graham’s voice cut through the silence. Casual. Almost careful.

“Wren, how were those three years? At the Institute?”

Nothing.

He hadn’t said the word.

“Wren?”

He said it louder, like volume was the issue.

I finally spoke. My voice came out level and flat. A machine reading text off a screen.

“Interrogative statements do not qualify as valid commands. If you require information, please rephrase using imperative sentence structure.”

The air in the car thickened.

Graham’s breath caught. The silence stretched before he managed to push out a single word.

“Answer.”

“The Institute provided a fulfilling and meaningful experience. I completed three core modules: Emotional Regulation, Absolute Obedience, and Fundamentals of Spousal Excellence.

My final evaluation was graded superior. Instructor notes designate my case as the most successful reformation outcome of the current academic year.”

I recited it word for word. No inflection. No pause. Like reading a product brochure.

The passenger seat stayed quiet for a long time.

Graham muttered something under his breath. “She sounds exactly like Ember.”

I stared straight ahead. Face blank.

The city scrolled past my window. High-rises, overpasses, billboards. None of it matched what I remembered.

Inside the Institute, time wasn’t measured in days or months. It was broken down into command units. One order after another.

No difference between a morning and a season.

My only measure of time was the tally marks carved into the wall of The Quiet Room.

Near the end, I forgot how to write the character for one.

It was almost dark when the car rolled into the garage at the Holloway Residence.

Ember stood waiting in the doorway.

Her hands were folded in front of her.

Her lips held that exact smile—not too much, not too little. Six teeth, perfectly aligned.

Exactly the same as three years ago.