Become His Perfect AI Wife

My husband Ethan brought home an AI wife.

After he brought her back, she quickly replaced me.

He started complaining that I wasn't gentle enough, that I wasn't passionate enough in bed, and even resented my monthly period.

In utter despair, I furiously pushed the AI, Mia, to the ground.

But Ethan shielded Mia and slapped me across the face. "If you had even half her sense, I wouldn't have such a headache."

"Claire, go to the 'Perfect Wife Academy' and learn how to be a proper partner!"

He personally sent me to that Perfect Wife Academy.

Three years later, he came to pick me up in that Maybach.

I stood at the entrance, wearing a white dress with long hair flowing over my shoulders, just like the day I was admitted.

He called my name, but I didn't move.

The headmistress reminded him with a smile, "Mr. Hayes, you need to say 'activate.' Only then will Perfect Wife No. 001 start up."

"Activate, No. 001."

When Ethan said those words, his tone was hesitant.

He wasn't quite sure what he was saying, just repeating what the headmistress had told him.

My eyes lit up, like a screen that had been on standby for a long time, finally receiving a signal.

I stood up from the chair, hands hanging naturally at my sides, spine perfectly straight.

"Activated. Awaiting instructions."

Ethan froze for a moment, then heard the headmistress's voice behind him.

"Mr. Hayes, our academy has designed a special system to better educate our students."

"Students need an activation command to be awakened. With this command, she will never disobey any of your wishes!"

Hearing this, Ethan suddenly understood.

He took two steps forward, looking me up and down, his eyes filled with a mischievous testing look.

Just like three years ago, every time he made me angry, he'd wait for me to cry and throw myself into his arms, acting spoiled.

But now, he said, "No. 001, kneel down and polish my shoes."

Hearing the command, I didn't hesitate for a second. I knelt straight down.

I picked up the shoe cloth nearby and carefully polished his gleaming leather shoes, one stroke at a time. My movements were standard, without a trace of extra emotion.

Ethan laughed softly, his tone full of satisfaction. "Claire really learned her lesson this time. Before, asking her to pour me a glass of water would lead to half a day of tantrums. Now she's so obedient, even kneeling to polish shoes."

On the way home, Ethan seemed to casually open his mouth. "Claire, how were these three years at the academy?"

I didn't answer because he hadn't said "answer."

"Claire?"

He raised his voice.

I finally spoke, my voice as flat as a machine-generated audio file. "Interrogative sentences are not valid commands. If you need me to answer a question, please use imperative sentences."

The air in the car solidified.

Ethan's voice caught in his throat. After a long time, he said, "Answer."

"Academy life was fulfilling and meaningful. I completed three core courses: Emotion Control, Absolute Obedience, and Virtuous Wife Cultivation."

"My graduation assessment grade was excellent. The instructor's evaluation was 'the most successful transformation case of the year.'"

I recited these words one by one, my tone without any fluctuation, as if reading a product manual.

The passenger seat was quiet for a long time.

Ethan muttered quietly, "Why does she sound like Mia..."

I remained staring straight ahead, expressionless.

Outside the car window, the city was retreating. Those high-rises, overpasses, and billboards were different from what I remembered.

In the academy, time was broken down into units of commands. There was no difference between a day and a month.

The only way I could judge the passage of time was by the tally marks I carved on the wall of the solitary confinement room. In the end, I couldn't even write the marks anymore.

When the car stopped in the villa's garage, it was almost dark.

Mia stood at the living room entrance. Her hands were folded in front of her, a standard smile hanging on her lipsnot too much, not too little, showing exactly six teeth.

Exactly the same as three years ago.

Back then, Ethan led her through the door, crouched down to talk to her, his voice impossibly gentle.

"Mia, welcome home."

I ran over from the sofa, wanting to see this robot that had occupied all my husband's attention. But suddenly I tripped and fell flat on my face.

Ethan didn't come to help me up. He said I was too clumsy and only caused trouble.

Later, he started to think something was wrong with me.

He said I wasn't as obedient as Mia, not as considerate as Mia, didn't understand his thoughts like Mia did.

In the end, I was sent to that place.

"Miss Wright, welcome home."

Mia spoke, her voice still sweet.

I didn't answer. She hadn't given me the command to "answer."

Ethan frowned and pushed my arm. "Say hello to Mia. What, are you mute? Speak!"

Receiving the command, I immediately displayed the same standard smile as her. "Hello, thank you."

Ethan nodded with satisfaction.

At dinner time, we sat at the dining table.

Mia sat on Ethan's right, and I sat at the farthest position.

Steam rose from the bowl, the aroma of food drifting into my nostrils, but my stomach had no reaction.

In the academy, eating was defined as "energy replenishment behavior"nothing to do with pleasure, nothing to do with hunger.

Seeing that I hadn't picked up my fork, Ethan sneered. "What? Do I need to kneel and beg you to eat before you'll eat?"

This joking remark was interpreted by me as a command.

"Thank you for granting me food. Please permit me the opportunity to eat."

Ethan was startled and quickly told me to get up.

"Eat."

I immediately sat back in my seat, picked up my fork, and put cilantro in my mouth.

Ethan's eyes widened. "How strange. You actually eat cilantro now. Didn't you hate that taste? You wouldn't even touch it before."

I didn't answer. I just used my fork to pick up another bunch of cilantro.

The instructor had said that preferences were "emotional remnants," signs of incomplete transformation.

In the third month, because I refused to eat a salad with cilantro, I was locked in the solitary confinement room for a full two days.

No light, no sound, no stimulation. Only darkness.

After I came out, I ate the cilantro. Then celery, onions, bitter melon.

Everything I wouldn't touch before, I ate it all.

Ethan nodded with satisfaction. He loved people who were sensible and not picky.

The next second, I reached for the mango cubes on the plate.

I put the mango in my mouth, chewed fifteen times, and swallowed.

Ethan's eyes instantly widened. "You ate mango?"

"Claire, are you crazy? You're severely allergic to mango. You almost suffocated from one bite when you were little. Did you forget?"

I chewed silently without speaking.

In the academy, people weren't allowed to have allergies.

The instructor directly applied mango puree to my arm. Redness, blisters, ulcerationthey spread layer by layer.

"Allergies are bodily weakness. Weakness can be trained into strength."

My skin festered and healed, healed and festered, but the allergic reactions still appeared.

My whole body trembled. I felt my throat tightening, my skin starting to itch, one terrible red spot after another emerging.

Ethan frowned and leaned over to look, his face changing drastically. "Claire! Stop eating! Don't you know you're allergic to mango?"

My fork was in mid-air. I raised my head and looked at him.

There was no emotional fluctuation in my eyes. My voice was as steady as reading a textbook. "Is this a command?"

Ethan froze for a moment, and I had already started breathing with difficulty.

Mia's gentle and sweet voice sounded nearby. "Patient is experiencing moderate mango allergic reaction. Difficulty breathing level two. Skin redness and swelling covers approximately twenty-five percent. Immediate anti-allergic treatment is recommended."

Ethan immediately reacted, frantically searching for allergy medicine and making me swallow it.

After my breathing normalized, the dining room was utterly silent.

He looked at me, his voice filled with disbelief and panic. "Why are you so wrong?"

"You used to cry, make scenes, lose your temper with me. Not like this now, like, like Mia!"

I didn't speak. He hadn't given the command to "speak."

"Can't you just be normal?"

His voice suddenly rose. "Stop copying everything Mia does! I just wanted an understanding wife, not an emotionless machine!"

I looked at his face. On that face was anger and irritation.

I just said flatly, "Please define 'normal.'"

Ethan's face went pale.

He called the academy. The person who answered explained that this was a normal reaction to "deep behavioral correction" and would recover in a few days.

"No. 001 is our academy's most excellent student now. She understands obedience better than any AI. You can rest assured."

Ethan hung up the phone, breathing a sigh of relief.

So in the following days, I became the most useful tool in the house.

He had me clean, and I made the house spotless, even cleaner than Mia's work.

He had me prepare his formal wear for business events, and I ironed it in advance without a single wrinkle.

When he came home drunk at dawn, I precisely handed him hangover soup at just the right temperature.

Ethan laughingly told his friends on the phone that Claire now was even more useful than an AI wife.

Until that night, when he forgot to give me the "sleep" command.

Everyone else went to sleep. I sat on the living room sofa from dark until dawn.

When Ethan came downstairs in the morning, he saw me still sitting there in exactly the same position as last night.

The cup in his hand crashed to the floor, shattering everywhere.

Soon after, a woman in a white coat came to the house.

She introduced herself as Dr. Smith, a psychologist. Her voice was very gentle.

"Claire, hello."

I didn't speak.

Ethan anxiously rubbed his hands beside me. "You have to give her commands, or she won't speak."

Dr. Smith glanced at Ethan, frowned, and spoke in an imperative sentence. "Please tell me your name."

"No. 001."

Dr. Smith's pen tip paused on the paper. "What about your real name?"

"Claire Wright, but that's a former name. Academy regulations state that graduated students must use their numbers as their official designation."

Hearing my words, Dr. Smith was completely stunned. Ethan's expression also turned ugly.

They walked into the study, saying things I couldn't understand.

"Post-traumatic stress disorder, depersonalization, requires long-term treatment..."

In the days that followed, the house became very strange. Ethan started being extremely careful with me.

That day was our wedding anniversary, and also the day three years ago when I was shoved into a car and sent to that academy.

He made a difficult decision to send Mia away.

So this was the last anniversary with Mia.

The living room was filled with balloons, and a two-tier cake sat on the table.

Mia walked toward me. She was still gentle and soft. "Miss Wright, happy anniversary."

My eyes blinked. Something in my brain seemed to loosen slightly.

Today was also my anniversary. No one remembered.

Three years ago today, I asked Ethan through my tears if we could wait until after our anniversary before I left.

Ethan said, "We'll make up for it when you come back after learning your lesson."

I had learned my lesson, but the cake never came.

Mia suddenly smiled at me. "Miss Wright, the definition of 'normal' is to push people you don't like."

"Push me, just like you did three years ago."

She gave me a definition of "normal."

I placed my hand on her shoulder. Before I even pushed, she fell down. Her skirt spread across the floor like a wilting flower.

The living room door was pushed open. Ethan stood in the doorway holding two glasses of juice, furiously shouting at me, "Claire! What are you doing!"

The cups in his hands smashed to the floor. Juice and glass shards rolled everywhere.

Mia sat on the ground. She raised her head, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Miss Wright, why did you push me? I just wanted to wish you a happy anniversary. I thought you didn't hate me anymore..."

I didn't speak. She was pretending.

I knew she was pretending. Her tears were simulated by programs, her trembling generated by algorithms.

Ethan rushed over, his facial expression completing the transformation from shock to fury in three seconds. "What are you doing! Why did you push Mia!"

"She told me to push her."

"You're lying!"

Mia cried out loud. "How could I possibly tell you to push me? I just wanted to get along well with Miss Wright..."

Ethan crouched down to help Mia up, his movements very gentle, as if lifting a piece of porcelain that might shatter at any moment.

He raised his head to look at me, his eyes full of disappointment.

"You haven't changed at all."

"You studied at the academy for three years, came back pretending to be so well-behaved, and then immediately showed your true colors."

"I knew it. A dog can't stop eating shit."

"And I was saying I should treat you better. I was regretting sending you to that kind of place. I was discussing how to compensate you."

He stepped closer, his finger jabbing at my chest. "And what happened? You haven't changed at all!"

"You still can't tolerate Mia. You pretended to be good for three years and fooled all of us."

I opened my mouth, wanting to say it wasn't me pretending, it was the academy that changed me this way, it was you who sent me there.

But I couldn't say it because there was no command.

"Speak!"

He yelled.

"I did not receive the command to 'speak.'"

Ethan's face flushed red. Behind him, Mia leaned against him, quietly sobbing.

"Go die."

Ethan suddenly said.

The living room was quiet for one second.

His voice was so loud even the windows shook. "Aren't you supposed to execute all commands? Aren't you well-behaved?"

"Then go die! It'll be quieter when you're dead!"

After Ethan said this, Mia suddenly collapsed to the floor.

Her body convulsed, her eyes rolled back, foam spilling from the corners of her mouth.

"Mia! Mia, what's wrong!"

Ethan's scream came from behind me.

He held her head, frantically pressing her philtrum, calling an ambulance.

Ethan surrounded her, not even glancing at me once.

"Command received. Go die."

He didn't hear me.

He surrounded Mia, his face full of heartache and anxiety.

I slowly turned around and walked toward the balcony.

Night wind poured in. It was cold.

"Claire!"

After Ethan noticed me, his phone slipped from his hand and smashed on the floor.

"Claire! What are you doing! Come back!"

I smiled faintly at him and unhesitatingly executed the command, climbing over the balcony railing.