Ethan woke to sunlight streaming through his bedroom windows, the automated blinds programmed to rise with the dawn. For one blissful moment, he forgot about yesterday's disaster. Then he tried to hit snooze on his alarm.
With his mind.
The system responded instantly, silencing the gentle chime. The neural interface worked perfectly, a technological miracle that should have had him elated. Instead, it only reminded him of his new prison: absolute honesty.
"Fuck," he muttered, sitting up. His head still throbbed, though less intensely than yesterday. He reached for his phone, finding three missed calls from Dr. Chen and a text:
How are you feeling? Any changes? Call me ASAP.
He ignored it for now. First, he needed coffee and time to think. The charity gala last night had been a narrow escape, he'd texted Vanessa claiming a migraine from overwork, knowing she'd rather he miss the event than show up visibly unwell and trigger gossip. She'd been furious, but it was better than the alternative: blurting out honest answers to inane small talk.
How's married life, Ethan?
Actually, we haven't had sex in eight months and barely speak except about social engagements.
What do you think about Senator Williams' new tech regulation bill?
I think he's a technologically illiterate moron being paid by my competitors to hamstring innovation.
Yeah. Better to avoid people entirely until this was fixed.
Ethan padded barefoot to his private kitchen, a sleek space of brushed steel and black granite. He started the coffee maker, then froze at the sound of movement in his living area.
Someone was in his private wing.
He moved silently to the doorway, peering around the corner. A woman stood with her back to him, carefully dusting the bookshelves that lined his living room wall. Dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, the uniform from yesterday now paired with simple black flats.
Miss Chen. The new maid. The woman he'd humiliated himself in front of with that mortifying outburst.
He should retreat, avoid another interaction until Dr. Chen fixed this mess. Instead, he found himself watching her. She moved with unexpected precision, her attention focused on the task but with an awareness of her surroundings that seemed almost... tactical. When she reached for a higher shelf, the uniform stretched across her shoulders, revealing a lean strength at odds with her delicate appearance.
There was something about her that didn't quite fit the role she was playing.
"You're not really a maid, are you?" The words left his mouth before he could stop them, not that he could have stopped them anyway.
She spun around, nearly dropping the feather duster. Those dark eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with something that looked suspiciously like calculation.
"Mr. Sterling! I didn't hear you." She composed herself quickly, lowering her gaze. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you. Mrs. Harrington said to begin at seven."
"You didn't answer my question." He stepped into the room, curious despite himself. The truth protocol made asking direct questions dangerous, for everyone else, not him.
She tilted her head slightly. "I'm not sure what you mean, sir. I've been working as household staff for several years."
No pain. So either she was telling the truth, or his condition only applied to his own lies, not his ability to detect others'. Disappointing.
"You move differently," he said, approaching the coffee table between them. "You're too... aware. And you're studying everything."
Something flickered in her eyes, wariness, perhaps. "I was instructed to be thorough, sir."
"That's not what I meant." He circled the table, watching her. "Yesterday. What I said. Did it bother you?"
A faint blush colored her cheeks. "It was unexpected."
"But not unwelcome?" The question surprised even him. What was he doing? This woman worked for him. After yesterday's inappropriate comment, he should be maintaining professional distance, not whatever this was.
She met his gaze directly now, her expression unreadable. "Would you like me to answer that honestly, Mr. Sterling?"
The question caught him off guard. There was a sharpness to her tone, an intelligence behind those eyes that definitely didn't belong to someone who'd spent their life in domestic service.
"Yes," he said, because he couldn't help himself. Because the truth protocol was apparently affecting more than just his ability to lie, it was making him crave honesty from others too.
"Then no, it wasn't unwelcome. Just inappropriate given our respective positions." She set the feather duster down. "Would you like coffee? I was about to prepare some."
The abrupt change of subject was deliberate, he knew. A boundary being drawn.
"Already started it," he said, gesturing toward the kitchen. "But you can join me if you want."
What the hell was he doing? First the comment yesterday, now inviting his maid to coffee? Vanessa would have a fit if she knew. But Vanessa wasn't here, and something about this woman intrigued him.
"That wouldn't be proper," she replied, though she seemed to be fighting a smile.
"I'm your employer. If I say it's proper, it is." He moved toward the kitchen. "Besides, I have questions."
"About dusting techniques?" Now she was definitely suppressing a smile.
"About you." He poured two cups of coffee, black for himself. "How do you take it?"
She hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "Black is fine."
He handed her a cup, noticing the way she automatically tested its weight, as if assessing it as... what? A weapon? Curiouser and curiouser.
"So, Miss Chen..."
"Sophia," she corrected, then looked surprised at herself.
"Sophia," he repeated, liking the way it sounded. "Tell me something true about yourself."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's an unusual request before eight in the morning."
"I'm in an unusual mood." He leaned against the counter. "Humor me."
She considered him over the rim of her coffee cup. "I have a master's degree in computer science."
That explained some things, but raised more questions. "And you're working as a maid because...?"
"Life takes unexpected turns." She shrugged. "Your turn. Something true about yourself."
Bold. He liked it.
"I can't lie," he said, the words coming easily because they were true. "Physically can't. If I try, it feels like my brain is being stabbed."
Her coffee cup froze halfway to her lips. "Since when?"
"Yesterday. Side effect of a... medical procedure."
Her eyes widened slightly. "The neural interface. It worked, but it rewired your speech centers."
Now it was his turn to be surprised. "How do you know about the neural interface?"
She set her cup down carefully. "Everyone in tech knows Sterling Innovations is working on neural interface technology. It's hardly a secret."
True, but her immediate leap to the correct conclusion suggested more specific knowledge.
"And the rewiring of speech centers? Is that common knowledge too?"
She hesitated. "No. That was... an educated guess. Neural pathways are complex. Unexpected connections happen during integration."
He studied her face. There was definitely more to Sophia Chen than she was letting on.
"Why are you really here, Sophia?"
The direct question seemed to catch her off guard. She opened her mouth, closed it, then set her coffee down.
"I should get back to work," she said finally. "Thank you for the coffee, Mr. Sterling."
"Ethan," he corrected. "And you're avoiding the question."
"Yes, I am." She picked up her feather duster. "Some truths aren't mine to share yet."
With that cryptic statement, she returned to the bookshelves, effectively dismissing him in his own home.
Ethan watched her for a moment longer, fascinated and frustrated in equal measure. Whatever game she was playing, he'd figure it out. The truth protocol might be a curse, but it could also be a weapon. And Sophia Chen had just become the most interesting puzzle in his life.
His phone buzzed. Dr. Chen again.
Emergency. Lab. Now.
So much for a quiet morning. With one last glance at Sophia, who was pointedly ignoring him now, Ethan headed to his bedroom to dress. Whatever crisis awaited at the lab, he had a feeling it wouldn't be nearly as intriguing as the mystery currently dusting his bookshelves.