San Francisco's skyline shimmered under a bruised purple dusk, the kind of evening where the fog clung low and the neon billboards flickered like promises nobody meant to keep. Ava Linden stood at her apartment window, the 12th floor of a sleek, glass-walled tower overlooking the bay. Her reflection stared back—dark hair tumbling past her shoulders, green eyes sharp with a mix of restlessness and hunger. At 28, she'd built a life she could call her own: a graphic design gig that paid the bills, a closet full of leather jackets, and a string of exes who'd never quite measured up. Tonight, though, she felt the ache again, that hollow spot no amount of wine or late-night sketching could fill.

She turned from the window and flopped onto her couch, the leather creaking under her weight. Her tablet glowed on the coffee table, open to the EternaTech website. "Your Perfect Companion," the ad promised in sleek silver font. "Custom-built. Unfailingly loyal. Designed to satisfy." Ava snorted, sipping her Cabernet. She'd rolled her eyes at the idea a hundred times—AI boyfriends for the lonely and desperate. But three months after her last breakup, with the memory of Jason's whiny excuses still stinging, she'd caved. One impulsive click, a few preferences punched in—tall, strong, dark hair, a voice that could melt steel—and here she was, waiting.