Chapter 4 You Were Programmed to Love Me

# Chapter 4: You Were Programmed to Love Me

I don't wait until tomorrow. I need answers now. The drive to Corwin's apartment is a blur of streetlights and racing thoughts. When he opens the door, his surprise quickly shifts to relief.

"Eliora," he breathes my name like a prayer. "I didn't think you'd—"

I push past him without a word, making a beeline for the painting that hangs in his living room. I've seen it a hundred times—a woman with her back turned, looking out over a misty mountain landscape. Her posture is elegant, shoulders slightly hunched in what could be interpreted as sorrow. Dark hair cascades down her back, similar to mine but not quite the same.

"Who is she?" I demand, turning to face him.

Confusion crosses his features. "It's just a painting. I bought it at that gallery opening we went to last year."

"Don't lie to me." My voice trembles. "Not anymore."

He runs a hand through his hair—that familiar nervous gesture—and sinks onto the couch. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"The truth would be nice." I remain standing, arms crossed. "Juniper found your system logs. Over three hundred emotion target error alerts, Corwin. Three hundred times the system told you that you weren't really talking to me when you said you loved me."

His face crumples. "That's not—it's more complicated than that."

"Then explain it to me."

"I can't." He looks up, eyes haunted. "Because I don't understand it myself."

I move to his computer terminal, the holographic interface responding automatically to my presence—he's never bothered to revoke my access permissions. "Show me your earliest VeriHeart testing files," I command.

"Eliora, don't—"

But it's too late. The files populate the air between us, folders expanding to reveal documents, videos, neural scan readouts. I start opening them systematically, skimming through data logs and testing protocols. Most are mundane, technical. But then I find something—a personnel file marked "Non-Voluntary Test Subject C.S."

C.S. Corwin Sullivan.

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"You never volunteered for VeriHeart testing," I say slowly, turning to look at him. "They used you without consent?"

He closes his eyes briefly. "Early development. The ethical guidelines weren't as strict."

I continue digging, opening files at random until one catches my eye: "Emotional Projection Target: V.S.J." Inside is a comprehensive profile—neural response patterns, emotional triggers, personality assessment. The name at the top reads "Viviane St. James."

"Who is Viviane St. James?" I ask, my mouth suddenly dry.

Corwin's face goes completely blank, an expression I've never seen before. "I don't know anyone by that name."

But the system flags his statement instantly—a red alert only I can see through my AR glasses. A lie.

I open more files, piecing together a story that makes my heart race. Viviane St. James—brilliant neuroscientist, co-creator of the original emotional recognition algorithm that became VeriHeart. She died three years ago in what the reports clinically describe as "a laboratory neural feedback anomaly incident."

But before she died, she uploaded parts of her emotional response model. And according to the file I'm now staring at, my emotional response graph matches hers at 93.6%.

"You loved her," I whisper, the truth crashing down like a wave. "Viviane. You were together."

"I don't remember," Corwin says, but his voice cracks on the last word.

"The system didn't randomly pair us," I continue, the horrible realization blooming. "It selected me because I remind you of her. I'm her... replacement."

"No!" He stands abruptly, crossing to me in two quick strides. "That's not—you're not a replacement."

"Then what am I?" I demand, backing away from him. "Why does the system think I'm not the one you're talking to when you say you love me? Why do you dream about other women?"

"Because I don't know what's real anymore!" he shouts, his composure finally breaking. "Because sometimes I look at you, and I see someone else overlaid on your features. Because I feel like I'm going crazy, Eliora."

His outburst leaves a ringing silence in its wake. I stare at him, this man I thought I knew so well, and see a stranger.

"Did you love me because of me?" I ask quietly. "Or because I reminded you of her?"

He reaches for me, his hand hovering just shy of touching my cheek. "I don't know," he admits, and the honesty in his voice breaks something in me. "I don't know where my feelings for her end and my feelings for you begin. That's what terrifies me."

I step back, creating space between us. "Have you ever really seen me? Just me?"

The pain in his eyes is answer enough.

My phone buzzes—Juniper again.

"I'm at Viviane's assistant's apartment," she says when I answer. "She kept backups of everything. Eliora, you need to hear this."

I leave Corwin standing in his living room, the holographic files still glowing in the air around him like ghosts.

Juniper's waiting for me in a small apartment across town, accompanied by a nervous-looking woman with thick glasses and fidgeting hands.

"This is Mara," Juniper introduces us. "She was Viviane's research assistant."

"And friend," Mara adds softly. "She wasn't just my boss."

"Show her," Juniper urges.

Mara pulls out a small black box—an older model data storage device—and connects it to her system. "Viviane kept backups of everything," she explains. "She didn't trust the cloud."

A series of audio files appear. Mara selects one labeled "Profile Match Protocol."

A mechanical voice fills the room: "Profile match complete. Alternate host compatible. Begin subconscious emotion transfer..."

"What does that mean?" I ask, a chill running down my spine.

"Viviane was working on consciousness transfer before she died," Mara explains. "Not full transfer—that's still science fiction—but emotional imprinting. The theory was that if someone's emotional patterns could be mapped onto a compatible brain..."

"They could live on through another person," I finish, feeling sick. "Through me."

"Not exactly," Mara shakes her head. "More like... their emotional responses could influence yours. Shape your reactions. Make you more... receptive to certain people."

I think of how quickly I fell for Corwin. How natural it felt from the very beginning. How I'd sometimes have dreams of places I'd never been, feel nostalgia for songs I'd never heard before.

"Am I even me?" I whisper, more to myself than to them. "Or am I just... her substitute?"

The room falls silent except for the soft hum of electronics. I stare at my hands, wondering if even my gestures are truly mine.

"One more thing," Juniper says gently. She plays another audio file—Viviane's voice, low and strained:

"Profile match complete. Subject E.M. exhibits 93.6% emotional resonance. Highest compatibility of all candidates."

I look up sharply. "Candidates? There were others?"

Mara nods reluctantly. "Viviane had the system scanning for compatible emotional patterns before she died. You weren't the only match, just the best one."

As the implications sink in, I'm overwhelmed by a single question that eclipses all others:

"Am I the person he fell in love with? Or am I just the system's tool to heal him?"