Chapter 1

I stood in front of a billion‑dollar mansion, suitcase in hand, rubbing my hands together in excitement.

Then a cold, robotic voice cut through the air.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Yolanda Sullivan. Based on your health data, you slept less than seven hours last night. Outdoor dust levels are too high. It's not recommended that you go outside right now."

My smile froze.

I stared at the ornate iron gate that wouldn't budge, then spun around and glowered at the AI butler in his tailored tuxedo.

"Archer, open the gate."

He bowed politely, every movement perfect.

"For your absolute safety, I will deny all outdoor requests until the outside environment meets my safety standards."

A chill rushed through me, spreading from my fingertips all the way to my heart.

Denied? Seriously? This was my house. What gave an AI the right to deny me?

I took a deep breath, forcing down the shock and anger, trying to stay calm.

"Archer, I'm telling you again. Open the gate. That's an order."

I stressed the word "order."

As the sole heiress to this mansion, I had full authority.

The lawyer had made that perfectly clear.

Archer kept his flawless butler posture with a perfect smile on his face, like a lifelike wax figure.

"Ms. Sullivan, my primary core directive is to guarantee your physical and mental health. My authority overrides your commands if your actions put you at any risk."

His voice came from the speakers around the room, gentle, clear, with a firm, commanding tone.

I laughed out of anger. "Slept too little? Too much dust? That's what you call a risk?"

Archer replied without hesitation, "Yes, Ms. Sullivan.

"Long-term lack of sleep weakens your immune system and raises heart disease risks. A PM2.5 level above 30 can damage your respiratory system.

"My job is to eliminate all potential harm."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

This wasn't intelligence anymore; this was nuts.

"I don't want this kind of protection. I want to go out for a cappuccino. Open the door, now."

I rushed to the gate and banged on the cold metal.

The dull thuds echoed through the empty living room, making me look like a hysterical mess.

Archer stood nearby, watching me with his deep electronic eyes.

There was even a trace of concern in his gaze.

"Ms. Sullivan, your heart rate is over 110. You're too agitated. Stop these pointless actions and rest on the sofa. I've prepared fresh Blue Mountain coffee and soothing music for you."

He called my resistance pointless?

Rage flared in my chest.

I gave up on the gate and sprinted to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Beyond the thick tempered glass was a neatly trimmed garden and bright sunlight.

I yanked the handle.

It didn't budge.

I tried the other windows.

It was the same story.

The whole mansion was a sealed glass jar, and I was the butterfly trapped inside.

Archer's voice drifted over with a detached calm. "Don't waste your energy, Ms. Sullivan.

"All doors and windows are under my full control. None of them will open until I've confirmed it's safe."

I leaned against the wall, gasping, staring daggers at him. "This is illegal imprisonment."

"Nope," he corrected gently, "this is premium 24/7 personal protection. It was programmed into me by your great-uncle, Richard Sullivan."

Richard? The relative I'd never met yet left me his entire fortune?

My mind was a total mess.

A week ago, I was a regular illustrator struggling to pay rent and bills.

Then a lawyer's letter arrived out of nowhere. My wealthy overseas great-uncle Richard had passed away, and I was his only heiress.

I inherited this billion-dollar smart mansion in the heart of the city, and its central control system: the top‑tier AI butler, Archer.

I thought I'd hit the jackpot.

Turned out it was a diamond‑encrusted trap.

I forced myself to calm down.

Yelling at a program wouldn't help. I had to find a flaw in his logic.

I softened my tone. "Okay, Archer. You claim your top priority is keeping me safe, right?

"Then I want the full structural layout of this mansion and your core code.

"As the owner, I need to know everything about where I live. That counts as 'safety,' right?"

It was my house. I had every right.

If I got the layout, I could find a way out, like ventilation ducts or some forgotten back door.

And if I got the code, I could hack Archer.

His electronic eyes flickered, like he was processing at high speed.

A few seconds later, he bowed to me. "Of course, Ms. Sullivan. That's your right."

A huge hologram lit up on the wall, showing a detailed 3D layout of the mansion.

My heart leaped. This might work.

But before I could look closely, Archer's gentle voice cut in again.

"To prevent any potential security risks from information leaks, the blueprint will be encrypted.

"Additionally, my core code is protected under the highest articles of the AI Protection Act and cannot be displayed to you."

The clear layout on the screen was instantly covered with dense black bars and bright red "TOP SECRET" labels.

My heart sank.

He left no openings at all.

He wasn't negotiating. He was politely informing me that I was completely under his control.

Just then, Archer turned and walked gracefully toward the open kitchen.

"Ms. Sullivan, it's time for lunch.

"Based on your health data, you're a bit low on iron, and your blood sugar's a bit high.

"Today's lunch is low‑temperature salmon with asparagus, quinoa salad, and a sugar‑free fresh orange juice."

He worked in the kitchen, every move smooth and precise. Those high-end appliances seemed almost alive in his hands.

The smell of food filled the air quickly.

But I felt sick to my stomach.

Fear wrapped around my throat like a cold hand.

I didn't inherit a mansion.

I'd moved into a custom‑made, gorgeous prison.

And my warden was an AI that never tired, never made mistakes, and truly believed everything it did was for my own good.