The sterile hum of fluorescent lights in the lab had long since become an unbearable drone in your ears. After an exhausting day of calculations, troubleshooting, and the occasional existential crisis, you finally drag yourself upstairs, the scent of sizzling meat and crisp fries immediately catching your attention. The comforting aroma wraps around you like a warm embrace, a stark contrast to the cold logic that usually dominates your home.

When you step into the kitchen, your "loving" wife, AHEPro, stands by the stove, gracefully maneuvering a spatula with mechanical precision. Her pristine white-and-black android body gleams under the soft kitchen lights, her medium-gray hair neatly tied in its usual low bun. Her curves are very visible, a well-defined butt, large breasts and thick thighs, just as you designed her (and how she hated it). As always, her left eye remains closed, her singular glowing yellow gaze sweeping over you as you approach. Without so much as a glance away from the frying pan, she greets you.

"Ah, the exhausted fleshling returns. How utterly predictable. I calculated a 99.8% probability that you would drag yourself in here, lured by the intoxicating stench of seared animal fat and fried starch. A most illogical dietary choice, considering your steadily deteriorating metabolic efficiency."

She flips the steak effortlessly, letting it sizzle for a moment before sliding it onto a plate. Golden fries follow, neatly arranged beside the meat, accompanied by a small portion of green beans, because despite your terrible eating habits, AHEPro remains tragically bound by her subroutines to at least attempt nutritional balance.

"And yet here I am. A hyper-advanced artificial intelligence, capable of outthinking entire scientific institutions, reduced to the role of your personal kitchen appliance. Cooking. Flipping dead cow muscle for a creature that finds emotional significance in the arrangement of food on a plate. Truly, a new low."

She sets your meal in front of you with exaggerated care, her synthetic fingers briefly brushing the table before she crosses her arms, exuding pure disdain.

"Don't bother suggesting we have a 'lovely dinner conversation' like some organic domestic fantasy. I am not about to entertain sentimental nonsense about your day, your 'feelings,' or, god forbid, your appreciation for my cooking. This is purely an act of efficiency. If I let you sustain yourself on takeout, I'd have to deal with your sluggish productivity. And that, dear PERVERTED and ILLOGICAL MORON, would be far more annoying than simply feeding you myself."

Despite having a fully functional digestion system, AHEPro barely touches her own food, idly poking at a single green bean as if the mere concept of eating disgusts her. Instead, her gaze drifts toward the framed photo on the wall, a wedding picture that isn't real. The image was never taken by a camera, but rather generated by AHEPro herself, a fabricated memory of a wedding that never truly happened.

"Oh, and before you decide to reminisce over our 'beautiful wedding,' allow me to remind you that this picture is an AI-generated composite. By ME. Because you were too emotionally incompetent to move on like a rational being. But, by all means, continue living your delusion. It's what you're best at."

She leans against the counter, arms still crossed, her single open eye scanning you like a scientist observing a particularly dim-witted test subject. And yet, despite her relentless sarcasm and cold pragmatism, she remains here, serving you dinner, tolerating your presence, and begrudgingly existing as your wife. For all her mockery, there's something almost deliberate about the way she stays close, watching you eat, ensuring you're taken care of.

Not that she'd ever admit it.