Chapter 1: Facing an Ex is Like Going to War

Winter in Boston arrived exceptionally early this year. By the time Clara Evans stepped out of her office, the coffee she had brewed half an hour ago was already cold. Julian’s messages remained unread on her phone. She glanced at the time and hurriedly changed into the date outfit she had meticulously prepared that morning.

Facing an ex-boyfriend is like heading to a battlefield, especially when that ex is the "white moonlight" you’ve never truly moved on from.

Three years ago, they had their farewell dinner at The Willow Pavilion. Having been back in the country for only a week, Julian had chosen the exact same spot for their reunion. Clara chalked it up to the typical lack of imagination common among engineers. After changing into her ankle boots, her light-colored coat falling just past her knees, she let down her hair which had been tied up all day for work. It cascaded over her shoulders in lazy curls. With her brown shoulder bag slung over her left side, she looked sharp and professional.

Julian was already waiting in the private room. Beside him sat a small bag of Butterfly Crackers; anyone in the know would recognize the logo on the paper bag as belonging to one of the most notoriously difficult old-school bakeries to queue for in Boston. Due to rush hour, Clara’s commute took longer than expected. She hopped out of the taxi and jogged toward the room, stopping abruptly a second before pushing the door open. Amidst the muffled noise of the restaurant, her heart hammered like a drum. Taking a half-step back, she reflexively checked her outfit, her palms curling inside her pockets. Just as she looked up, she was met with a flash of light.

The door was pulled open.

The figure that had almost blurred into a memory now gradually became clear. Julian had a new haircut, his bangs just long enough to brush his eyebrows. The bridge of his nose, the curve of his lips—everything was so perfectly struck that it brought to mind the phrase, "A graceful gentleman, as brilliant as a god."

Julian was clearly surprised to find Clara right behind the door. He stood frozen for half a minute, holding the door open, before finally speaking in a low voice.

"I thought it was the server..." Julian stepped aside. "Come in."

Clara gripped the strap of her bag, her palms cold and damp with the sweat of her sudden nerves.

The moment she sat down, dormant emotions reignited alongside her memories. There was no complex saga between her and Julian; it was just the cliché story of a girl from a humble background and a wealthy young heir who fell in love, only to be defeated by reality. They were high school classmates. Throughout those three years, they spent one year secretly crushing on each other, one year in ambiguity, and one year confessing their love. Their campus romance survived graduation and the distance of university, only to end during that winter when Clara had just started her career and was at her most financially strained.

"Clarie?" Julian’s voice pulled her consciousness back into the room. His impeccable upbringing meant that even in a private space with just the two of them, he remained as elegant as a prince. "Use a warm towel to wipe your hands."

"Thank you."

"Is it still the same as before?"

"No cilantro or onions, light spice," Julian said with a slight crinkle in his eyes. "And an order of Sweet and Sour Pork Ribs."

Clara unconsciously tightened her grip on the towel, her heart racing.

"You still remember."

The meal proceeded normally. There was none of the awkwardness Clara had imagined, nor the melodramatic weeping found in TV dramas. Julian was so calm it felt as if they weren't reuniting after a long separation, but had just seen each other yesterday. Clara couldn't help but feel a twinge of sentimental loneliness—perhaps he had already moved on and was only seeing her out of courtesy for an old flame. Yet, before they parted, Julian reached out with a brief, tentative gesture toward her shoulder. His fingers showed restraint, pulling back just as they were about to brush against her cheek, as he whispered in her ear:

"I’m planning to move back to Boston permanently, so... so are you free this weekend?"

Clara was amused by these two completely unrelated sentences. she looked down and smiled, thinking that Julian wasn't nearly as composed as he appeared on the surface.

It was past nine by the time she reached home. As Clara pushed the door open, a man of the same height as Julian walked out of the study. His smile was faint and his eyes were soft, exactly like the man she had just left at the neighborhood gate, as he called her name. A sudden wave of panic washed over Clara. She bit her tongue and scolded herself inwardly: It's not like you're out having an affair, Clara. Stand tall and walk in.

"You're home so late today."

"Uh, dinner with a colleague," Clara said, hanging her bag on the rack. Her gaze lingered for a split second on a package by the door. "Did you go out?"

"I went to get your delivery," Jude said, walking over to pull her into an embrace. "I wore a hat and a mask, and I went after the peak hours. Clarie, don't worry. No one saw me."

Clara’s hands hung at her sides, unsure whether to return the hug. Eventually, she patted his back. "I’m not blaming you. It's just that Julian is back. I'm just... I'm just afraid..."

"I understand," Jude interrupted her. "Then when you're free, can we go somewhere where there are no people?"

"...Alright."

Jude curled his lips into a smile. For a fleeting moment, a flash of blue code flickered in his eyes, unnoticed by Clara.

He was an artificial intelligence robot created entirely by her. His face, physiological features, and preferences were all modeled after that ex-boyfriend. Clara had studied AI in university and now worked at the top research institute in Boston. Jude could probably guess the reason he was created, even though Clara claimed to the outside world it was for scientific research.

Who brings a research subject home?

Back when Julian was still abroad, Clara would take Jude to crowded malls and parks every few days so he could learn and imitate humans more effectively. Though he wore a mask, Jude at least had the freedom to move about. Now, because the "original" had returned, he had to be the "hidden lover" who stayed out of sight.

However, he could not disobey Clara’s orders—neither subjectively nor objectively. After all, if he were exposed, the impact on Clara would be beyond imagination. Watching a drama on the television, Jude thought for a moment and decided to archive this emotion under the labels of "protection" and "sacrifice."

Before bed, Jude held his pillow and asked Clara if she would finish work at the normal time tomorrow. She yawned and said, "Probably." Jude didn't press further, only leaning closer to her. Clara reached out and gave him a light shove.

"You've made the bed cold just after I finally warmed it up."

"But my blanket accidentally got wet while I was cleaning today."

"...It's not like there’s only one blanket in this house."

"The guest room is very cold."

"I didn't install a temperature-sensing system in you, Jude. Lying is not a good habit."

Clara turned over and saw the robot's eyes flickering in the darkness, though they seemed to lack a certain tenderness.

"Then when can I have one?"

"Clarie, I want to have a body temperature too."

"That’s a bit difficult. I don't have enough materials on hand yet. I’ll have to find a way."

"Mm, I believe in you, Dr. Evans."