Chapter Nineteen

As the early morning light began to seep through the curtains, the villa seemed to come alive. A calm, familiar voice, smooth yet mechanical, broke the silence.

'Good morning, Sir Peter,' Chijioke, the AI assistant, greeted in its soothing, calm voice. 'It is now eight o'clock.'

Chijioke was an advanced AI system integrated into Peter's home. It managed his daily tasks: waking him up, setting reminders, and controlling various functions around the villa. Its human-like voice added a personal touch to the experience, and today, it adjusted Peter's schedule based on his restless sleep, allowing him some extra rest.

Peter chose to give the AI system the Igbo name Chijioke because he wanted to honour his cultural heritage and make it feel more personal. He didn't want to use an English name that might seem distant or impersonal. Instead, by choosing an Igbo name, he connected the technology to his roots. Chijioke means 'God holds destiny' or 'God is the custodian of fate,' and it reflected Peter's gratitude and sense of belonging. Naming the AI this way wasn't just about using a different language; it was about making the technology feel more like a part of him, a reflection of his identity. It reminded him that even in a world full of advanced technology, he could carry a piece of his culture with him.

Peter groaned, still half-dazed from his restless sleep. His hand reached towards the bedside console—a sleek, touch-screen device built into the nightstand, designed to control various features of the room. With a sluggish swipe, he silenced the persistent alarm.

'Chijioke, I should have been woken by seven,' he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Chijioke responded smoothly, 'Based on your current mood and level of rest, it seemed best for you to have sufficient sleep to perform today's tasks optimally.'

Peter stared at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting to the challenges that lay ahead. 'I don't need to be babied,' he muttered, but there was no real heat in his words. He had grown used to the odd way the technology cared for him, almost as if it knew him better than he knew himself.

'Sir Peter,' the voice continued, now sounding a bit more playful. 'You've been working long hours lately. A well-rested mind leads to better decisions, after all.'

Peter sighed, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 'All right, all right. You've made your point.' He could argue, but it was easier just to give in. Besides, Chijioke, his AI assistant, was right—he had been pushing himself too hard.

Chijioke's voice softened again, like a gentle nudge. 'Shall I prepare your shower, Sir Peter?'

'Please,' he said, swinging his legs off the bed and sitting up. His body still felt heavy, reluctant to leave the warmth of the covers.

Before he could even reach for his slippers, another voice—this time, more human—sounded through the intercom system. 'Breakfast is ready, Sir Peter,' called his chief cook, Edith, from the kitchen downstairs.

'Thanks, Edith,' he replied through the intercom, then addressed Chijioke again, a hint of dry amusement in his voice. 'You're not going to lecture me about breakfast, are you?'

'Of course not, Sir Peter. Enjoy your meal, but only after you've had your bath,' Chijioke replied warmly.

Peter nodded, standing up and stretching, feeling the cool air of the villa against his skin. He walked towards the grand bathroom, the sound of soft footsteps following him, both mechanical and human, as if the house itself was watching over him.

The bathroom door opened automatically, and he stepped inside, the air filled with the warm, soothing aroma of lavender-infused steam and polished surfaces. The shower was already steaming, and the soft light bathed the room in a warm glow. His favourite towels were neatly arranged on a plush, heated towel rack, the soft cotton waiting for him.

After the quick shower, Peter walked into the grand walk-in wardrobe, a place filled with luxury. The room was large, with high ceilings that made it feel even more open. Soft, warm lights shone on the beautiful wooden shelves and glass cabinets, which were neatly filled with an array of tailored suits, elegant shirts, gold, diamond, and silver wristwatches, and designer shoes, all in perfect order. The shiny marble floor sparkled as Peter walked, and the air smelled of rich leather and cedarwood, adding to the feel of elegance.

At the centre, a large, plush velvet armchair sat beneath an extravagant chandelier, its crystal drops catching the light and sparkling like diamonds. A full-length mirror framed in gold on one wall reflected the beauty of the room. A robot, quietly waiting in the corner, had already laid out a suit. Its mechanical arm presented a navy-blue ensemble with a high-end red tie.

'I've prepared a presidential look for you today, Sir Peter,' the robot said with a touch of pride. 'I chose this to save you the stress of deciding what to wear. You wouldn't want to live out Barefoot to the White House by Carolyn B. Sundseth, would you?' the robot added with a cheeky tone.

Peter paused, raising an eyebrow as a grin tugged at his lips. 'A grandmother's adventure to the White House, huh? I've read Barefoot to the White House…didn't think I'd hear a reference to it this morning. She actually made it to the White House,' he replied, his voice laced with amusement. 'But for now, I think I'll stick to looking presidential.'

The robot's tone shifted slightly, as if to make a playful suggestion. 'Well, if you're going for a presidential look, you might want to support Donald Trump's re-election while you're at it,' it said, a hint of mischief in its voice. 'After all, you look just like a president.'

Peter smirked. 'You're a robot, what do you know about elections?'

The robot responded coolly, 'Well, I don't have feelings, but based on my calculations, I know that Donald Trump is the right person for America.'

Peter laughed. 'Then you should turn human by November and vote for him,' he teased.

'I will, if I can,' the robot replied, sounding almost earnest.

Peter chuckled despite himself, eyeing the suit with a wry grin. The familiar fabric felt like armour against the day's uncertainties. 'You really know how to make a man feel important, don't you?'

'I do my best, Sir Peter,' the robot responded, its tone almost playful, its mechanical arm gesturing towards the suit with almost human pride.

'I'll take it,' Peter said, shaking his head in amusement.

With a smile, Peter began putting on the clothes the robot had picked out for him. The fabric fit him perfectly, reminding him of the comfort and luxury surrounding him. He glanced at himself in the large mirror, recalling the robot's playful comment. It was true, he did look like he was about to address the nation. But today wasn't about speeches; it was about doing his job as the CEO of Mars Corporation and, more importantly, if possible, finding a way to make things right with Stella.

As he moved towards the dining room, the villa came alive. Human staff bustled about, some vacuuming the marble floors with high-tech cleaners, while robots glided by, picking up the smaller tasks. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, its rich scent mingling with the faint citrus fragrance of air fresheners. A robot even polished the grand chandelier overhead, moving gracefully as if it were handling a delicate treasure.

Peter paused for a moment, watching in quiet amazement as humans and machines worked side by side, their movements perfectly synchronised. The combination of human touch and technological perfection created a sweet harmony, as if both worlds—one of man and one of machine—could coexist, even for a moment. But as his eyes rested on the busy staff, he couldn't help but feel a pang of emptiness. These machines, no matter how advanced, could never offer the companionship and warmth that a real human could. What he truly longed for was Stella—he wanted her by his side, coming home to him every day.

He sat down for breakfast, the villa still buzzing with both human and robotic activity. For a brief moment, he leaned back in his chair, feeling the weight of his responsibilities and a small sense of peace. Technology had made his life easier, but it couldn't fix things with Stella. And that, more than anything, was what he truly needed.

Through the large glass windows, Peter noticed the villa's beautiful garden. The grounds were perfectly cared for, thanks to both the human workers and the smart machines. Robots moved quietly across the lush lawn, trimming the grass with their sharp blades. The fresh smell of cut grass mingled with the fragrance of colourful flowers blooming around the house.

The garden's automatic watering system kept the plants well-nourished, ensuring the lush greenery thrived even in dry weather. On particularly hot days, small drones hovered above, offering extra moisture to delicate blooms and shaded spots that needed more care. Bright native flowers like hibiscus, bougainvillea, and marigolds swayed gently in the warm breeze, their vibrant colours creating a stunning display. Adding to the garden's allure were imported roses, tulips, and exotic peonies—plants not typically found in Nigeria, but carefully cultivated to thrive here, showcasing Peter's taste for the extraordinary. Nearby, a large robot tended to the taller trees, trimming branches and carefully shaping the hedges. Together, the machines and drones kept the garden alive and full of colour, making it a peaceful, green escape on the estate.

 Human gardeners, wearing light uniforms, worked alongside the machines. They took care of the flower beds, arranged outdoor furniture, and occasionally paused to admire a new bloom or adjust the delicate petals. Their work added a personal touch to the technology, making the garden feel alive and balanced between nature and machines.

Despite how perfectly everything was cared for in this grand villa, Peter couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. Everything looked great, but it felt a bit empty without someone to share the beauty with. The perfection around him seemed distant, as though it belonged to a world he wasn't quite a part of.

***