QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 111: Punch

Chapter 111 - Cedric POV

"Listen, I’m never going back with you—please leave."

Her voice is firm, quiet, and final. But sothing about it needles at . Maybe it’s the way she refuses to look afraid of . Maybe it’s the way she says "please" with no fear, just exhaustion.

I don’t like it.

My patience wears thin. I reach forward, grab her arm, and tug.

She stumbles, nearly falling out of the carriage as I pull her with .

"We’ll talk about this properly," I say through clenched teeth.

"Unhand !" she snaps, yanking her arm, but I don’t let go. The carriage driver shouts sothing, but I ignore him.

I pull her out onto the dirt road, the carriage rocking behind us. Dust kicks up around our feet. Her cloak falls from one shoulder, exposing the simple dress beneath. She glares at with the kind of hatred I used to think she wasn’t capable of.

"You’re being hysterical," I say.

"This is not the place for a scene."

"You want to drag into the mud to talk about appearances now?" she spits back.

"You lost the right to speak to like that the mont you raised your hand on Frida."

Her words hit harder than I expect, but I cover the crack with a smirk.

"You act as though you’re not still my wife."

"I’m not," she hisses. "By law, by status, and by choice."

I step closer. "You think that peasant will protect you forever? He’s not even a real—"

A sharp sound cuts through the air.

Thud.

And suddenly, I’m on the ground, vision reeling. Pain blooms across my jaw. I look up, dazed.

Daphne stands between us.

Hair tied back. Eyes blazing.

"Touch her again," she says, low and dangerous, "and it’ll be your last mistake."

Evelyn rushes to my side, no—past , to her. She grips Daphne’s sleeve like an anchor, trembling.

The sight makes sothing curdle in my stomach.

I stand up, furious.

"How dare you lay a hand on —the duke! You fucking pea—"

My words catch mid-spit.

Because I finally look at the man’s face.

No. Not a man.

"Lady Daphne?"

It slips out in a strangled breath.

She’s dressed plainly, hair tied back, face set in a fury I’ve never seen. And she doesn’t deny it.

"What the fuck is going on here?!"

I spin toward Evelyn—who’s brushing off her arm, her expression twisted in disgust—and then back to Daphne.

And in that mont, the pieces fall into place.

The closeness.

The disappearance.

The scandal.

That smirk in the gallery.

That painting—of her laughing barefoot in a stream.

I start to laugh. Loud, unhinged, cold.

"Oh," I say. "Oh. That’s rich."

My voice rings through the trees, bouncing off the silence.

"You left for her?" I gesture wildly, stepping forward.

"For her?! All this ti I thought—what, a knight? A stable hand? But a woman? That’s your secret?!"

Evelyn says nothing.

Daphne steps in front of her, protective to the bone.

"You don’t get to speak to her like that," she growls.

I blink. Then laugh—loud and sharp.

"Oh no," I mock. "I’m so scared. What are you going to do about it, Lady Daphne?"

I spit the title like it’s a joke. And she steps forward. That glint in her eyes—rage, real and burning.

But Evelyn catches her wrist. "Let’s go. It’s not worth it."

That stings.

Like I’m not worth it?

They turn.

I clench my fists, teeth grinding. "I can’t believe the timid Lady Daphne went around pretending to be a man to steal my wife!"

Daphne stiffens.

Evelyn turns her head slightly, enough to say, low and cold:

"She was never yours."

That stops .

Just for a mont.

The words clang through my skull like a bell.

"She was the Duchess of Callum," I say, bitterly. "She was mine by law."

"And she left you," Daphne says, voice like ice. "Of her own will. That title ant nothing compared to her freedom."

"Fine, if she’s not mine—you are, Lady Daphne. You just left. Our marriage is still in place."

They both flinch.

And I see it—that crack. The wound neither of them expected to dig up.

"Anyway," I say, stepping forward, voice low, smug curling in my throat, "this is good news. You could both co ho. I’ll look away from your little affair and—on so nights—I could even co and wa—"

Pain.

Not a punch.

A flurry of them.

Fists slam into my face, fast and rciless. My skull snaps back, then forward, knuckles cracking across my jaw, nose, cheekbone.

I stagger, hand flying up instinctively, but she doesn’t stop.

***

Daphne POV

I don’t rember moving. One second I’m beside Evelyn, the next, my knuckles crack across his jaw.

Again.

And again.

[Host, stop this! The plot is in its final arc! You’ll ruin everything—!]

The system’s voice screeches in my mind, desperate, panicked.

I barely hear it.

I hear Evelyn too, her voice rising—"Daphne, stop—"

But I can’t.

He’s beneath , and I need him to bleed. I need the world to know what happens when you touch what’s mine. When you hurt her.

The pressure inside is unbearable. It’s like my chest is collapsing in on itself, rage and grief fighting for dominance in my bloodstream. My fists strike his face, his ribs, anywhere I can reach.

His blood stains my hands.

But it’s still not enough.

I want to break him.

My breathing’s ragged. My vision tunnels.

The system screams louder.

[Stop now! You’re destabilizing the end of the narrative! You’ll break the entire—!]

"I don’t care!" I shout, not realizing the words have escaped my mouth until Evelyn pulls back with both hands, her grip desperate.

"Daphne," she says again, this ti softer, her forehead pressing to mine. "It’s over. It’s done. Look at ."

My hands fall.

Her voice pulls from the edge.

And slowly, painfully, I begin to breathe again.

Behind her, Cedric groans, curled up in the dirt. I don’t care.