QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 115: Fall in love with you again

115 – Daphne POV

It hurts.

I open my eyes, because I feel sothing wet on my cheek.

Wet?

My lashes flutter against the sting of light filtering through the carriage windows. I blink—and the blur sharpens into shape.

Evelyn.

She’s lying beside . On the floor of the carriage. Her face is pale, her hair loose from its pins, golden strands clinging to her damp cheeks. Her hands are shaking.

I glance down and see the glistening red in her palms.

Blood.

Is it mine?

The tallic scent hangs heavy in the enclosed space. Sharp. Too familiar.

I try to sit up, but my body protests—white-hot pain flaring along my side.

"Don’t," Evelyn says, her voice low, tight. She presses her hand gently to my shoulder, coaxing back down.

"Please. Just lie still."

Her touch is warm, trembling.

So I obey.

Not because I’m afraid of the pain—though I am—but because of the way she says it.

Soft. Frightened. Like I’m sothing fragile she might break if she presses too hard.

I study her face. Her eyes are red-rimd, swollen with tears. I don’t rember ever seeing her cry.

Not like this.

Not for .

Sothing is very wrong—but I don’t ask.

I don’t want to know.

Because I already feel it. The stillness in her posture. The slight wince she tries to hide. The pale sheen clinging to her skin like frost.

I know I don’t have much ti left. Not like this. Not if the pain keeps spreading, burning low and sharp under my ribs. I don’t even know what I’m fighting for anymore.

But her weight beside ... it’s warm. It anchors .

So with the last flicker of strength in my limbs, I shift us both—slowly, trembling—until she’s lying against my arm, her head cradled near the crook of my shoulder.

She doesn’t resist. She just exhales, soft and shaky, as though she’s been holding her breath for too long.

I press my hand lower, blindly searching—

And I find it.

Warm. Wet. Too much of it.

Her abdon.

The blood’s just... flowing out.

Sticky and thick, seeping into the fabric of her gown. Her sash is soaked through. I feel the panic crawl up my throat like bile.

"Evelyn," I whisper, voice cracking.

"What’s this?"

Her lips part, but for a mont, nothing cos out.

Then: "It doesn’t matter."

"It does." My fingers curl against her side. "Gods, it does. Why—why didn’t you say anything?!"

Her eyes flutter closed. "Because you were dying."

"That doesn’t an you get to," I rasp.

She finally ets my gaze. And I see it—acceptance. And sothing else, too. Peace.

"Don’t," she whispers. "You want to spend our last monts arguing?"

I sigh and lean back on the carriage floor beside her, swallowing the pain lodged in my throat.

What is this—so low-budget Roo and Juliet?

Bleeding out in the back of a runaway carriage like two tragic idiots.

She’d probably find that romantic.

Evelyn lets out a weak chuckle, like she read my mind.

I feel her hand brush over mine—barely a touch, more a question than a comfort. I let our fingers tangle. Her grip is loose, but I hold tighter.

"You almost left alone," she says suddenly, her voice low, ragged.

I turn my head toward her, wincing at the movent.

"You think I wanted to?"

"I don’t think I could have handled that," she whispers.

"So you thought it was smart to join ?" I rasp, blinking slowly as the carriage ceiling spins above us.

"What will Frida feel, huh? Your sister?"

She chuckles, and the sound is so soft, so pained, it shatters sothing in .

"Frida is starting a family now," Evelyn says.

"And my sister will live. But without you... I don’t think I would have."

That hits harder than the blood pooling in my lungs.

"When you put it that way, I can’t argue," I say weakly, and cough. I taste iron, and wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my coat.

Even breathing hurts.

My chest feels cracked open, like my ribs are splintered glass and every inhale is a punishnt.

Still, I shift closer, until our shoulders are pressed together on the floor of the carriage. Until I can feel her heartbeat—faint, fluttering, but real.

Like a dying bird.

My vision blurs, lids fluttering open and closed. Each blink gets slower, heavier. I know—deep in my bones, in the marrow of —that the next ti I close them, I won’t open them again.

So I turn my head one last ti, ignoring the agony that slices through my ribs, just to look at her.

To morize her.

To carve her into whatever remains of —soul or mory, bone or breath.

Her face is pale, light fading from her eyes like dusk swallowing the last gold of day. And she’s still beautiful. Terribly, achingly beautiful. My disaster, my salvation. My Evelyn.

"I love you," she whispers suddenly, barely audible, like wind through frostbitten leaves.

I blink once, and feel tears spill, unbidden.

"I love you too," I manage, my voice shredded at the edges, barely more than a breath. I squeeze her hand—my last strength poured into that one motion.

Let it speak what my lungs can no longer carry.

***

Evelyn POV

I don’t regret a thing.

Not the pain. Not the bleeding. Not even the decision that brought here.

I let my eyes close, and let go.

And then—I’m walking.

Or maybe floating.

Darkness swells around , not cold, not cruel—just vast. Like I’m dissolving into it, cell by cell.

Then I see it.

A mirror.

And in it, a woman. . But not this .

She stands in front of it wearing strange clothes—tight-fitting pants that cling to her like a second skin, a shirt that leaves little to the imagination.

I know her.

I raise my hand. So does she.

And when our palms touch the glass—

The mirror shatters.

And so does sothing inside .

---

I open my eyes again.

It takes a second for everything to click into place. The stone ceiling. The golden light. The oppressive weight of the air—and the softness beside .

I turn.

And there she is.

Han Li.

No—Daphne.

Even in these absolutely ridiculous dieval clothes, she’s still Daphne. Still mine.

"Hey," I whisper, the word trembling out of like a prayer.

She blinks open, dazed, looking at .

My heart aches, heavy with things I wish I’d rembered sooner. All those lifetis of love. Of pain. Of her.

I lift my trembling hand, just enough to cup her cheek.

She flinches, slightly, like she’s afraid to believe this is real.

"I’m sorry for doing this to you again," I whisper, thumb tracing the line of her jaw.

Her brows knit in confusion. She doesn’t understand. Not yet.

But I do.

I rember now. I rember everything.

And I can’t help but smile through the ache. The absurdity. The heartbreak.

I can’t believe I was ever jealous of myself.

Evelyn was .

Jiang Yuxi was also .

We would’ve saved so much heartache if we’d known that.

"I hope to fall in love with you again, CEO Han. I hope to have another lifeti with you, Daphne," I say softly, bending forward to press a kiss to her forehead, tender and trembling.

I don’t know if she hears .

Her eyes are closed now, lashes still wet with tears.

But the hand holding mine—squeezes back.

Just once.

And I smile, even as the dark pulls under again.