QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 124: Conversation

Chapter 124 – Daphne POV

Finally.

After the longest day of grief-thed theater and barely disguised power plays, I shut the bathroom door behind and breathe.

I towel off my hands, shrug into a loose black tank, and sit cross-legged in bed.

Julie left a glass of sothing herbal and suspiciously spiked on the nightstand. I’ll drink it later.

Right now, I open my laptop, pull out the flash drive he handed this morning—silver, sleek, and marked with a single engraved C.

Inside?

Information on the potential protagonists.

---

The first folder is labeled LUCIANO.

Of course.

I click through it briefly.

Business reports. Offshore accounts. Surveillance stills. Call logs. Blackmail trails so clean they might as well be embossed.

I know all this already.

Luciano is calculated, charming when he wants to be, and the walking embodint of traditional male violence dressed in a tailored suit.

He believes in succession by blood and loyalty by fear.

He’s not stupid—but he’s not creative, either. He’s the kind of man who thinks rules are sacred because they serve him.

He’s dangerous but predictable, he would have been my pick if he wasn’t a misogynistic piece of shit.

I’m not supporting Luciano.

End of story.

The second folder makes my mouth tighten the second I click it.

VALENTINO JR.

The bastard son.

Born to a forr model Father kept around too long. Raised in a suite, dressed in silk, never had to scrape for anything except acceptance.

And yet...

The reports are ugly.

Entitled. Violent. Unstable.

A long list of destroyed furniture, fired servants, bruised lovers, and manipulated headlines. Screaming matches with his mother. A stabbing incident that was covered up with hush money. A pattern of almosts—never quite illegal, never quite caught.

But what unsettles most is what isn’t here.

No brilliance.

No talent.

No edge.

And yet... he’s risen fast.

Faster than soone like him should have.

The world likes him. Or rather—the world is rigged in his favor.

He reminds of Jiang Wei. Of Cedric but on so evil steroids. Still has the signature insecurity and entitlent.

Been there, done that I would be dead before I let him succeed.

That leaves one.

RAFFAELE.

My cousin.

The last folder is nearly empty.

A few surveillance notes. So photographs. One property deed. No recent scandals. No notable alliances.

But that says everything.

He’s the son of my uncle—the one who was murdered during the last succession war. The sa war that bled this family for five years, theirs was bloody I do hope this succession war is really not that long and it turned my father into the paranoid, violent man we buried today.

By tradition, Raffaele should be nothing.

Just another na on a family tree.

But the code of Castellano’s is to leave the next generation alone, so he was spared but after the next leader is in power, it may or may not be followed I’m stunned father let him live.

That’s probably, due to his efforts looking at him he kept his head down. Played quiet. Lived small.

I hope he’s not too much of an asshole because he’s the only one worth betting on.

I lean back against the pillows and close the laptop.

*

It’s 8AM and the house is finally quiet again—well, quiet in that taut, uneasy way only a Castellano estate can be after burying its Don.

No one’s allowed to leave just yet. The staff moves like ghosts. The guards are everywhere. And at dinner tonight, the five ancient elders of our blood-stained family will make their grand pronouncent. The start of the Rite of Dominion.

Because apparently, the Castellanos think they’re royalty.

Warring heirs. Sacred rituals. Blood, tradition, and inherited trauma.

At this point, the only thing missing is a cursed sword and an incestuous prophecy.

I ask around for Raffaele Castellano and I’m told he’s at the hunting grounds.

---

The Castellano hunting grounds are behind the east wing of the estate—acres of old forest, thick trees, high fences, and the sll of moss and gunpowder. I walk down the gravel path, boots crunching lightly, until I reach the clearing.

I spot him almost imdiately.

Raffaele.

Blond hair catching the early sunlight like sothing out of a Renaissance painting. He’s standing calm and still, a long-range rifle resting in his hands, focused on a bird perched high in the canopy.

Then—bang.

The bird drops.

Clean shot.

He doesn’t even flinch.

I step closer, hands in my pockets.

"Good morning," I say casually.

He turns, eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.

"Daphne?"

"Need so company?"

He nods, motioning to the open air beside him.

"Of course. I don’t mind."

I glance over my shoulder and signal a nearby servant.

"Bring a gun."

--

We walk into the thicker trees together. The morning is cool, crisp, sharp with the scent of pine and sothing else—tallic, maybe. Old.

I swear I see a few bones half-buried beneath the brush.

"Nice of you to get out so early," I mutter.

"Better than waiting around the house," he replies.

After a mont, he says, "My condolences."

I shrug. "Thanks, I suppose. You should be happy, honestly. Given everything that happened between our fathers."

Raffaele doesn’t react.

Another shot rings out. A second bird drops.

He reloads smoothly, without a word.

"Such is the way of Castellano," he murmurs, eyes on the trees.

Indeed.

We take a few more shots together. with moderate skill. Him with practiced ease. The silence between us isn’t awkward, but it isn’t warm either. It’s strategic.

Eventually, I speak again.

"It’s our turn now, isn’t it?" I say.

"Too soon, and too bloody."

He doesn’t look at , but he doesn’t disagree.

After a long pause, he exhales.

"Are you here to scoop out for Luciano?"

The words are soft, but guarded. Like he already knows the answer.

"There’s nothing to worry about," he adds.

I glance at him, then walk ahead a few paces to shoot at a bird in mid-flight. It falls.

I lower the gun.

"We both know that’s a lie," I say, turning to face him.

"I’m not here for Luciano."

"Really?" he says, folding his arms. "He is your brother."

"Have you seen ?"

That makes him pause. His eyes scan —my cropped hair, my slacks,literally everything about screams GAY. WOMANKISSER

Then he gives a quiet chuckle, almost against his will.

"Ah..." he says.

"Exactly," I cut in.

He sighs.

"I’m Castellano too. I think you’re giving too much credit."

"Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t like the other options. And you’ve had dealings recently—certain contracts, certain whispers."

That does it.

His face changes. Not completely, but sothing sharp flickers behind his eyes. Cold. Controlled.

I stop walking.

"This was a nice talk," I say calmly, adjusting the strap on my shoulder.

"I think you and I could do great things together, Raffaele. But I won’t pressure you. I’ll give you ti to think."

He doesn’t speak.

His gaze stays unreadable.

I let a faint smile curl on my lips.

"I’ll be at the cathedral tomorrow morning. If you’re interested, et there."

And with that, I walk away.