QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 128: Sealed deal

Chapter 128

Estela POV

"You see," she starts, and her hand lands on my lap—casual, confident, like she owns the mont.

I tense.

The warmth spreads too quickly. It’s distracting. Dangerous.

"I think you are the woman of my dreams," she says.

"What?!" I blink, stunned, the word bursting out of before I can filter it.

That’s... not what I expected.

Not from her. Not from anyone.

Daphne Castellano tilts her head with a soft, amused smile, like I’ve just said sothing adorable.

"I don’t understand why you’re so surprised. I’m sure the tabloids have done a decent job outlining my preferences."

"I thought that was just a rumor," I say slowly.

"It’s not," she replies simply. "You’re beautiful. You almost killed . And now I’m in love with you."

She says it like it’s the weather.

No warning. No hesitation. Just that shrugging, infuriating confidence.

"I don’t... I don’t have thosedesires," I mutter.

And it’s true. I an it..

So why is my heart stuttering in my chest? Why is my skin burning where her hand touches mine?

Her gaze softens, but her voice cuts like a blade.

"It hurts, you know. That you react like this. You were raised to kill for a cause. You’ve slit throats and watched people bleed. But the thing you find unacceptable—"

Her hand trails higher, fingertips grazing my thigh lightly, deliberately.

"—is the idea that I might want you."

"That’s... different," I say weakly, even as my breath hitches.

Different, but not wrong? She’s right, I refuse to think about it any further.

Daphne leans in a little, her lips near my jaw.

"Well, I have thosedesires. And unfortunately for you, they’re not going anywhere."

I try to scoot back. I try to breathe evenly.

But she’s already moving.

In one smooth motion, she lifts by the waist, and I gasp—not from fear, but from the sheer shock of it—before I find myself straddling her lap again.

Now we’re face to face.

Chest to chest.

Her breath fans against my lips, warm and steady, as she leans back into the chair, arms resting on either side—caging in with nothing but ease and unshakable control.

"I think this conversation," she says, "should be had face to face, don’t you?"

I don’t answer.

Can’t answer.

"I have three things that might change your mind."

She’s not smiling anymore.

"First—I have money. Enough to change your sisters’ lives. Completely. I could get them out of that shelter. Give them a future. A normal life. No fear. No hunger. Private school. University. Jobs that don’t involve backrooms and knives." She pauses.

"They’d never have to touch this world again."

My lip trembles.

Because that’s all I’ve ever wanted.

Her fingers brush the edge of my jaw, and I flinch—not from fear, but emotion I don’t want to na.

"Second... you want your revenge, don’t you?" she says.

"You think my father acted alone when he destroyed your orphanage?"

My spine stiffens.

"He wasn’t," she continues.

"And during these chaotic, uncertain tis in Castellano... you could have your revenge. And no one would ever know."

My heart is pounding. The image of that man—the one I’ve dread of killing—flares behind my eyes.

Then she says the last part.

"Third... you want to know about your oldest sister."

I stop breathing.

My nails dig into the lapel of her suit.

"She’s alive, you know," Daphne murmurs.

I gasp. "Where is she?!"

She smiles—slow, wicked, patient.

"What’s in it for , sister?"

"What do you want?" I whisper, already knowing I’ve lost.

The snake coiled around my ribs finally tightens.

.

She has .

"Minor things," she says. "So company. A few evenings indulging these forbidden littledesires. And, once in a while, a bit of blood spilled. That’s all."

Her hand slides around my waist, tugging closer until our foreheads nearly touch.

"So," she breathes, eyes locked on mine, "what do you say... hmm?"

I swallow. Sha. Want. Fear. Relief.

"...Okay," I whisper.

Her smile deepens.

"You know how it goes," she says gently. "Deals like these are sealed with a kiss."

I hesitate.

Then I lean in—slow, trembling—and press my lips to hers.

For a mont, there’s stillness.

And then she kisses back—hard.

Like she’s been starving for this. Like I’m the first breath she’s taken in years.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not sweet.

It’s consuming.

Her hands slide up my back, one settling at the nape of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, the other firm around my waist, anchoring in place. My spine arches instinctively, my palms flattening against the lapels of her tailored suit as I try to brace myself—but there’s no preparing for her.

She kisses like she owns . Like she’s claiming sothing she always knew would be hers.

And I—

I can’t think.

My mind blanks out, too full of her.

The heat of her body pressed against mine.

The way her mouth moves against mine—insistent, confident, like she knows exactly what to do to make forget everything else.

I’ve never been kissed like this before.

Not once.

Not by anyone.

It’s overwhelming. Terrifying.I hate how much I like it.

When she bites my bottom lip, gently, I gasp—and that’s all the invitation she needs to deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping past my lips with devastating ease. I whimper—actually whimper—into her mouth.

I want to push her away.

I want to pull her closer.

And I do neither.

Because I’m not in control anymore.

She is.

She breaks the kiss only when I’m breathless, dazed, lips swollen and trembling.

When she pulls back, her eyes are heavy-lidded, satisfied, hungry.

"There," she whispers. "Was that so hard?"

I can’t speak.

My lips are still tingling. My thoughts scattered. My breath uneven.

She leans in again—slow this ti, teasing—and pulls closer by the waist. Her hands trail lower, deliberate and slow, like she’s mapping out a promise she hasn’t yet spoken.

Then her phone rings.

She ignores it.

Her mouth catches mine again, just as hungry, just as sure. I lt into her, fingers digging slightly into her shoulders. The kiss deepens. Darkens.

The phone rings again.

She still doesn’t stop.

She kisses like the interruption doesn’t exist. Like she can shut the world out with her mouth on mine.

The third ti it rings, her body stiffens.

Annoyed.

Reluctant.

She exhales sharply against my lips, one last press of her mouth to mine before she pulls back and snatches the phone from the table.

As she answers, her other hand moves—up my chest, slow, featherlight—fingertips brushing my collarbone, then to my shoulder, toying lazily with the thin straps of my bikini top as she murmurs into the call.

I can’t hear what she’s saying.

Not over the pounding of my own heart.

Her gaze never leaves mine.

"I should go," she says at last, ending the call and setting the phone aside.

She kisses one more ti—slower, softer—before lifting off her lap and standing.

"I have sothing to take care of."

She adjusts her tie with practiced ease, like none of this has unsettled her in the slightest.

"Don’t go back to your apartnt," she adds, glancing at over her shoulder.

"Wait for Julie."

Then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her.