QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 129: Waiting

Chapter 129

Estela POV

It turns out that Julie was not a "she," but a very flamboyant, very muscular, very intimidating "he."

He looked up and down with a level of judgent , clicked his tongue, and imdiately started dragging everywhere without explanation.

It was well past midnight. Any other day, any other na, every luxury store would have been shuttered and dark. But apparently, if you have the na "Castellano" attached to your errands, managers will literally leave their beds and unlock their boutiques for you.

So we went shopping.

I didn’t even know what we were shopping for—clothes? Shoes? A new personality? Julie didn’t say. He just pushed, gestured, ordered, and occasionally insulted my fashion sense under his breath.

When it was over, my arms were full, my feet were sore, and I was wearing the most expensive pair of sunglasses I’d ever seen—at 3:00AM.

From there, we went to my apartnt.

"Get everything important," Julie said, eyes scanning the hallway like soone expecting a sniper.

I grabbed what I could: a box of letters, a photo album, the cheap jade pendant my youngest sister gave . Julie tossed it all into the trunk like it was contraband.

Then we drove to the Castellano estate.

It was surreal.

I was escorted through stone archways and grand halls like I belonged there.

They gave a new phone. Sleek, encrypted, heavy in my palm. Julie explained the security features like he was briefing a secret agent.

By the ti everything was done, it was 4:00AM.

I was too tired to think. Too tired to be nervous.

I collapsed into the massive bed in the guest room, and for the first ti in years, I slept without fear.

Like maybe, just maybe, the monster I’d tried to kill might be my safest place after all.

*

It’s been two days.

Two days of living in this mansion like a ghost, haunting Daphne Castellano’s room without a whisper of her return.

Julie’s instructions were very clear: stay put, stay out of sight, and above all, don’t open the door unless it’s him—or soone carrying food.

So far, I’ve followed those orders. Not out of fear. Not entirely. But because there’s sothing about this house—its polished floors and too-silent corridors—that feels like a predator watching from the walls.

But today, just past noon, hunger wins over paranoia. I open the door.

Big mistake.

Because I’m expecting a servant with lunch.

Not the man who barges in.

He’s tall, careless, with a shark’s grin and a silk shirt half unbuttoned. I recognize him instantly.

Renzo Castellano.

The second son of the late Don.

I’ve seen his na in tabloids, his face in scandals. But if you work service jobs like I have—strip clubs, diners, backroom shifts—you hear things. You see things.

And the headlines? They’re nothing compared to what people whisper about him.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just scans like I’m rchandise in a shop window. Then:

"Wowwww," he drawls. "I’ve been wondering what the youngest was hiding up here. Turns out she’s been keeping sothing... very attractive."

He steps into the room like he owns it.

The servant behind him, the one who brought lunch, trembles so hard I can hear the dishes rattle.

I can’t move. Can’t breathe.

"Mr. Renzo, please leave," a voice says sharply.

Julie.

He steps in like a blade drawn from a sheath, placing himself between and Renzo.

"Ah, the guard dog," Renzo sneers.

"What’s the matter? She need a chaperone to eat her soup?"

Julie doesn’t flinch. "You are not allowed in this wing. You know that."

Renzo chuckles darkly, eyes flicking toward again.

"And now I know why. Looks like the little Castellano bitch has good taste."

Julie moves a step forward. Calm. Lethal.

"Leave," he says coldly.

Renzo lifts both hands slowly, mock surrender.

"Relax," he says, voice oily with amusent.

"No need for violence, Mr. He/She. I was just curious."

"Mr. Renzo," Julie replies, tone perfectly flat, "once again—leave."

He’s unbothered. Unflinching. Not rising to the bait.

Renzo’s gaze slides back to , and I feel it in my spine like a bad touch.

"You know, it’s rude not to introduce yourself," he says, eyes raking slowly.

"You’re living under our roof, after all. Might as well get to know the family."

Julie moves then.

Two slow, asured steps forward. Fists clenched at his sides, knuckles tight enough to turn bone white.

Renzo flinches, just slightly. His mouth twitches.

"You dare?" he snaps.

"This is Castellano. How dare you show such insolence."

But he still takes a step back.

Because Julie isn’t just tall—he’s massive. Carved from marble and nace. And Renzo, for all his inherited bravado, knows when he’s outmatched.

Julie’s voice is quiet, but it slices the air like wire.

"I only serve one person."

And we both know who that is.

The room crackles with tension. For a second, I swear Renzo might actually try sothing—draw a weapon, throw a punch, assert dominance the only way n like him know how.

But then—

He scoffs. Straightens his collar. Smirks again.

"Loyalty," he says dryly. "How quaint."

Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and walks out.

Julie doesn’t move until the door closes behind him.

Julie walks past to the door, locks it with a sharp click, then turns back, arms crossed, eyes assessing. Protective. Unapologetically so.

I sit down on the edge of the bed, the ornate mattress dipping beneath . I don’t know what I expected from living in this estate, but it wasn’t this. Not unannounced threats. Not predators walking the halls in designer loafers with murder in their smiles.

"He’s dangerous," I say, more to myself than to him.

Julie snorts. "They all are. Except Miss Daphne. She’s sothing else entirely."

I look up at him, the weight of that statent heavy between us.

"She’s not dangerous?"

"No," he says, mouth twitching, "she’s terrifying."

I blink, but he doesn’t elaborate. Terrifying? I can’t picture it.