QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 132: A game

Chapter 132

Daphne POV

Luciano is going to be busy.

I may or may not have caused that explosion at the factory.

In my defense, I was furious. And he had it coming.

That aside, sothing far more interesting has captured my attention. Not the fire. Not the box of fingers being discreetly cleaned up by the staff, still muttering prayers under their breath. No, the interesting thing is Estela.

She didn’t flinch.

Not when the box hit the floor. Not when the sll hit. Not even when she realized what it was.

That silence, that eerie calmness in her eyes as she stared at a box full of human remains?

Fascinating.

Jiang Yuxi—I made it my business to keep her away from the dark. She turned a blind eye, and I appreciated her for that. Loved her for it, even. Evelyn once saw in the fighting pit, and I rember the way she froze. How her hands trembled afterward. She never said anything, but the look never left her eyes partly why after we left to the village I never did that again.

But Estela... what is this?

I don’t hate it.

Actually... I like it.

A lot.

Is it bad that I want to see her in action? That I want to watch her fight, bleed, win?

Is this a new kink of mine?

Maybe.

I reach out, casually, brushing a few stray strands of dark hair from her cheek and tucking them behind her ear. Her skin is soft, warr than I expect. She doesn’t pull away.

"That aside," I say lightly, fingers trailing down to rest against her jaw for just a mont before I draw them back, "tell about yourself."

She quirks an eyebrow.

"Was the background information not enough?"

I smirk.

"I want sothing not written on paper. Like your favorite mory. Your fears. What makes you happy. Your first kill. Your dreams. You know—the norm."

That earns a laugh. A small one. But real.

And it stops my breath cold.

Because it’s the sa.

The sa sound I rember. The laugh I heard in another life, behind different eyes, from a different face—but it’s her.

She catches staring too long and arches a brow again. "The norm?"

"Yeah," I say, tone light, letting the weight of the mont linger between us.

She glances around—not out of paranoia, but sothing more vulnerable. Nervous, maybe. Her fingers tighten briefly around her glass, and for once, she’s the one looking away.

"I an," I add quickly, softer now, "you don’t have to say anything if you’re not comfortable. No pressure."

I give a half-shrug, casual. Or trying to be.

"I just... want to get to know you a little better. If we’re going to indulge in those desires"—I flash a grin—"might as well do it with soone who isn’t a total mystery."

That earns a look. Flat. Dry. But not cold.

Then, a slow exhale.

She sets the glass down with a quiet clink, her eyes never leaving mine now.

"Okay," she says finally. "One truth for one desire?"

I blink. Then smile, slow and sharp.

"I like that ga."

"Good," she says, sitting back slightly.

"Because you’re playing first."

***

Estela POV

She looks like I’ve caught her off guard.

Her smile falters for just a second—but then it returns, lazy and warm, like she’s decided to et where I stand instead of retreating.

"Well, I’m glad you’re interested in ," she says, voice low, tilting her head just enough to make my breath catch.

"Before we get into it though," she adds, amusent curling in her words, "how do we calculate these desires? Is it a kiss? A secret? Or..."

"It’s anything you make it to be," I say, trying to sound casual, but my voice is quieter than I expect.

She grins. "Dangerous. Okay, hit with one."

I don’t hesitate. It’s been pressing at the back of my throat for days.

"Why do you like ?" I ask.

Her expression stills.

"Why did you fall in love with ? Are you even in love with ? Why ?"

The questions tumble out faster than I an them to, but I don’t pull them back. They’re real. Raw. They’ve been sitting in my chest since the first ti she looked at like I mattered.

She exhales slowly. "Well... that’s not just one question."

I wait anyway.

She studies . No teasing now. No mocking lilt in her voice.

Just a quiet, long pause.

And then she says, "I don’t know."

My stomach knots a little. "You don’t know?"

"I an," she continues quickly, "I think I just saw you... and it just was."

She shifts closer, no smirk on her lips now, no flirtation in her eyes. Just sothing terrifyingly honest.

"It’s one of those things that don’t make sense. Maybe we were lovers in our past lives," she says.

"Maybe I’ve been waiting for you since before I had words for wanting."

I look at her. And she’s looking at .

And suddenly, it’s too much. I glance away before she can see what’s rising in my eyes. Before she can feel my heart skipping like it’s afraid of what it already knows.

"Anyway," she says, her voice suddenly lighter, curling into mischief like it hadn’t just cracked my ribs open with her honesty, "may I get my reward now?"

She leans forward, resting her elbow on the armrest beside , her face entirely too close, her mouth curved in sothing between a smirk and a challenge.

I swallow.

"You an the kiss?"

"I an," she whispers, her eyes dropping briefly to my lips, "whatever you think fits the value of a soul-shattering confession."

I laugh again quiet, strained, surprised by myself.

"You really think that counts as a soul-shattering confession?"

She shrugs one shoulder, like she’s holding back a grin. "I said I was in love with you, didn’t I? Sounds pretty shattering to ."

And now I’m blushing. Which is ridiculous. I’ve had knives to my throat and bullets graze my thigh and buried sisters under broken stone—but this? This feels dangerous in a way I don’t know how to defend against.

Still, I tilt my chin up and look at her.

"Close your eyes," I say.

She blinks, surprised. But obeys.

I lean in, slow, until my breath brushes her cheek.

I don’t kiss her lips.

Not yet.

I press a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. Then another just below it. Then one—just one—at the edge of her jaw.

Her breath catches.

"Is that all I’m worth?" she says quietly—less teasing this ti, more... wounded. As if my restraint was a rejection.

I hesitate. The air between us feels suddenly too fragile.

"I’m not into exhibition," I say, offering a shrug like it doesn’t matter.

It’s a bad excuse.

And we both know it.

She stands up without another word. Smooth, composed. Then reaches out, takes my hand—warm, deliberate—and pulls to my feet.

There’s no hesitation in her grip.

Only urgency.

Before I can ask what she’s doing, she’s already walking—leading across the wide porch, down the marbled hallway, past gilded doors and stunned staff who wisely look away. I follow, heart thudding hard against my ribs, her fingers laced with mine.

This estate is huge, and yet the path to her room feels imdiate. I barely notice the details—only the feeling of her hand, the fire in her steps, and the fact that she hasn’t looked back once.

When she opens the door to her suite, it swings wide like it already knew I was coming.

I step in after her, the soft click of the door closing behind us sealing the air tight.

Suddenly the door slams shut with a thundering finality.

And before I can turn or speak, my back hits the wall.

Not hard. Not painful. But firm—decisive.

She’s already in front of , one hand beside my head, the other sliding up my waist with the slow inevitability of gravity.

Her breath ghosts over my cheek as she leans in, so close I can taste the sharp citrus of the mocktail she made . Her lips don’t touch mine—yet. They hover.

She gives the chance to stop her.

The out she offers—the space to breathe, to retreat, to preserve whatever caution I’ve clung to—flickers between us and dies, unspoken.

Because then she kisses .

And it’s like my head tilts on its axis.

The world shifts. Tilts. Folds.

My fingers curl involuntarily against the lapel of her shirt, and everything else—air, reason, restraint—vanishes.

Her mouth is fire and weight and hunger, and I’m drowning in it willingly.

I hope the sisters—wherever they are, heaven, hell, or stuck in so grey purgatory—are watching . I hope they understand.

This I can’t resist.

Surely, if I’m already going to hell for the lives I’ve taken, the blood I’ve spilled, the lies I’ve worn like second skin—

What’s one more sin?

Especially if the sin feels like this?

Her kiss deepens, like she heard my thoughts and decided to echo them with her tongue, her teeth, her hands. One slides behind my neck, anchoring to the mont.

I gasp into her mouth, and she swallows it greedily.

It isn’t just lust. It’s sothing ancient. Familiar. Like I’ve been here before. Like I’ve known this body. This mouth. This want.

And I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or beg.

So I answer the only way that makes sense.

I grab her by the collar, yank her closer, and kiss her again—harder this ti.