QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 137: A moment

Chapter 137 - Estela POV

I walk forward with purposeful strides, the click of my heels sharp against the casino floor. Without hesitation, I wrap my arm around Daphne’s bicep and pull her ever-so-gently—but firmly—a step back from Miss Barbie in red.

The blonde stumbles slightly, clearly not expecting the move. I give her a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.

"Ohhhh, lady, you—" she begins, all feigned offense and saccharine protest.

"Allow to introduce my beloved, Estela," Daphne says smoothly, cutting her off with a voice that could stop traffic.

I blink.

Beloved?

I try not to show my reaction, but inside, I feel like I want to do a stupid little dance or stick out my tongue at the Barbie.

The table of old n lets out a chorus of laughter—rough, amused, like bark cracking in their throats.

"Ho ho ho!" one of them wheezes. "So that explains it. There was a reason none of the ones we sent your way caught your eye. You clearly have a type."

The rest of them chuckle as if it’s the most hilarious thing they’ve heard all night.

"Honestly," another one says, giving an appraising look, "looking at her, it’s understandable."

He reaches out a hand, like he’s about to touch .

But before he gets the chance, Daphne grabs his wrist.

Effortless. Fast.

His smile falters.

She releases him, and he brings the hand back down slowly, flexing his fingers.

He’s trying not to show it, but I saw the subtle shake. She used force.

"Yes," Daphne says, voice like ice wrapped in velvet, "and I would appreciate it if you would stop with the gifts and won you send my way. My girlfriend’s not open to sharing. And frankly, neither am I."

The atmosphere tightens.

"Should you expose your weakness this way?" one of the n—the one sitting in the center, sharp-suited and sharper-eyed—asks. I assu he’s the leader we ca here to et.

Daphne doesn’t flinch.

"Maybe," she says.

"But anyone who steps on a lion’s tail should be ready to face the consequences."

A nervous chuckle follows.

"No need to worry about . We’re in a partnership, after all."

Daphne offers a tight smile. "Then let’s keep it respectful."

She slides her arm around my waist, anchoring against her side.

"Excuse us," she says, turning toward the exit. "We’ll continue our conversation tomorrow. As you can see, I have prior plans."

No one stops us. They just watch.

I follow Daphne out of the casino, heart thundering.

Beloved, huh?

The second we’re inside the suite, the door slams shut behind us.

Daphne turns, eyes locked onto mine, and crosses the space between us in three fast strides. Her hand cups my face, and then her mouth crashes onto mine.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not slow.

It’s heat and possession and the echo of every unsaid thing between us. She kisses like she’s branding with her na.

Her hands slide down to my hips, tugging closer, until there isn’t a breath of space between us. I barely register her suit jacket falling to the floor, or how she pulls backward with her toward the bed.

Oh.

She’s serious serious.

Her hands find the zipper of my dress with terrifying efficiency. It pools at my feet, leaving in nothing but lingerie and adrenaline.

I open my mouth to say sothing—anything—but she kisses again, harder this ti, and all my thoughts evaporate.

I’ve never been wanted like this.

Not even close.

Her hands roam down my back, and her mouth moves to my neck. My legs weaken, and I have to hold onto her shoulder to stay upright.

She hovers above for a mont, breathing hard, her eyes burning into mine.

"You’re so beautiful," she says, voice low and reverent.

And she ans it.

I see it in the way her gaze lingers on like I’m sothing rare and precious. Like I’m more than scars or instinct or muscle mory. Like I’m not a weapon, or a survivor, or soone born from tragedy. Or this object of lust.

Just... beautiful.

My breath catches. Because I know I’m conventionally attractive. I know what people see when I walk into a room. But this—her eyes, her voice, the reverence in both—this is different.

I was given too much in the chest departnt, and my thighs have always been a sore point. No matter how hard I work out, the softness clings to . I guess it’s always been a source of insecurity for . I guess Daphne doesn’t mind at all.

My thoughts scatter completely when she pushes back down to the bed, her mouth pressing a trail of heat across my collarbone.

She’s not just kissing now—she’s biting, nibbling. Leaving faint, searing traces of herself in every graze of her teeth. Her breath is hot against my skin. I can barely think. Barely breathe.

She sits up just enough to unbuckle the clasp of the tiny lace bra I’d put on mostly to survive the black dress Julie insisted I wear. It slips away like silk, useless and forgotten.

Daphne doesn’t even pause.

Her eyes go wide.

"You know," she murmurs, almost in awe as she leans in again, brushing her lips just under my collarbone, "since I saw you dancing, I’ve had one thought and one thought only."

I manage to whisper, "What?"

She pulls back, staring not at my face, but considerably lower.

"So pretty, so soft and mine," she says—to my chest. Not .

I blink.

"Are you talking to , or to them?"

"Yes," she says solemnly. And then, still talking to my breasts,

She stares, entranced, and then reaches out as if touching sothing sacred.

"You two are unbelievable. Absolute works of art. I’ve seen sculptures less breathtaking."

She says this while holding one.

Then, with theatrical reverence, she lifts her other hand to the second like she’s weighing a golden treasure.

"Like wow, look at this."

"Should I give you two so ti together?" I ask, half amused, half insulted.

"It would be greatly appreciated," she replies without hesitation—without even looking at . The audacity.

I smack her shoulder.

"I’m right here."

"Yes, and I appreciate your presence," she murmurs, finally glancing up to flash a grin before dropping a kiss on the top of one.

"But we were having a mont."