QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 142: Bored

Chapter 142 – Estela POV

I close my eyes.

The wind brushes against my skin like a warm kiss. Sowhere below, I hear the faint rustle of leaves and the low rumble of distant conversation—probably the guards doing rounds again. I should go back inside. But I don’t want to. Not yet.

I lean further over the marble balcony rail, arms folded, cheek pressed against cool stone. The sun’s dipping low, casting everything in gold. It’s the kind of view that belongs in movies, the kind you stare at right before sothing changes forever.

And yet—nothing changes. Not for .

I breathe in deep. A hint of Daphne’s cologne from earlier clinging to my shirt. It’s one of her button-downs, oversized and soft, sleeves rolled up. I stole it because it slls like her. I miss her even when she’s just downstairs, planning how not to die in this family civil war.

She always slls like power and comfort. I don’t know how she does that.

But ?

I’m starting to feel like a decorative flowerpot in a palace window.

I walk back inside and look around the massive bedroom—our room now. It’s too big. Too cold, sotis. Too quiet when she’s gone. I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

My hair’s gotten longer.

My face looks softer than it used to—less tired, less guarded. But it’s still . Just... a that doesn’t know what cos next.

"I don’t know what to do with myself," I whisper to no one.

Maybe I should learn sothing. Do sothing. Be soone other than Daphne’s beloved. I an, I am hers. Happily. But I don’t want to disappear into her shadow. That’s not what she’d want either. Right?

But every ti I try to think about a future beyond her, my chest goes tight. Like I’d vanish if she ever walked away.

I slide down the bed until I’m lying flat, staring up at the carved ceiling. A chandelier glimrs faintly, and I rember how I used to dance under ones like it—drunken, half-dressed, dancing like the world couldn’t touch .

But it did. Every night.

In the form of touchy drunk n. Leering gazes. Grubby hands. Fake complints that turned nasty when I didn’t smile wide enough. I don’t want to go back to that life. Ever.

And I won’t. Daphne made sure of that.

She adores . Spoils . Gives designer clothes, luxury skincare, silk everything. She set up college funds for the girls. She’s hunting down my sister like it’s a mission from God. I even have my own bank account now. I cried the first ti I saw the balance. I’d never seen that many zeroes without a red minus sign in front.

So I should be happy, right?

But I’m afraid.

Terrified, actually.

What if she wakes up and realizes I’m not all that? What if she gets bored? I can’t bring her alliances or information or power. I didn’t even finish high school. All I know how to do is survive. And look pretty. And love her with everything I have.

But what if that’s not enough?

What happens when Daphne’s no longer attracted to ? What happens when so educated, polished woman walks in, all calm confidence and political wit, and Daphne finally realizes she could have more?

I an, yeah, I’ve got enough money now. I could probably live comfortably for the next ten or twenty years. The girls are taken care of. I wouldn’t be on the street.

But I don’t think I could handle seeing her with soone else.

I’d lose it.

No—worse.

I’d burn for it.

I’d kill the bitch. Then Daphne. Then myself.

The thought horrifies , but it’s there. Raw and clawing at the back of my throat. I didn’t an to fall in love with her. I didn’t plan to. It just... snuck in. Uninvited. And now it lives here. Inside . Everywhere.

I turn in bed and shove a pillow into my face, groaning like a ghost trying to suffocate her own haunting.

This. This is why I don’t like being alone. When Daphne’s not here, all these thoughts creep in—ugly, sharp, poisonous. They don’t care how many thread counts my sheets have or how expensive my perfu is. They just eat.

*

"So what’s going on?"

Her voice cuts through the quiet, smooth and low. I glance sideways and find Daphne beside in bed, half-sitting against the headboard, her laptop just closing with a soft click. She sets it on the nightstand without looking away from .

I shift under the sheets, instantly alert.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I say a little too fast, tugging the blanket up to my chin like it might protect from her gaze.

"Uh huh," she hums, clearly unconvinced. She slides down to lie next to and casually pulls into her arms, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it is. With her, it always is.

She brushes her lips against my temple.

"I know sothing’s on your mind."

I want to wriggle away, pretend I’m fine, but I’m tired of pretending. Tired of holding this ache inside. So I let myself lt into her warmth and whisper, "Promise you won’t get mad?"

She goes still for a second.

"I don’t think anything you say could make mad," she says. Then adds quickly, with a nervous edge, "Unless you’re leaving . You’re not leaving , are you?"

"Daphne," I groan.

"Fine, fine," she relents with a small laugh.

"I promise I won’t get mad."

I draw a shaky breath and say it.

"I’ve been... bored."

Silence.

I rush to explain.

"Not with you. I an, us—we’re great. But every ti you leave for etings or business or whatever mission you’re planning, I’m just... here. Alone. Like a pretty little ghost floating through this giant estate with nothing to do."

Still no answer.

I panic. Maybe I’ve overstepped. Maybe—

"Okay," she says finally, voice calm and surprisingly gentle.

"I apologize. I didn’t think it through. Of course you feel that way."

I blink. "That’s it?"

"What did you expect?" she asks with a faint smile.

"That I’d get defensive? You’re allowed to feel things, Estela. You’re not a statue I put on a pedestal."

I bite my lip.

"I’m glad you brought it up," she says softly. "So... what do you want to do?"

I hesitate. The truth is, I’m not sure. "I don’t know," I say, my voice small.

"But I don’t think I can just sit here waiting for you anymore."

She goes quiet again. Then hums thoughtfully. "Alright. How about this—there’s a shelter I started last year. It’s one of my quieter projects, mostly off the radar, but it’s fully operational. There’s education, therapy, job training, housing... and we’re always short-staffed."

My eyes widen a little.

"You’re saying I could... work there?"

"I’m saying," she replies, "you could run part of it if you want. Or just try things out. Talk to people. Find what lights you up again. I’ll have Julie drive you there tomorrow, if you’re up for it."

I blink again. Oh. That was easier than I thought.

All this ti I’d been spiraling, bracing for rejection or worse... and she just—understood.

I swallow. "Thank you."

She leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth.

"Thank you for telling ."

"I thought you’d be mad," I murmur.

"I’m only mad when people lie to ," she says. "Or try to hurt you."

I smile faintly, heart feeling lighter.