QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 288: Plans

Chapter 287

Daphne

"As you know," Bernard Han begins, his voice low and deliberate, "it has only been a month since your brother assud the office of Mayor. And since you are now in town... I suggest you be on your best behavior."

I don’t respond. I can’t exactly bla him—from what this body’s mories tell , the original Daphne was a handful. Clubs, substances, scandals whispered about in society columns... all the classic rich-family rebellion playbook.

He takes my silence as either submission or indifference. His eyes narrow slightly.

"I do not expect anything from you," he continues, the words careful, precise, and utterly dismissive.

"So the least you can do is not drag your brother down with your... antics."

I so badly want to rebel, and drag the family reputation through the mud, but what if this world’s version of my beloved would not take too kindly to a wild lifestyle? So i don’t.

"Understood," I say, my voice flat and toneless.

*

They say a human’s greatest strength is their ability to adapt to their circumstances.

I can confirm it’s true. I’ve had to.

Sure, I still flinch every ti I step into the shower and ....lo and behold—there’s a massive schlong hanging where it shouldn’t be. I just... try not to acknowledge it.

I sit in front of the computer screen in my apartnt, the city’s skyline a glittering, indifferent backdrop.

With the System’s help, I’m finding my footing in this world. The male leads are literal pillars of power—CEOs, a mayor, a mafia boss. I co from a powerful family, too, but it’s borrowed influence. Not my power. Not my authority.

There are two classic paths to power here: a company, or the mafia.

Hmmmnn.

Why not both?

I can’t start from scratch,there’s no ti. The only viable move is a takeover. Find structures already standing, already struggling, and make them mine.

I watch the purple icon glide across the screen, sifting through firewalls and databases with silent, digital grace.

"I like how useful you are now," I murmur.

[It cos with the upgrade. I am now able to access the digital information streams of most modern-class worlds.]

"Yes, yes," I say, waving a hand. My eyes are fixed on the monitor.

[These are the targets that fit the host’s requirents.]

A list materializes on the screen. Three companies, each with trics glowing beside them, high yield potential.Their only flaw? A catastrophic lack of funds. Unfortunate circumstances.

Money? That, I can get.

The second list is less impressive. Small-ti factions, petty thugs, minor gangs gutted by infighting or poor leadership. Weak. Disorganized. Vulnerable.

Too easy.

"System," I say, a slow smile spreading across my face. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

[...]

Its silence is almost judgntal. I lean forward, my reflection a sharp, determined ghost in the dark glass of the screen.

"Can you access certain politicians’ files? The... compromising kind? I know exactly how to get the huge amounts of money I need."

***

Elliot

"Co again, thank you," I say with a practiced smile as the custors leave the hotel restaurant.

It was genuinely just luck that I got this job. With it, I can finally start paying back my debts and help my little brother stay in school. Every tip, every shift, is a small step toward breathing again.

"Elliot, there’s a custor asking for you. Seems like a pretty important person—the manager said you have to hurry up."

A coworker leans in, her voice low and urgent. I just started working here; I’m not good with nas yet. Betty? Jenny? Doesn’t matter.

"Of course," I say, smoothing down my uniform.

I follow her through the bustling kitchen, my mind racing. Why would an important custor ask for ?

The only person I know who’d do sothing like that is Elijah, but he’s away on a business trip right now.

Outside the private dining room, the manager waits, looking unusually tense. Without a word, he pushes gently through the door.

I step inside.

The room is quiet, elegant. And there, seated at the table in a silk robe as if he owns the place—which he might—is the culprit.

My smile drops.

I clench my fists behind my back.

"Good afternoon, sir. How may I be of service?"

The man chuckles. He’s handso in a sharp, expensive way—tall, with imposing blue eyes, and dark hair still damp. An Alpha. And, most importantly, this is Elijah’s rival: Charles Grey.

Elijah Jacobs and Charles Grey. Rival businessn, both CEOs of wildly successful companies at just thirty. The dia loves comparing them. They don’t get along at all—Charles, who grew up in wealth and power, and Elijah, who clawed his way up from nothing.

"This," Charles says, motioning dismissively to the spread of gourt als laid out before him. He doesn’t look at . "I’m busy. Feed ."

Every part of wants to turn and walk away. But I need this job. I can’t depend only on the money Elijah gives —won’t let myself be that kind of burden.

So I swallow the pride stuck in my throat, walk over, and do as he says.

I’m in the middle of bringing a forkful of at to his mouth when his hand snaps out, quick as a snake. He grabs my wrist, pulls hard, and I stumble—landing awkwardly in his lap.

"Seriously," he murmurs, his voice a low, predatory rumble against my ear. His arm locks around my waist, holding in place. "Where did that bastard find sothing as delectable as you?"

I struggle, but he’s stronger. Much stronger. An Alpha’s strength, casual and crushing.

"Let go," I say, but my voice is already thinner than I want it to be.

He doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head, nosing along the line of my jaw, moving down to my neck. His breath is hot against my skin.

"You might be on suppressants," he says, almost conversational, as if comnting on the weather, "but your pheromones still peek through. You know."

My heart hamrs against my ribs. I struggle again, twisting,and then I freeze.

My butt feels sothing hard, unmistakable, pressed against .

He stills for a mont, then lets out a soft, dark chuckle. He takes my stiffness as a sign—a surrender. He places an open-mouthed kiss against my throat, right over my racing pulse.

"Let go," I say again, weaker this ti. It sounds pathetic even to my own ears. And then I realize why.

He’s released his pheromones.

They hit like a warm, heavy wave. They curl into my lungs, sweet and intoxicating, clouding my thoughts, loosening my limbs. My own suppressed Oga instincts stir, a drowsy, traitorous heat unfurling low in my belly.

I go slack in his hold, breath catching.

"That’s better," Charles purrs, nuzzling into my neck. "Now... be a good Oga and stay still."