QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 292: Juggler

Chapter 291

Daphne

I have to give credit where it’s due,I’m amazed at how this guy is juggling all these n.

Five Alphas, each a powerhouse in his own right, each dripping with possessiveness and ego. And Elliot Wallace navigates them like a circus perforr on a high wire, all wide-eyed innocence and pheromone-fueled charm.

It’s genuinely so impressive.

I don’t even know where to start to break this harem. According to the System’s analysis, their obsession levels are all critically high.

My first target with be the mafia one.

Vincent Ricci

Power is his language, control his religion. I wonder, clinically, if his obsession with the oga will override his greedy, brutal desire for more power. Ti to run an experint.

A yawn cracks my jaw as I stretch in the unfamiliar bed. The mattress is too soft, the pillows too fluffy. I look around the deco of the room and it’s....too tacky.

I can’t bla anyone but myself for choosing to be here. I’d spun so flimsy excuse to Olga about recent dia scrutiny making my penthouse a hassle, about wanting familial proximity during a complex rger.

Swinging my legs out of bed, I pad across the thick, hideous rug to the window. Down below, in the manicured garden, I see her.

Vivienne.

Her hair reflects in the morning light, and I stand there staring like a creep.

I can’t help it. As if sensing my eyes, she turns and looks up, making eye contact with . I smile at her, and she quickly looks away, a faint blush visible even from this distance.

She’s so cute.

***

Vincent

"Let go." He struggles in my arms, and I pull him closer, trapping him against my chest.

What a cute little thing he is.

"My dear little oga, it’s been two weeks since I last saw you. Indulge ," I say, my voice a low rumble against his ear. I can feel his slender fra tremble, not entirely with fear.

He looks up at , pouting his lips. How intoxicating this oga is.

Sothing about him makes keep coming back. Maybe it’s his soft, plump lips, or maybe it’s his big green eyes, or his fluffy hair. Or maybe it’s his absolutely intoxicating pheromones that drive insane, a siren’s call my Alpha instincts are powerless to resist.

I pull him closer and grind him against , leaving no doubt about my intentions. He gasps, a sharp, sweet sound.

"No, I have work tomorrow," he says, but the protest is weak, his body already arching subtly into mine.

I ignore him and kiss him, swallowing his next feeble objection. I guide him backwards toward the bed, and he cos, pliant and warm.

In no ti, his pheromones are rising, a dizzying, sweet fog that tangles with my own pheromones. The room fills with the undeniable chemistry of our match.

I don’t know why he resists when his body gives in every ti.

This push and pull is part of the dance, I suppose. A dance I always win.

He is mine to savor, mine to claim.

One of my most prized possessions in a world of violence and shadows.

***

Elliot

The bus engine is a grating hum, vibrating up through the worn seat and into my aching bones.

The radio chatter from the driver’s cabin blends into aningless static.

"...like everyone else, ogas are human, and this..." a talk show host declares with performative passion before I tune it out, resting my hot forehead against the cool glass of the window.

My back is a single, solid knot of pain. Vincent didn’t let go all night, as if making up for the two weeks he was away with a relentless, claiming intensity.

He never takes no for an answer anyway. Vincent just takes and takes, and my body, traitorously, often gives and gives, chemistry overriding my worn-thin will.

The bus hisses to a halt at my stop, I get off the bus the sun being ruthless with it’s light, I cover my eyes and look at my destination.

A modest, clean-lined building nestled between a bakery and a laundromat: The Lotus Health Center. A discreet placard shows its purpose: Specialized and Subsidized Care for Oga Physiology.

I push through the glass doors, and the calm, antiseptic air washes over .

"Elliot," Nurse Anya greets with a soft, knowing smile. No judgnt, just recognition.

"Go on back. He’s expecting you."

I walk down the short hallway to the last door, tapping lightly before entering.

There, behind a sleek, modern desk, frad by a large window letting in the mild morning light, is Dr. Wang Yichen.

He is a very handso man, he looks up from his computer screen, his long, dark hair tied neatly back, his intelligent eyes magnified slightly by his stylish glasses.

"Elliot. Right on ti," he says, his voice a calm, steadying presence. "Please, sit."

He didn’t have to do this. He is one of the most sought-after endocrine specialists in the city, from a renowned family of dical pioneers.

He could have a lavish private practice catering to wealthy Alphas. Instead, he opened this center, offering accessible, dignified care to ogas.

For ogas like , whose lives can so easily spiral into ruin without it, he is a sanctuary.

"You look fatigued," he observes, his gaze clinical but not unkind. He stands and cos around the desk, picking up a chart.

"More than the usual stress?"

"It was... a long night," I admit, my voice small. I don’t need to elaborate. Vincent doused in his pheromones all night, a deliberate, overwhelming claim that still clings to my skin.

"Hmmmnn." is all Dr. Wang says, and continues, all professional efficiency.

"Let’s run a comprehensive panel. Check your baseline cortisol, your suppressor efficacy, and address any acute physical strain." He prepares a blood draw kit with efficient, graceful movents.

I watch him at work, his focus complete. He looks so gentle, and beautiful in the plain light, a portrait of compassionate care.

The nurse cos in to collect the labeled sample vials, and he walks her to the door, exchanging a few quiet, technical words.

That’s when I hear the sound of the door clicking shut. Not just closed. Locked.

I turn.

Gone is the sweet, kind-hearted doctor. In his place stands the Alpha. The difference isn’t in his features, but in the essence of him.

The gentle warmth has been siphoned away, leaving behind a being of cool, absolute authority.

"Get on your knees."

He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. I Imdiately follow the command.

He walks slowly, deliberately. His hands go to the buttons of his crisp white lab coat. He shrugs it off, folds it neatly over the back of his chair, as if this is just another step in a procedure.

He steps in front of . His fingers, cool and firm, slide into my hair, not grabbing, but taking hold. He tilts my head up, forcing my eyes to et his.

"Quite the audacity you have," he says, his voice a low, clinical murmur, "to co here, slling like that."

"You walk into my clinic, reeking of another Alpha’s lack of control, and expect my care?" He leans down slightly, his own pheremones surrounding , I can’t help it my body reacts.

"This is not a refuge for used things, Elliot. This is a place for reclamation."

His thumb strokes my cheekbone, a parody of the gentle comfort he offered minutes ago.

"So. We will begin by cleaning you up."