QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 330: Mine

Chapter 331

Vivienne

"No." I fold my arms, planting my feet. Sothing about this feels wrong. The closed door. The dim room. The way he’s looking at .

He walks toward .

Before I can react, his hands are on my face and he’s kissing . Hard. Demanding. Wrong.

It feels nothing like Daphne. Her kisses are fire and poetry and ho. His are cold and chanical and possessive.

I shove him. Hit his chest. It feels so wrong, I hate it, no—

Using all my strength, I shove him away.

He stumbles slightly, catching himself on the dresser. His eyes are wild, his lips wet, and for a mont, he looks like a stranger.

"What’s wrong with you?!" My voice shakes. My fists are clenched at my sides. I can still feel his mouth on mine and I want to scrub it off.

"What’s wrong with ?" He straightens, sothing ugly flickering across his face. "What’s wrong with you? I’m your fiancé!"

"So?" I wipe my mouth, disgust curling in my stomach. "You don’t have the right to treat like this."

***

Damien

Ha.

The audacity of this bitch.

Two days ago, I had a conversation with Elliot. He was careful, casual, but I saw it in his eyes—the way he watched when he said, "Have you noticed anything strange between your fiancee’ and your sister?"

I thought it was ridiculous. Jealousy. Paranoia. Elliot has always been insecure about the other ogas in my life, and Vivienne has always been the safe one. The one I didn’t have to worry about.

But then I started watching.

The glances at dinner. The way they gravitate toward each other in a room full of people. The way Vivienne’s face softens when Daphne enters, the way Daphne’s eyes follow her like she’s the only one who exists.

The maids confird it. Little things. The garden. Late nights. Doors left unlocked.

I didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to see it.

But now, looking at her standing in my room, wiping my kiss off her lips like I’m sothing disgusting—

I can’t believe this.

I don’t fucking care about her. Not really. She was convenient, presentable, the right family and the right face. A political match. Nothing more.

But did it have to be my sister?

The question burns in my chest, hot and acidic. I feel betrayed. Angry. Humiliated.

But underneath it all, sothing else stirs.

She wants sothing I have.

I walk toward Vivienne. She’s still standing near the door, her hand on the handle, her face pale but defiant. I grab her jaw, fingers digging into her skin, forcing her to look at .

"You are my fiancée." My voice is low, controlled. "My Oga. Don’t forget that."

She glares at , and the hatred in her eyes should make pause. Should make reconsider.

It doesn’t.

Because Daphne wants her. My perfect, successful, better sister wants sothing I have. And for once, I’m not going to let her take it.

"My rut is coming soon." I release her jaw, watching the red marks bloom on her pale skin. "Visit the clinic. Get heat inducers."

"No." The word is sharp. Final.

I laugh.

"No?" I circle her slowly, watching her track with those defiant eyes. "It’s co to my attention that I’ve been neglecting my dear fiancée." I stop behind her, close enough to feel her stiffen.

"So who knows? Maybe this ti we could give our parents good news. A grandchild."

She turns, facing , and I see it—the fear beneath the anger.

"I an, who if not my fiancée would I spend my rut with?" I let the words hang, watching her reaction.

"I have an idea." Her voice is cold.

"Don’t be so sad." I step closer, trying for sothing conciliatory.

"Unlike those other ogas, you’re the one who’s going to carry the Han na. There’s nothing wrong with starting a little earlier." I grab her hand, trying to pull her back.

She snatches it away.

"Yes." Her eyes are fire. "That was before you decided to give your attentions to other ogas."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

I pull her close before she can answer. Before she can say anything else that cuts deeper than I want to admit.

I kiss her.

Then pain explodes on my lip. Copper floods my mouth.

She bit .

I pull back, hand flying to my lip. Blood on my fingers. That fucking bitch.

"Don’t be so hurt, future Mrs. Han." The words co out thick, muffled by the blood.

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t react at all. Just stares at with those cold, distant eyes.

"I have to go."

She walks to the door.

"Vivienne—"

She slams it behind her. I will never let her go.

*

During dinner, Father keeps speaking about work. Poll numbers. Donors. Strategy. The usual drone that fills our als, drowning out any real conversation.

I’m barely listening. My lip still throbs where she bit . Every pulse of pain is a reminder.

"I think we should have the wedding before the elections." My voice cuts through Father’s monologue. "This way I can have the image of the family man."

The table goes quiet.

Vivienne’s fork freezes halfway to her mouth. Across from her, Daphne’s eyes narrow, sharp and dangerous.

Father considers this, stroking his chin. "The timing would be tight, but it’s not without rit. A wedding generates positive press. Humanizes the candidate."

"I agree." I keep my voice casual, watching Vivienne out of the corner of my eye. "Sothing small, maybe. Family only. We can have a larger celebration after the election."

"The family man angle is strong," Father muses. "Especially with your approval ratings among married voters..."

"Damien." Vivienne’s voice is tight. "We haven’t discussed—"

"Discussed what?" I smile at her. "We’ve been engaged for over two years. The wedding was always going to happen."

Her hands grip her napkin. "I thought we agreed to wait until after—"

"Plans change." I reach across the table, take her hand. She flinches,just slightly, just enough for to feel it. "Don’t you think, darling?"