QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 336: Ready

Chapter 337

Vivienne

It’s been a while since I’ve been at my family ho. I’ve been living with the Hans since the engagent, playing the perfect future daughter-in-law, the perfect political wife, the perfect Oga. Coming back feels like taking off a corset I didn’t know I was wearing.

The air in the mansion is ice cold. Daphne is on a business trip—she left yesterday, sothing about a rger in the north, sothing that couldn’t wait. I told her to go. Told her I’d be fine. Told her I’d be here when she got back.

But I didn’t tell her I’d be here. In my childhood ho. Hiding.

Damien and Bernard had so argunt last night—I heard shouting through the walls, heard doors slamming, heard sothing that might have been glass breaking. I don’t know what it was about. I don’t want to know.

I just needed to get out.

"Look who showed her face."

I sigh, looking up from the old couch I’ve claid as my own. My brother Michael is leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, that familiar smirk on his face.

"Don’t start." I pop a cheese puff into my mouth.

"Ooouu, the city’s future First Lady." His voice climbs into an exaggerated falsetto. "I’m so scared."

I roll my eyes. "The elections haven’t even happened yet."

He laughs, sliding into the chair across from . For a mont, we just look at each other.

The last ti I was here, I was wearing designer clothes and practicing smiles for the caras. Now I’m in baggy shorts and an old t-shirt that says sothing about a band I’ve never actually listened to.

"Look at how you’re dressed." Michael gestures at . "Do your in-laws know what kind of slop you really are?"

I grab another cheese puff, let the artificial orange dust coat my fingers.

Well. I always have to be prim and proper at the Hans. My makeup always done. My clothes always perfect. My posture always upright.

Being ho makes realize how much I missed being like this. Being .

"Of course not." I grin. "I’m prim and proper. Impeccable. Untouchable."

He snorts. "Sure you are."

I eat another cheese puff. He watches . The teasing fades from his face.

"Everything’s okay, right?" His voice is quieter now. Real.

"Yeah." I give him a smile, let it soften into sothing honest. "I just missed ho."

He studies for a mont. "Sure? It’s not too late. You could still—"

"Michael." I cut him off gently. "It’s fine. You know people like us don’t get love matches."

He sighs, heavy and resigned.

"Besides." I brush orange dust off my fingers.

"It’s too late. After everything our family has gotten from being connected to the Hans. The cousins who got out of jail. The business deals. Mother at those galas, actually happy for once. Father hasn’t stopped smiling since the engagent was confird."

Michael doesn’t argue. He can’t. We both know it’s true.

Everyone in our family is riding on this engagent. This marriage.

The business that was about to collapse. The social standing we never quite had, no matter how hard we tried.

I can’t just end it.

I can’t just stop.

Which is why I don’t know why I’m doing what I’m doing with Daphne.

It’s dangerous. Stupid. Impossible.

And yet.

I think about her hands on my face. Her voice in my ear. The way she says my na like it’s the only word that matters.

Vivienne.

I think about the future I’m supposed to have—the First Lady, the perfect wife, the Oga who never wanted anything more than what she was given. And I think about the future I want.

Her. A small house sowhere, maybe. A garden. A studio where she can paint. Mornings that start with coffee and end with her laugh.

"Vivienne." Michael’s voice pulls back. "You’re smiling."

I blink. Touch my face. I am smiling.

"It’s nothing." I grab another cheese puff. "Just thinking about sothing."

Michael’s eyes narrow. He’s looking at the way he used to when we were kids—when I’d stolen his favorite comic or lied about eating the last cookie. Like a hawk that’s spotted sothing small and defenseless.

I avoid his eyes. Focus on the cheese puffs. The orange dust. Anything but my brother’s too-knowing face.

"Who are they?" His voice is casual. Too casual.

"No one." I grab another puff. "No one. Just—cheese puffs. They’re very good. Want so?"

"Vivienne." He leans forward. "I changed your diapers. I wiped your snot. I watched you cry for three hours when that stupid boy in middle school said you weren’t pretty enough." He pauses. "You can lie to anyone. But not to ."

My face burns.

"Michael, that’s gross. And it’s nothing." I shove more cheese puffs into my mouth, desperate for sothing to do that isn’t eting his eyes.

"Fine." He leans back, hands raised in surrender. "Fine. I won’t ask any further."

I blink. "Really?"

"Really." He grabs the cheese puff bag, takes a handful. "If you want to sit here eating junk food and pretending you’re not thinking about whoever’s been making you smile like a lovesick teenager, that’s your business."

"I’m not—"

"Didn’t ask." He crunches loudly. "Not asking. Not curious. Not interested."

I stare at him. He stares back, chewing, utterly unreadable.

"You’re doing that thing," I say slowly.

"What thing?"

"The thing where you pretend not to care so I’ll tell you anyway."

He grins. "Is it working?"

"No."

I grab a throw pillow and hit him with it.

He laughs, blocking with his arm. "What? I said I wasn’t asking!"

"You were thinking it. Loudly."

"I was thinking about cheese puffs." He dodges another swing. "Very different."

He catches the pillow this ti, holds it between us.

"I was thinking," he says quietly, "about how I’ve never seen you this happy."

I stop. I want to tell Micheal, tell anyone really but I know it’s a bad idea, and telling soone ans they’ll tell it’s a bad idea.

I’m not ready for that.