QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL) Chapter 85: To die

Chapter 85 – Daphne POV

I feel like those tragic commoners in lodramatic love stories—sneaking into a maiden’s chamber under the cover of moonlight.

Only I’m not so peasant with nothing to lose.

I’m a damn concubine climbing a stone wall because I can’t stop thinking about a woman I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about.

I slip past the guards with ease. Truly, for n tasked with guarding a dukedom, they are embarrassingly bad at it.

tal armor clinks every ti they breathe.

And the torch lighting? Don’t even get started.

I scale the side wall like a thief, cloak rustling in the breeze. The wind’s against , but muscle mory does most of the work. Turns out when you’ve been slipping in and out of alley fights for years, climbing a decorative stone arch feels like stretching before a warm-up.

The balcony is quiet.

Lit faintly by moonlight. No sound but the distant hush of trees and my own heartbeat.

The door is unlocked.

It clicks softly as I slip inside, and I shut it behind —careful, quiet.

The system flickers in the back of my mind, frantic.

> [Host this is a serious violation of narrative positioning and arc continuity—]

I ntally throw a pillow at it and hit mute.

Seriously. I get it.

Plot integrity. Karmatic ties, bla bla bla.

But when she looks at with those blue eyes?

Everything scrambles.Everything burns.

The room is silent.

Candlelight flickers near her vanity, casting long shadows across the velvet bedding and silk-draped furniture.

And there—half-asleep, in a sheer nightgown and with golden hair loose around her shoulders—is her.

My duchess.

My dangerous mistake.

My cliff I keep sprinting toward.

I step forward.

One step. Then another.

***

Evelyne POV

My scream is muffled by a hand—warm, strong—pressing over my mouth.

My heart leaps violently in my chest.

I thrash. Panic surges. My limbs twist in the bedsheets as I try to fight back, but the figure looming over leans in and whispers low against my ear—

"Hey, hey. Relax. It’s ."

The voice.

Familiar. Teasing. Steady like a heartbeat I’ve co to crave.

I freeze, the tension draining from my body in one swift wave of disbelief. The hand lifts away, and I gasp quietly, my breath catching as I sit up.

I freeze, the tension draining from my body in one swift wave of disbelief. The hand lifts away, and I gasp quietly, my breath catching as I sit up.

The moonlight from the balcony pours across the room, bathing her in soft silver.

"Daphne," I whisper in a breathless, scolding hush.

She stands near the edge of the bed—no, leans, casually, infuriatingly—her arms crossed, one brow raised.

"You, if soone finds you like this," I whisper, my voice shaky, my pulse loud in my ears.

She’s dressed in dark fitted trousers tucked into worn boots, and a loose cream poet shirt hanging open just enough to reveal the hollow of her throat and a glint of a chain.

The sleeves are rolled just below the elbow, exposing her forearms and a few ink smudges. Her hair—dark brown, slightly tousled—falls around her face like a halo of sin.

There’s a smug glint in her eye that makes my stomach do violent turns.

"You scared half to death," I hiss, clutching my blanket like a lifeline.

She walks forward slowly, stopping at the edge of the bed, and bends just slightly to lift a strand of my hair. She brings it to her lips and kisses it—softly, like I’m sothing precious.

"Can I not co visit the lady of the house?" she murmurs, lips brushing over the strand before releasing it.

"I missed you," she adds with a grin. "Among other things."

I want to bury myself in the sheets.

This version of her—the one who gives her undivided attention, the one who carries herself like the roguish hero of so forbidden ballad—it’s... devastating. I thought the heartbroken Daphne undid . But this one? This playful, sure-eyed version of her?

She’s the sun.

And I am helplessly orbiting.

"You can’t be here," I whisper, sliding further up the bed, retreating until my back hits the carved headboard. "What if soone sees?"

Daphne doesn’t move away. She moves with , matching my retreat, until her arms cage in—one palm on either side of my hips, sinking into the mattress.

"Is that really what you’re worried about?" she asks, voice low and far too pleased.

I can’t et her gaze. My eyes dart to her lips instead—traitor—and then back to the silk of her shirt, the exposed skin, anywhere but her eyes.

"You—if soone finds you—" I start, panicked.

"That’s not what I asked, Duchess," she says, leaning even closer.

It takes all my willpower not to react when she calls that.

Because the way she says "Duchess" isn’t how anyone else says it. It’s not a title when it cos from her. It’s a sin.

A promise.

I finally et her eyes—and imdiately regret it. Her gaze is smoldering. Playful. But beneath it, sothing real. Sothing dangerous.

I feel the gaze of the Grim Reaper because I am going to die in this bed.

Not from illness. Not from age. But from her.

From the way her breath brushes against my lips. From the way her voice sounds like a promise and a threat all at once. From the way she’s looking at like I’m the only person who exists.

I am going to combust, with how fast my heart is racing this very second.

"Did you know," she murmurs, one hand lifting to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear with devastating care, "your eyes turn this darker shade of blue when you’re excited?"

I don’t respond. I can’t.

Because the headboard is behind . And her arms are on either side of . And I can’t move—I don’t want to move.

I’m trapped.

And I love that I’m trapped.

"I saw you earlier," she adds, her voice dropping an octave, "talking to that god-awful man—your husband."

There’s so much venom in her tone it almost startles .

I blink.

"He’s your husband too," I say, mostly to be petty.

She scowls, and it’s beautiful.

"I’d rather not think about that. It’ll ruin my mood." Her eyes narrow.

"You know what else ruined my mood? The way he looked at you."

My heart jolts.

She leans in until her nose brushes mine, until there is no safe distance left.

"It took everything in not to walk across the garden and punch him in the face."

She says it with such possessiveness that heat blooms in the pit of my stomach, spreading like wildfire.

"You see, Duchess..." she whispers, eyes flicking to my lips, "I tried to stay away. I really did. But you just had to keep tempting ."

She leans closer.

"Now look at this situation. I tried to stay away. But you wouldn’t let be."

Gods.

She really doesn’t rember her. Doesn’t rember why she was so hesitant, so tortured, so careful with . Doesn’t rember the ghost she used to look for in my face.

It’s just now.

And sohow... that’s even more terrifying.

"I may have miscalculated," I whisper, breath catching.

Her smirk deepens. "A little too late, don’t you think?"

And then—soft, sinful—she places a kiss at the corner of my mouth. Barely there. A tease. A warning.