QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 134: Spell

Chapter 134

Daphne POV

I have a headache. Probably due to the flash from the cameras. I take some painkillers and close my eyes as Julie drives us back to the estate.

Each time I pass through those massive gates, I find myself clicking my tongue. The Castellano estate is as extravagant as it is cold. It’s a symbol, really—of power, of old money, of blood polished to shine.

I head straight to my room. Estela isn’t there.

Good. I need five minutes to peel the day off me.

I take a quick shower, letting the water scald the headache from my skull.

When I step out, towel slung low on my hips, she’s there.

"You’re back?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say, blinking at her.

She’s so... unfair.

Just a tank top. Just shorts. But it’s obscene. Effortless. She looks like sin, lounging near the window, backlit by golden light.

I fear I will have a lot of blood on my hands for this woman.

I cross the room and tug her gently toward the bed.

"Are you serious? You just got back," she says, halfway laughing.

"It’s not that." I tug her closer.

"I just need a nap. A short one."

She lets me pull her down. I wrap my arms around her waist and lay my head on her chest.

Soft.

Softer than pillows. Warmer than anything I’ve touched in years.

She freezes for a second. Then relaxes. Her hand finds my hair.

Heaven.

Jiang Yuxi and Evelyn were slender, ethereal. Beautiful in that untouchable way, like sculptures that blinked. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

Estela is... different.

Not "normal"—that word doesn’t fit her. She’s all sharp edges and strength hidden in softness. Her chest, her waist, her body—she’s a woman, but also a weapon.

A sanctuary and a battlefield.

"You trust me too much," she murmurs. "What if I hurt you in your sleep?"

Her fingers move gently through my hair.

"Then this isn’t a bad way to go," I whisper, pressing closer, holding tighter.

*

Estela POV

I feel her exhale slowly. Her arms tighten just a little more around my waist, and then—

Silence.

Heavy, peaceful silence.

She’s out.

Like dead asleep out.

I tilt my head slightly, looking down at her. Her brow is relaxed, mouth parted slightly, one leg thrown over mine. Completely unguarded.

"Daphne?" I whisper, just in case.

Nothing.

I sigh.

It hits me then—I really need to pee.

But there’s no moving. She has me pinned with the dedication of a half-conscious python. If I try to slide out now, I’ll wake her. And somehow, I know that would be worse than a full bladder.

I give up and stare at the ceiling.

It’s a beautiful ceiling, of course. Painted cornices. Delicate detailing. Probably imported from some overpriced historical restoration project.

Just then, the door creaks open with an exaggerated slowness.

Only one person in this estate could pull that off without being noticed.

Julie.

He glides in like a shadow in heels—except today it’s a mint green miniskirt and a flirty silk shirt, his muscular legs glinting in the late afternoon sun. There’s a dramatic feather earring on one ear, and a notepad in one hand.

He spots us on the bed and raises an eyebrow.

"She’s asleep?" he asks, voice a touch quieter than usual.

"Yeah," I murmur. "I’m trapped."

Julie walks over, inspecting Daphne like a critical artist eyeing a sleeping sculpture. He leans down and pokes her cheek.

She doesn’t even twitch.

Julie pokes again—gently, experimentally.

Then again, right in the center of Daphne’s cheek.

"Julie," I warn, my voice low.

"I’m sorry, this is just... intriguing," he says, leaning closer. "The mere sound of a creaking floorboard usually has her awake. And now—nothing. Not a stir. That’s historic."

"Really?" I blink down at the very-much-asleep human blanket currently draped over me.

"She seems like she sleeps like a rock."

Julie laughs softly, slipping into a seat beside the bed like this is perfectly normal.

"She is literally the lightest sleeper ever. I once got up to adjust the thermostat—thermostat, Estela—and she was at the door with a gun asking who entered the room. That’s your girl."

I blink. "That’s... terrifying."

"That’s Daphne Castellano." He grins, then leans in with narrowed eyes.

"So tell me your secret. What’s the spell? I have this man I’ve been eyeing, and honestly, I won’t judge. Just share something with me, sorceress."

"Spell?" I repeat, scandalized.

"What spell?"

He leans back, giving me a look.

"The one you clearly used on my boss. Look at her. Look at you. It’s barely been a week, you tried to kill her, and now she’s wrapped around you like a cat in sunbeam. So, spill. Was it a charm? Blood moon? Succubus whisper?"

"I’m Christian," I mutter, aghast.

"I was raised in a literal Catholic convent orphanage."

"That also trained you to be assassins?" he deadpans.

"Right. And I’m supposed to believe that’s where you drew the moral line at spells?"

I open my mouth, then close it again.

He raises both brows in triumph. "Exactly."

"I did not use any spells," I insist, trying not to laugh.

"Really?" he asks, eyes narrowing, voice full of disbelief.

"Yes, really."

"So you’re saying she fell in love with you at first sight?" He leans forward, voice hushed like this is a scandalous mystery novel.

I hesitate.

Then shrug. "I don’t get it either."

Julie hums, squinting at me as if trying to detect a glamour charm.

"I don’t understand. I’ve been with Boss for three years. Three. Years. I genuinely thought she was asexual. No interest. No flings. No distractions. Just power suits and vendettas."

He waves his hands toward the lump of sleeping menace curled against me.

"And now? Now she’s like this."

I shrug again. "I guess..."

"Because I’m pretty," I say, only half-joking.

Julie raises one elegant eyebrow.

And I laugh, immediately regretting it.

"No, no—you are pretty. Pretty is an understatement," he says, suddenly going off like someone lit a fire under him. "You’re beautiful. The kind that’s timeless. Like, your face probably transcends cultures. Symmetry on point. The body? Baby, look at your chest. Have you seen your ass?"

I flush. "Julie!"

He ignores me, pointing a finger dramatically.

"It’s art. Weaponized art. But have you seen her? Definitely not biased just because she’s my boss or whatever, but come on—charming, terrifyingly competent, rich, and that jawline? And don’t get me started on how she walks like she owns every room."

He exhales dramatically.

"You know how hard my job was? I’m a man. I can’t hit a woman. But I almost considered it on some occasions, let me tell you."

I blink. "Wait, what?"

Julie rolls his eyes and launches into a rant that I can’t believe is real.

"The women. The shamelessness. The things I’ve seen. Married women, CEOs, literal mothers of the bride at events—throwing themselves at her. One woman tried to follow her into a bathroom at a gala. Another almost cost us a major contract—flirting with her in front of her husband. The gall!"

He huffs.

"And don’t get me started on the journalists. One wrote a whole op-ed about ’what it would be like to kiss a woman like her.’ I had to personally delete hundreds of comments. I’m still traumatized."

I blink again.

"I... don’t think anyone would act like that."

Julie gives me a look.

"Oh, honey. You’re adorable."

He softens a little, reaching out to flick a stray thread from the blanket.

"But seriously—don’t do anything stupid," he says suddenly, his voice sharp and quiet and serious.

"Because if you ever hurt her, I will personally skin your pretty skin, roast you over a fire, and use your ashes as kitty litter. Got it?"

I believe him.

"Got it," I whisper.

A moment of silence.

"I really need to pee," I mutter.

Julie sighs dramatically, stands, and begins Operation: Extraction.

It takes some maneuvering, careful wrist-twists, and two fake sneezes to get Daphne to shift just enough for me to slip out from under her arm.

Success.

Julie gives me a thumbs-up as I stumble toward the en-suite bathroom like a woman who just escaped a very affectionate trap.

Behind me, Daphne sighs in her sleep, turns over, and hugs the nearest pillow.

I don’t know what spell I cast.

But whatever it is—I think it’s working.