QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 142: Bored

Chapter 142 – Estela POV

I close my eyes.

The wind brushes against my skin like a warm kiss. Somewhere below, I hear the faint rustle of leaves and the low rumble of distant conversation—probably the guards doing rounds again. I should go back inside. But I don’t want to. Not yet.

I lean further over the marble balcony rail, arms folded, cheek pressed against cool stone. The sun’s dipping low, casting everything in gold. It’s the kind of view that belongs in movies, the kind you stare at right before something changes forever.

And yet—nothing changes. Not for me.

I breathe in deep. A hint of Daphne’s cologne from earlier clinging to my shirt. It’s one of her button-downs, oversized and soft, sleeves rolled up. I stole it because it smells like her. I miss her even when she’s just downstairs, planning how not to die in this family civil war.

She always smells like power and comfort. I don’t know how she does that.

But me?

I’m starting to feel like a decorative flowerpot in a palace window.

I walk back inside and look around the massive bedroom—our room now. It’s too big. Too cold, sometimes. Too quiet when she’s gone. I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

My hair’s gotten longer.

My face looks softer than it used to—less tired, less guarded. But it’s still me. Just... a me that doesn’t know what comes next.

"I don’t know what to do with myself," I whisper to no one.

Maybe I should learn something. Do something. Be someone other than Daphne’s beloved. I mean, I am hers. Happily. But I don’t want to disappear into her shadow. That’s not what she’d want either. Right?

But every time I try to think about a future beyond her, my chest goes tight. Like I’d vanish if she ever walked away.

I slide down the bed until I’m lying flat, staring up at the carved ceiling. A chandelier glimmers faintly, and I remember how I used to dance under ones like it—drunken, half-dressed, dancing like the world couldn’t touch me.

But it did. Every night.

In the form of touchy drunk men. Leering gazes. Grubby hands. Fake compliments that turned nasty when I didn’t smile wide enough. I don’t want to go back to that life. Ever.

And I won’t. Daphne made sure of that.

She adores me. Spoils me. Gives me designer clothes, luxury skincare, silk everything. She set up college funds for the girls. She’s hunting down my sister like it’s a mission from God. I even have my own bank account now. I cried the first time I saw the balance. I’d never seen that many zeroes without a red minus sign in front.

So I should be happy, right?

But I’m afraid.

Terrified, actually.

What if she wakes up and realizes I’m not all that? What if she gets bored? I can’t bring her alliances or information or power. I didn’t even finish high school. All I know how to do is survive. And look pretty. And love her with everything I have.

But what if that’s not enough?

What happens when Daphne’s no longer attracted to me? What happens when some educated, polished woman walks in, all calm confidence and political wit, and Daphne finally realizes she could have more?

I mean, yeah, I’ve got enough money now. I could probably live comfortably for the next ten or twenty years. The girls are taken care of. I wouldn’t be on the street.

But I don’t think I could handle seeing her with someone else.

I’d lose it.

No—worse.

I’d burn for it.

I’d kill the bitch. Then Daphne. Then myself.

The thought horrifies me, but it’s there. Raw and clawing at the back of my throat. I didn’t mean to fall in love with her. I didn’t plan to. It just... snuck in. Uninvited. And now it lives here. Inside me. Everywhere.

I turn in bed and shove a pillow into my face, groaning like a ghost trying to suffocate her own haunting.

This. This is why I don’t like being alone. When Daphne’s not here, all these thoughts creep in—ugly, sharp, poisonous. They don’t care how many thread counts my sheets have or how expensive my perfume is. They just eat.

*

"So what’s going on?"

Her voice cuts through the quiet, smooth and low. I glance sideways and find Daphne beside me in bed, half-sitting against the headboard, her laptop just closing with a soft click. She sets it on the nightstand without looking away from me.

I shift under the sheets, instantly alert.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I say a little too fast, tugging the blanket up to my chin like it might protect me from her gaze.

"Uh huh," she hums, clearly unconvinced. She slides down to lie next to me and casually pulls me into her arms, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it is. With her, it always is.

She brushes her lips against my temple.

"I know something’s on your mind."

I want to wriggle away, pretend I’m fine, but I’m tired of pretending. Tired of holding this ache inside. So I let myself melt into her warmth and whisper, "Promise you won’t get mad?"

She goes still for a second.

"I don’t think anything you say could make me mad," she says. Then adds quickly, with a nervous edge, "Unless you’re leaving me. You’re not leaving me, are you?"

"Daphne," I groan.

"Fine, fine," she relents with a small laugh.

"I promise I won’t get mad." freeweɓnovel.cøm

I draw a shaky breath and say it.

"I’ve been... bored."

Silence.

I rush to explain.

"Not with you. I mean, us—we’re great. But every time you leave for meetings or business or whatever mission you’re planning, I’m just... here. Alone. Like a pretty little ghost floating through this giant estate with nothing to do."

Still no answer.

I panic. Maybe I’ve overstepped. Maybe—

"Okay," she says finally, voice calm and surprisingly gentle.

"I apologize. I didn’t think it through. Of course you feel that way."

I blink. "That’s it?"

"What did you expect?" she asks with a faint smile.

"That I’d get defensive? You’re allowed to feel things, Estela. You’re not a statue I put on a pedestal."

I bite my lip.

"I’m glad you brought it up," she says softly. "So... what do you want to do?"

I hesitate. The truth is, I’m not sure. "I don’t know," I say, my voice small.

"But I don’t think I can just sit here waiting for you anymore."

She goes quiet again. Then hums thoughtfully. "Alright. How about this—there’s a shelter I started last year. It’s one of my quieter projects, mostly off the radar, but it’s fully operational. There’s education, therapy, job training, housing... and we’re always short-staffed."

My eyes widen a little.

"You’re saying I could... work there?"

"I’m saying," she replies, "you could run part of it if you want. Or just try things out. Talk to people. Find what lights you up again. I’ll have Julie drive you there tomorrow, if you’re up for it."

I blink again. Oh. That was easier than I thought.

All this time I’d been spiraling, bracing for rejection or worse... and she just—understood.

I swallow. "Thank you."

She leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth.

"Thank you for telling me."

"I thought you’d be mad," I murmur.

"I’m only mad when people lie to me," she says. "Or try to hurt you."

I smile faintly, heart feeling lighter.