QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 145: Came for me

Chapter 145 – Daphne POV

I don’t touch the ten cups of tea she’s placed in front of me.

Each one arranged like a peace offering from someone who knows damn well she doesn’t deserve peace.

I sit back in the velvet chair—some old thing reupholstered in floral patterns—and stare at the woman who looks a hell of a lot like Jessica. Same sly eyes. Same regal posture. Same faint smirk like she’s the one holding the knife, even if it’s hidden behind a butter dish.

I hope she’s not a backstabbing, money- hungry bitch.

Though let’s be honest...

Jessica was a backstabbing, money-hungry bitch. Always was. She just never had a reason to betray me.

I snort at the memory of her. Back in the first world—God, what she did to Jiang Wei. ƒrēenovelkiss.com

I loved it. She’s cunning.

If this is her—and I’m starting to think it is, despite the sun hat and gardening gloves—then Estela’s not the only one with a dangerous bloodline.

But I don’t say any of that out loud.

I just stare at her. And she stares back. The room thickens with unspoken questions and half-hung truths.

"Daphne," she says finally, voice crisp, practiced. "Your father spoke of you."

"Uh huh," I murmur, drumming my fingers against the tabletop, unimpressed.

Instead, she tries for small talk again.

"He always said you were the clever one."

I mutter. "Try again."

Jessica sighs and drops the act. "Alright. Why the visit?"

I lean back and lace my fingers together, letting the silence stretch just long enough to unsettle her.

"See, I have a lover," I begin. "And I believe you know her. I’ve been looking for you."

Her brow lifts. A faint smirk dances on her lips. "I don’t think your lover knows me. Nor I, her."

"Estela," I say, cool and clear.

That gets her.

A full-body flinch. Barely restrained, but I see it. The tightening of her jaw. The flicker of memory behind her eyes. Her hand clenches against the edge of the chair.

"Never heard of her," she says flatly.

"Too late," I hum. "She’s on her way."

I smile, wide and lazy. I didn’t trust her not to run and she might disappear for good , so I already organized for her to come, through Julie.

Jessica stands up. "I refuse."

"I don’t think you have a choice."

She opens her mouth—to argue, to deny, to beg, I’m not sure—but the sound of the gate opening outside cuts her short.

Footsteps. Light. Familiar.

Estela.

She walks into the room, hesitant. Dressed in simple jeans and a fitted T-shirt with the shelter’s logo stretched gently across her chest. Her hair’s pulled back, casual. Her face is a quiet storm.

Her eyes scan the space until they find her.

Jessica—no. Antonia.

And everything in Estela stills.

I see it happen in real-time: the widening of her eyes, the way her breath catches like her ribs just snapped inward. Then—

She runs.

Straight into Antonia’s arms.

It’s clumsy and fast and so heartbreakingly pure. She collides into her sister with all the strength of someone who’s been waiting her whole life to know that this person still exists.

Antonia resists at first. Her hands come up like she doesn’t know what to do with them. But then—

She gives in.

And hugs Estela back.

I take that as my cue to leave, I subtly walk away and close the door to the small dining room behind me.

After a few minutes, I’m leaning against the hallway wall, scrolling idly through my phone—trying to look unbothered, trying not to listen too closely.

But then it happens.

Yelling.

In Spanish.

Loud. Rapid-fire. Furious.

It pierces through the closed door like thunder cracking across glass.

I freeze.

My thumb stops mid-scroll.

It’s Estela.

And I’ve never—never—heard her sound like that before.

Not in the bedroom.

Not in a fight.

This is different.

And it’s all coming out in sharp, gorgeous Spanish that I barely understand—but holy hell, it sounds good. Like poetry delivered with a knife to the chest.

I blink, stunned.

Julie raises an eyebrow at me from down the hall.

"She’s yelling," I say dumbly.

"She’s Cuban-Colombian," he replies, completely unfazed. "They don’t whisper."

I nod slowly, still staring at the door. "I don’t know what she’s saying, but..."

Julie smirks. "You’re turned on, aren’t you?"

"...A little, yeah."

A crash comes from inside the room—ceramic shattering, probably a cup. Maybe Antonia’s nose.

More shouting.

Another voice now—Antonia’s. Calm, pleading. But Estela’s not having it. She cuts her off again and again, voice rising higher with each breath, spitting syllables like bullets.

***

Estela POV

"I will not apologize!!" Antonia snaps, her voice shaking but defiant as she stands across from me.

She looks the same and completely different. Same eyes, same mouth, same chin I used to tug on when I was little and annoying. But now her posture is too proud, too put together. Like she forgot how to cry, how to beg, how to need.

"You didn’t even think about reaching out!" I scream, my chest rising and falling like I’ve run a marathon fueled by heartbreak. "I came to this country to look for you—to get revenge—and you’ve been lying with the enemy!"

She winces, just slightly.

But I don’t stop.

"You were here. All this time, while I buried them in my dreams—while I imagined how you must’ve died protecting them—you were in a goddamn sundress planting roses!"

"And the person outside the door—" she gestures sharply toward the hallway, toward Daphne "—you have no right to judge me!"

My body goes still.

She said her name like a weapon. Like a loaded accusation.

"That’s different," I hiss. "You know it’s different."

Antonia laughs—dry, bitter, tired.

"Is it?"

My jaw clenches.

"You don’t know anything about her."

"I know enough," she says coldly. "I know she kills for a living. I know she’s tangled in Castellano affairs."

I blink, tears threatening, but I won’t give her that. Not yet.

"She came for me," I whisper. "You didn’t."

Silence.

It hangs between us like a noose.

Antonia finally sits down, like the fight just drained out of her all at once. She presses her fingers to her temples.