QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 147: Snake

Chapter 147 – Antonia POV

I hate to admit it—but she got me.

Daphne Castellano. Cool, calculating, terrifyingly poised. She walked into my garden like a devil on sabbatical, and somehow left me sitting here with a card in my hand and a contract buzzing in my brain.

It is a juicy deal.

Too juicy.

But I don’t give in. Not yet.

I sip my tea and lean back with casual grace, legs crossed like I’m still in control. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

"Now why," I say, voice sweet and slow, "would I possibly switch teams? Luciano is just... okay."

She sits across from me, legs folded like a queen with a chessboard instead of a crown. Her eyes glint—sharp, amused, knowing.

And that smile. That goddamn smile like she’s already won.

"Surely," she says, smooth as silk, "you know Luciano is, at the end of the day, my father’s son."

I raise an eyebrow, but she keeps going.

"You’re in your thirties. Still stunning—obviously—but soon, the novelty will wear off. He’ll want someone younger. More pliable. Less... experienced."

I scoff, but it’s bitter.

Because she’s right.

I have noticed the change. The reduced visits. The soft apologies. The lingering guilt in his eyes when he looks at me like a favorite book he’s already read too many times.

Despite how good I still look—and believe me, I do—men like Luciano don’t stick around once the bloom fades. They’re too busy chasing fresher petals.

I don’t respond.

Daphne leans forward slightly, her voice lowering just enough to feel intimate.

"And you’re in a gilded cage," she says. "Kept. Polished. Controlled."

Her gaze pins me.

"I just know," she murmurs, "you need your freedom."

She reaches into her jacket and slides a card across the table. It’s black. Sleek. Heavy. No name. Just a number in elegant silver print.

"Once you make up your mind," she says, standing up and fixing her jacket, "text that number. And we can talk details."

Then she turns.

And walks away.

Like she already knows I will.

Like she didn’t just plant a seed—Ivy, slow-growing, invasive.

I stare at the card.

It glints under the sun, dark and dangerous.

And I take it.

I’ll still have to think about it, there’s nothing I love more than my life.

*

I place the plate down in front of him.

Luciano.

Looking just as infuriatingly handsome and dangerous as ever. He doesn’t touch the food. He never does, not when he’s angry.

"I’m not here to eat," he growls. "I heard that bitch passed by."

Of course. Daphne. Word travels fast in Castellano, especially when you’ve got a thousand spies and your paranoia wears custom-tailored suits.

"Yes, she did," I say, calmly.

"What did she want!?" His voice rises.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"Her lover is someone from my orphanage," I say smoothly.

Technically true. Luciano doesn’t know the full history. Only his father—Valentino—did. All Luciano knows is that the old man took a fancy to me.

"How did she find you?" he asks, grumbling.

I tilt my head. "I do not know," I say meekly, lowering my eyes.

He narrows his gaze, still suspicious.

"That’s it?" he pushes.

I hesitate. Then: "She also asked me to switch sides. To give her information on you."

That part... is a stretch. She didn’t say it exactly, but it was written between the lines of her sleek little offer.

He bursts out laughing.

I force a smile.

"I hope you didn’t—" he starts, but I cut him off with a turn of my head, a pout full of wounded devotion.

"Of course I didn’t," I say, my voice trembling just enough to sell it.

"You know I love you. You know everything I’ve done for you."

My fists clench at my sides, trembling slightly—for effect. Just enough for him to believe he still has control over me.

He softens.

Like clockwork.

I feel the weight of his hand settle on my shoulder, heavy with apology.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs.

"I know. I know, I’m just stressed—with the war, with the family. I didn’t mean to doubt you."

Too easy.

I turn, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my cheek against his chest. He smells like cologne and ambition.

"You haven’t visited me in so long," I whisper. "Won’t you stay? Just a little?"

"I have to—"

I kiss him.

Soft. Sweet. Controlled.

"Please." I whisper against his lips.

And he gives in.

His hands tangle in my hair. His mouth claims mine.

*

Later.

I pretend to be asleep as he dresses in the dark, murmuring into his phone.

Business, as always. No apologies. No parting kiss. Just the rustle of clothes, the click of polished shoes, the soft chime of the door as it closes.

The moment he’s gone, I open my eyes.

I rise, walk calmly to the bathroom, and turn on the shower.

Let the heat scald away the performance.

After the shower, I strip the bed.

Clean sheets.

No trace of him.

No scent left on the pillowcases.

I pour myself a glass of wine—something dry and expensive—and sit by the window in nothing but a robe. The house is quiet now. Still.

The card sits on the table like a challenge. Black. Sleek. No name. Just promise.

I reach under the floorboards and pull out the old burner phone. Cheap. Small. Reliable.

A snake needs to shed its skin every now and then.

I send the text.

Just a number.

And then: Ready to talk.

It’s done.

One thing about me?

I’m selfish.

Always have been. Always will be.

When I found out my target all those years ago was a Castellano, I didn’t hesitate. I latched onto the man like a vine chokes a tree. Wound my way into his bed, his trust, his secrets. I watched the Don rot from the inside and never once felt sorry.

And when he started to fade?

I pivoted.

Latched onto his son.

Aged down the act, adjusted the mask.

Men are so easy.

And now? I’m doing it again.

It’s nothing personal.

Just the better deal.

I should’ve hated her for seeing through me.

But instead—I admired it.

So few people do. They see the soft edges I wear like perfume and miss the blade underneath.

But not her.

And that makes her dangerous.

Just like me.

Luciano, Luciano...

I swirl the wine in my glass, watching it catch the light.

I can’t wait to see his face when I twist the knife, straight into his back.