QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 148: I love you

Chapter 148 – Daphne POV

I just hold her.

Just arms.

And silence.

And the weight of her shaking against my chest.

Estela told me everything—about Antonia, about the orphanage, about the truth she never asked for but got anyway.

It’s heartbreaking.

Her voice cracked halfway through. Her eyes didn’t water—they poured. Like her body had been holding in a storm and finally let it break.

I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make it better. And I’m not foolish enough to try.

Some pain isn’t meant to be reasoned with. Some grief just needs to exist—to scream, to sob, to stain the air.

So I hold her.

She’s curled into me on the bed, her face tucked into the hollow of my throat, fingers clutching the front of my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll vanish too.

I won’t.

I stroke her back in slow, steady circles. Whisper nothing. Just let her fall apart, piece by piece, knowing I’ll be here when she’s ready to gather herself again.

Her voice comes out eventually, hoarse and small.

"It’s all gone. Everything I thought I knew. Everything I thought I loved. It was all a lie."

I press my lips to her temple. "You weren’t a lie."

She doesn’t respond.

Just presses closer.

And I let her.

Because sometimes, love isn’t grand gestures or promises.

Sometimes love is just staying.

Being the body someone collapses into.

Being the silence that doesn’t ask for more.

--

I bring her a glass of water, quietly, and help her sit up just enough to take a sip. Her hands are trembling, but she manages.

Then I pull her into my arms again as we lie back down together, her head resting on my chest, the silence wrapping around us like a blanket.

"For years, all I’ve wanted was revenge on the Castellanos," she whispers.

"For what they did to Antonia and my home."

I don’t respond.

I don’t think she needs me to.

She’s not asking for answers.

She’s bleeding truth.

And I’m just here to hold the wound closed.

"I don’t know what to feel," she continues, her voice soft but frayed.

"I also feel very dumb, because... obviously they were raising us to kill. I mean—why did I think it was okay?"

I rub slow circles on her back.

"You trusted them," I say gently.

"They raised you. That’s not stupidity, Estela. They were your family."

"I know," she says, sighing. "I just..."

She trails off, but I don’t push.

"I was fifteen when it all went up in flames," she says.

"One of the older girls grabbed me and told me to leave. She shoved seven little girls into my arms and told me to run."

My chest tightens.

"I was heartbroken," she breathes.

"It was all I ever knew. I didn’t even cry until days later. I was too angry. Too confused. That rage—that was what kept me alive."

I press my lips to the crown of her head. Her hair still smells like rosewater and salt. Still feels like home.

She shifts in my arms, just slightly.

"I came to this town to find the people who took it all away. I told myself I’d learn who they were. I told myself I’d get justice... or vengeance, if I couldn’t have the first."

I listen.

"I worked small jobs, mostly street gigs—this city doesn’t care how old you are if you look like you belong somewhere. I blended in. Found work. Got access. And one day, I saw it."

Her voice goes quiet, almost reverent. Almost like the moment still glows in her memory.

"The Castellano logo. That snake. I recognized it right away. I felt it in my bones."

I close my eyes.

"In the ruins of the orphanage, the only thing left that wasn’t turned to ash was a metal lighter. It had the same logo etched into it, the snake."

I hold her tighter.

I hold her tighter, feeling every word she says like it’s echoing through my bones.

"In the church..." she murmurs, "I was so consumed with anger—and with opportunity. When I saw you sitting there, alone... all I saw was that you were a Castellano. And that meant my chance for revenge."

A slow exhale escapes me.

"A very dumb move," I say, my voice dry but laced with affection. "Because not only would you have died after killing me, they would’ve gone after your sisters too—once they figured out your identity."

She laughs softly, the sound rough but real. "I never said it was a smart idea."

"No," I agree, brushing my thumb along her shoulder. "But it was bold."

She lifts her head just enough to meet my gaze, and I can see a flicker of guilt still buried behind the softness.

"It’s not all bad," I say, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It brought you into my life."

Her eyes soften.

"Yeah," she says quietly, "it’s like... after meeting you, my monotone world was suddenly filled with color."

My breath hitches.

"Ohhh," I say, teasing, "tell me more."

She laughs, that real kind of laugh—the one that makes her nose crinkle and her lips tug crooked. Then she pinches my side.

I flinch. "Violence? In this sacred moment?"

"I was just a ball of rage," she continues, ignoring my mock indignation. "Rage, and responsibility, and exhaustion. Before you, I don’t remember the last time I laughed. I didn’t even have friends—I was just... existing."

I watch her as she speaks, memorizing the way her lips form every word like they matter. Because they do.

"It’s like... my life was waiting for you to start. And for some odd reason, I feel like I know you—while I simultaneously don’t. And sometimes, with you, I get this sense of déjà vu."

She turns to face me more fully, her expression open, soft, vulnerable.

"Maybe you’re right," she says. "Maybe we were lovers in a past life."

And just like that—

My heart stutters. Then sprints.

Thud-thud-thud-thud.

She blinks. "Why is your heart beating so fast?"

I swallow, lips twitching into a grin. "Because you just said you loved me."

She scoffs. "I did not."

"Pretty sure you did," I say, leaning in. "You just used a lot of extra words."

She rolls her eyes. "You are so annoying."

"And I love you too," I murmur, before pressing a kiss to her jaw. Then her cheek. Then the other one. Then her forehead. Then her nose. Then her eyelid.

She’s giggling now, a full-bodied laugh that shakes her shoulders, her hands trying and failing to push me away.

"Daphne—stop!"

"No."

I keep kissing every inch of her face until she’s breathless and glowing, a warm mess in my arms.