QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 69: Hold me a bit longer

Chapter 69 – Daphne POV

I’ve decided to stay in bed all day today.

Not out of laziness. Out of necessity.

I told the staff I was feeling unwell. Feverish or something. Probably a side effect of existing in a corset 24/7.

Thankfully, they’ve left me alone.

The curtains are drawn. The fire’s long dead. I haven’t moved in hours.

The worldpauses and turns black and white.

And then the familiar soft blue glow pulses faintly in front of me.

Great.

Just what I needed.

I stare at the floating orb with dead eyes.

"Can you not waste system points this way?" I mutter, not even bothering to sit up.

It hovers in silence.

"So, care to tell me," I ask, voice cracking slightly, "why I saw my wife last night?"

No answer.

"Why my wife didn’t recognize me?" I continue.

Still nothing.

"Why—why—"

I trail off, words caught in my throat.

Because the rest doesn’t need to be said out loud.

[Host, that’s not Jiang Yuxi. That’s Evelyne Callum, the Duchess.]

I let out a bitter laugh.

"Oh, is that so? And I guess it’s just a coincidence that she looks exactly like my wife—just, what, race-swapped for narrative flavor?"

The system goes quiet.

[...]

"No comment?"

[It’s a coincidence. You can’t—]

"Yeah. Coincidence. Sure." I scoff, eyes burning.

"Don’t worry. What you’re thinking won’t happen. Even if she was my beloved, I wouldn’t get involved with her."

I turn my face into the pillow.

The voice softens.

"I don’t think I can handle watching the love of my life die again."

***

Evelyne POV

I watch, detached, as the duke speaks to the vassals.

His voice is firmer than it was last month. He makes eye contact now. He doesn’t fidget or defer every decision to the steward. He still wears the wrong colors for his complexion and his posture could use work, but—

He’s changed.

I don’t know when it started, but it’s undeniable now. Something in him has shifted.

And I suppose I’m... glad.

It means my workload has decreased.

I no longer have to intercept every letter, supervise every tax discussion, or mask every clumsy political misstep with a polite smile and quiet correction.

He’s learning.

Finally.

I turn my gaze back to my tea, letting the conversation blur in the background.

This is fine. This is all I ever wanted.

When I accepted the proposal from the Callum family, I knew what I was doing. The duchy wasn’t a superpower, but it held enough authority to secure my status.

The Callum name had weight—but not too much weight. A place where my position could not be questioned. Where I would not be a tool. Where affection was irrelevant and unnecessary.

I didn’t want a romance. I wanted a throne of my own, no matter how small.

I think of my sister—the crown princess—living in the palace, locked in a golden cage with her children raised by nurses, her every movement judged by nobles, priests, and opportunists.

I shudder.

But it’s because of her that I’m here.

Safe. Untouched. Free in all the ways that matter.

All I have to do is wait.

One of the ladies will eventually bear a child. Maybe two. Maybe three.

When it happens, I’ll raise the heir.

I’ll do my duty as duchess.

I’ll secure the legacy, die with my reputation intact.

That’s the path.

That’s always been the path.

But lately... something has been bothering me.

Thoughts that don’t belong. Emotions that have no name. A memory I haven’t been able to discard, no matter how many times I tell myself to forget.

It began a few weeks ago.

I had intended to meet the newest addition to the household—Lady Daphne of Callum. Daughter of a destitute count. A quiet thing, they said. Plain. Unremarkable.

I’d heard whispers of her traumatic wedding night, of her "fragile state," of how she’d been given her own wing to recover.

I’d planned to meet her face to face. Not as a rival. As a formality.

But instead of summoning her—I found myself watching.

It was near dusk. I’d gone walking without my ladies-in-waiting, wanting quiet. The garden walls had grown warm with the last of the sun, the sky painted with faint orange hues.

And then—I saw her.

She wasn’t alone.

A single maid walked a pace behind her, hands folded.

They said nothing.Just passed quietly through the side path of the rose hedge, slipping through an opening like they’d done it before.

I paused.

Curiosity is a dangerous thing.

I followed.

Through the hedge. Past the fading blooms. Into the trees.

The woods near the estate weren’t particularly dense, but enough to cast everything in dappled green shadows. The air smelled of moss and something earthy. I was curious about what was happening because it had been like an hour walking and me trailing behind them.

Eventually it seemed like they arrived at their destination, maid waited by the tree line. Lady Daphne walked further in alone, her figure fading in the low light.

I moved closer, careful with each step.

I didn’t know what I expected to see.

I certainly didn’t expect that.

There—bathed in the fading light of the sunset—stood Daphne.

Naked.

Completely bare.

Her back to me. Her hair loose. Her skin glowing like bronze dipped in moonlight.

She walked to the stream with slow, unhurried steps, like she had done it many times before. The water lapped at her ankles, her knees, her waist—until she dipped fully beneath the surface.

I should have left.

Should have turned and walked away.

But I didn’t.

I watched.

Mesmerized.

She didn’t move with the clumsy shyness of a noblewoman. There was something raw about her. Honest. Unpolished. She ran her hands through her hair, her expression soft, lips parted slightly—not in performance, but in peace.

For a moment, I forgot where I was.

Forgot who I was.

Until—

Snap.

A twig beneath my heel.

Her head turned sharply.

I panicked.

I didn’t see her face, but I felt it—that near glance, that flicker of awareness.

And I ran.

I haven’t been able to explain that moment to myself. Why I stayed. Why I watched.

Why I can’t stop thinking about the look on her face when she hugged me in the garden, days later. The way she trembled when she whispered that name.

"Yuxi."

Not a name I’ve ever heard before.

But something about it cut through me. Deep.

She looked at me like I was her salvation. Like she’d been drowning and suddenly found air.

And when I told her she was mistaken—

The look she gave me.

That quiet collapse behind her eyes.

It haunts me.

No one has ever looked at me like that.

No one has ever held me like that.

And the worst part?

For a second—just a second—I wanted her to hold me longer.