QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 79: Duty and pain

Chapter 79 – Evelyne POV

I do not believe I have wronged the heavens so terribly as to deserve this.

Truly.

I sip my tea slowly, ignoring the shameless, ungodly moaning echoing down the hallway from the Duke’s chambers.

It has been hours.

It began with Lady Viola. Then came a polite knock from one of the chambermaids requesting Lady Miriam’s presence. And shortly thereafter—less than an hour hence—Lady Clarissa was summoned as well.

And now?

The maid.

His favorite.

She might as well be an unofficial concubine.

Marquis Talbor, what in the gods’ names have you given him? That it takes four women to sate the Duke’s appetite... I pray that four shall be sufficient.

Because from what I’ve heard through two walls and a heavy velvet curtain, my husband is not resting.

I glance at the maid standing nearby, a moderately attractive girl with wide eyes and a wary posture as a potential addition to the activities.

I will be flayed by burning whip before I let Lady Daphne step one foot near that chamber. She is mine.

As the Duchess, it is my duty to maintain the dignity and order of this household.

That includes oversight of succession efforts.

Usually, this would fall under the domain of the matriarch—the Duke’s mother. But in her absence, the responsibility lies with me.

When noblewomen feign ignorance in such matters, chaos ensues—bastards born under questionable moons, lineage contested, legacies unravelled by scandal.

That will not happen under my roof.

Fortunately, hours later, there is silence.

Finally.

I rise, walking with measured grace, and watch as the concubines are escorted out from the Duke’s quarters, their hair askew, steps unsteady. Carried, really.

Surely, I think, surely one of them must be pregnant.

Gods, let it not be the maid.

A bastard child cannot stand as the first heir of Callum.

That can, of course, be rectified. Quietly. A switch of wet nurses, a naming ceremony... or if necessary, removal.

But unfortunately, the Duke seems... fond of her.

Not that I care.

If her child is the first son of Callum, I will do what must be done.

I turn from the hall, my expression composed.

My thoughts elsewhere.

I miss Daphne.

***

Daphne POV

I hit the sandbag again.

And again.

Harder.

My knuckles sting, but I keep going.

I need to bleed this out.

Bleed her out.

Out of my system.

Out of my thoughts.

Out of the hollowness that’s been echoing since she stopped appearing in the hallways like some silent ghost haunting my day.

I haven’t seen the Duchess in two days.

Not that I’m counting.

Not that when I lift my brush, I pause—eyes flicking toward the window—hoping to catch her silhouette in the garden. Not that I’ve walked slower past the tea veranda. Not that I’ve found myself lingering near the main corridor around the same time she usually walks from her study.

Not that I’m hoping to catch the faint, familiar rustle of those heavy dresses she insists on wearing.

Or a glimpse of gold-blonde hair.

I hit the bag again.

Too hard.

Pain flares in my knuckle. Something pops.

I don’t care.

I press my forehead to the sandbag, breathing hard.

I hate this.

This weakness.

This longing.

This betrayal I keep committing in the quiet of my thoughts.

Because she’s not Jiang Yuxi.

She’ll never be her.

And yet—

I want her to look at me again.

Like she did, that one morning.

The way she touched my face, like she was terrified of forgetting it.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

I don’t know if I miss her...

Or if I miss the ache of pretending she’s someone else.

And maybe that’s worse.

And maybe that’s worse.

I collapse onto the grass, body burning, hands bruised. I lean against the tree, breathing hard, sweat cooling too quickly against my skin. The sandbag I tied to a sturdy branch swings lazily above me—mocking me, probably.

A couple meters off, the stream glistens like it has no idea someone’s spiraling nearby.

Eventually, I peel myself off the earth and wade into the freezing water for a quick bath. The cold shocks me out of my thoughts. Not enough to forget, but enough to breathe again.

On the way back, Jane trails behind me like a well-trained shadow.

"Apparently the Duke took something..." she starts, tone casual, the way she always starts when she’s about to unleash a scandal.

Gossip, yes. But technically this is intelligence.

I asked her to keep me informed. Because frankly, if this house is going to implode, I’d rather see the explosion coming.

"What kind of something?" I ask, wringing out my wet hair as we walk the back path.

"I don’t know," Jane replies, voice low. "It’s been kept quiet... all I know is that the Duke’s wing—the three ladies entered. And the Duchess... she didn’t leave either. Not for a whole day—"

I don’t hear the rest.

I don’t need to.

Duchess.

That single word is enough to hit me like a physical blow.

Everything else turns to static.

My breath stalls.

My lungs forget how to function.

She was there?

She heard it, yes. I already knew that.

But was she part of it?

Did she sit there, with her cool gaze and controlled hands, while they rotated through his bed?

Was she close enough to touch?

Did he—?

No.

No.

No.

It shouldn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

It shouldn’t—hurt like this.

But it does.

It burns.

"My lady?" Jane’s voice cuts through, hesitant. Concerned.

I blink fast, forcing down the emotion bubbling in my throat.

"Nothing," I say. My voice is tight, but I fake a smile. "Just a little tired. Let’s hurry back."

I gather the skirts of my dress, holding them slightly above my ankles, and begin walking faster—each step sharper than the last.

Acting fine.

Like it’s just fatigue.

Like my heart isn’t currently shattering into a thousand unsalvageable pieces.

I guess despite all my careful internal lectures, all my efforts to stay detached, to treat her as just another noblewoman in a world that isn’t mine—

I only fooled myself.

I tighten my grip on the fabric of my skirts, knuckles white with restraint.

Why am I reacting like this? I know why, I refuse to address it.

She’s the Duchess.

Of course she would sleep with the Duke.

They’re married.