QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 88: Glowing and gone

88 – Frida POV

The duchess is... glowing?

I blink, confused, trying not to let my expression slip into anything unprofessional, but it’s hard to ignore. I’ve served her for over a decade—watched her moods shift like the tides, read the tiny creases of her brow and the twitch of her mouth like they were written in scripture.

And today? She’s positively radiant.

There’s a softness to her face, the sort of ease that only ever appears in the rarest of moments—like when she’s reading under the sun in the garden, or watching the rain from her window with a cup of tea.

But this... this is different.

She sits at the head of the table, spine perfectly straight, hands folded over her lap, while the other ladies of House Callum chatter about whatever political drama or fashion nonsense they’re currently obsessed with

. Usually this puts her in a terrible mood—Lady Viola alone is enough to cause an ulcer—but today? She sips her tea like it’s honeyed wine and occasionally offers a smile.

A smile.

I swear, Lady Miriam actually dropped her spoon from shock earlier.

"My lady, are you feeling well?" I ask softly when I refill her cup.

She looks at me. And her expression—gods, it’s not just relaxed. It’s mischievous.

"Better than ever, Frida," she says, her voice low and secret, like we’re sharing some kind of inside joke.

I clear my throat. "Very good, Your Grace."

But my mind is spinning.

Oh no.

Oh dear.

This can only mean one thing: something happened.

And judging by the look in her eyes, I don’t think it was something she regrets.

Just then, Lady Daphne enters with her maid in tow.

Jane steps to her usual place beside me, quiet as ever, while her lady takes her seat at the table with effortless grace. She looks like a plain, quiet noblewoman—soft expression, modest gown, posture demure. But I know it’s all a mirage.

I’ve seen her interactions with the Duchess.

It’s impressive, honestly—how someone can look so completely different depending on who’s watching. In front of the others, Lady Daphne plays the part perfectly: shy, polite, barely noticeable.

"How thankful we are that you finally grace us with your presence," Lady Clarissa says with an overly sweet smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

Lady Daphne doesn’t respond. Not a word. Not even a twitch of the lip or brow. She merely lowers her gaze and adjusts her skirt—perfectly timid.

Ha.

Seeing as there’s no reaction, the moment fizzles, and Clarissa is forced to turn her attention elsewhere with a subtle scowl. The others follow suit.

I suppress a yawn.

The rest of the afternoon is as dreadfully dull as ever—petty jabs disguised as conversation, compliments that are actually insults, and tea that tastes more like warm water.

When is this ending?

I glance to my side—Jane has most definitely fallen asleep standing. The other maids aren’t faring any better; one of Lady Clarissa’s girls just barely caught herself from nodding off.

That’s when I see it.

A wink.

Lady Daphne, in all her timid-lady disguise, sends the Duchess a quick, subtle wink. Barely noticeable. Unseen to the untrained eye.

But not to me.

And definitely not to the Duchess.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t react. Her expression remains impassive, regal, uninterested.

But I catch it—the smallest twitch at the corner of her mouth.

She’s smiling.

Oh, gods.

This... this is dangerous.

"Anyway," the Duchess says, placing her cup back into its saucer with the grace of a queen, "it’s getting late. Next week, I’ll have the court physician come by for a proper checkup." fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

She smiles at no one in particular and rises.

Translation: This meeting is over.

Finally.

And thank the heavens for it.

*

We’re walking down the castle’s stone corridors, the soft sound of slippers and heels echoing around us. Ahead of us walk the Duchess and Lady Daphne, their robes brushing the floor with every step.

Jane walks quietly at my side.

"Unlike you, Daphne, I can’t just leave," the Duchess says, her tone clipped, as if she’s repeating herself for the third time.

"You could try, Your Grace," Lady Daphne replies, as casual as if they were discussing tea.

"I’m the Duchess. I can’t just leave," the Duchess says again, more firmly this time.

"Very well," Lady Daphne concedes, but the way her lips curve makes it clear she’s not finished.

I exchange a look with Jane.

And as expected—

"I’ll see what I can arrange," the Duchess says, already relenting.

She always does.

I’m starting to think there’s not a single thing the Duchess could deny Lady Daphne.

"I should let you go," Lady Daphne says, rising to her feet with practiced elegance. We linger a few paces behind them, pretending not to eavesdrop.

"To do your Duchess’ duties," she adds, voice soft but amused.

"Yes," the Duchess replies—too quickly, too breathlessly.

And then, with a motion so casual it might have been rehearsed, Lady Daphne reaches out and gently tucks a few strands of golden hair behind the Duchess’ ear.

It’s so obvious.

My sweet Duchess is a gone.

I glance at Jane. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, clearly trying not to laugh.

"Hopeless," I whisper.

"Truly," she whispers back.

And yet... it’s kind of beautiful.

She just stands there, frozen like someone had cast a spell on her. The faintest flush rises up her neck, and though her face remains composed, her ears give her away completely.

Lady Daphne steps back with that same maddening calm, as if she hadn’t just unravelled the most powerful woman in the estate with a single touch.

"I’ll leave you to it, Your Grace," she says with a slight curtsy, her voice laced with amusement.

And then she walks away, Jane falling into step behind her without a word.

They disappear around the corner together, and for a moment, no one speaks.

The Duchess remains standing, staring at the now-empty space in front of her like she’s trying to gather the pieces of herself.

I pretend not to see the way her fingers twitch slightly at her sides, like they’re aching to reach back out.

She turns at last, eyes forward, posture regal—but I’ve served her long enough to notice the faint tremble in her breath.