QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 175: Wormly romance

Chapter 175-

Daphne POV

It’s time.

Finally.

Months of planning, running, sabotage, bloodshed it’s time to pull the curtains on this arc.

Raffaele has grown. He’s not the tentative, second-guessing baby chick he used to be. The hesitation in his eyes is gone. He’s sharper now, the softness replaced by the kind of steel that only betrayal and blood can forge. Maybe the best thing I ever did for him was stepping back.

Because the Castellano family? It’s a rotting institution of old men. Greedy, bloated, politically incestuous dinosaurs clawing to remain relevant while the world leaves them behind. If I stood too close to Raffaele, if they saw my hand in his decisions, they’d have sunk their teeth into his throat by now. Because what am I if not a lowly woman?

He had to stand on his own. And now he does.

Luciano isn’t even paying attention to the cartel anymore. Not really. He’s locked in this endless, testosterone-fueled pissing contest with Raffaele, letting his pride eat through every shred of strategic thought.

While they are distracted, wasting men and money trying to outmaneuver each other, the real infection has been festering untouched.

Valentino Jr.

He was never supposed to be this resilient. This slippery. And yet, every time I get close—every time I aim the knife, align the shot, poison the glass—he escapes. The first few times, I thought I underestimated him. The third, maybe he was lucky. But by the fifth time, the tenth? No. There’s something else.

There’s another hand in play.

A force I can’t see.

An invisible puppet master who keeps saving him. Guiding him. Manipulating things around him. It’s as if the universe itself is bending to keep him alive. I know exactly whom my number one suspect is.

I’m losing my patience.

And worse, I’m losing time.

Estela and I have been moving nonstop for months. Every trail that led to him, every whisper, every coded message we’ve intercepted has led to a dead end. Either he was never there, or he left just before I arrived. It’s become laughable. Absurd.

Exhausting.

Estela pretends she’s fine. She still paints her lips, keeps her knives hidden in that strappy thigh holster, still flirts with danger like it’s her favorite dance partner. But I see it. The growing tension in her shoulders. The quiet way she stares out windows when she thinks I’m not looking.

She’s tired.

And I’m tired of seeing her like this.

I want out. Well not completely out.

We’ve spilled enough blood. It was hot at first, exhilarating.

Now I just want a quiet house. A ridiculous garden with climbing roses and temperamental tomatoes. I want to wear ugly pajamas and laugh with her in the mornings. I want to bicker over paint swatches. I want a dog. A stupid, floppy-eared thing that gets in the way and sheds on our clothes.

We’ve never had a dog. That would be a first.

I close the laptop. The report I received is useless.

Another escape. Another "perfect storm" of circumstances. The kind that only happens in fairy tales—or nightmares.

It’s ridiculous, really. A man doesn’t dodge death this many times by luck alone.

I lean back in the creaky chair, fingers rubbing my temples. My head throbs with the weight of it all. I’ve been in this world too long—long enough to know when something isn’t natural. Long enough to feel the seams fraying.

A flicker catches my eye.

At the corner of the room—just for a second—the air splits open like cracked glass. Not a hallucination. I’ve seen it before. Warps. Anomalies. This world glitches. Broken world, boo hoo.

I rise to my feet. My joints ache. My mind feels like it’s wrapped in barbed wire. I head for the bathroom, peeling off my shirt on the way. I’ve had enough for today.

The shower tile is cold under my bare feet. I step over a crack in the marble—except it’s not a crack. It’s another flickering ripple in the world’s surface, like reality is a screen with a tear in the fabric.

I don’t flinch. I don’t react.

I’m past reacting to these things, now heading towards 6 years in this world.

The water comes on in a blast of heat and steam. I close my eyes and let it soak into me, burn away the tension, the paranoia, the fury. The droplets stream down my spine and shoulders.

Then I feel it—warm hands around my waist.

A softer presence pressing up against me from behind.

I don’t even turn around. I just relax.

"Estela," I murmur.

Her chest presses against my back, grounding me. Her hands rub slow circles at my sides, gentle, soothing.

"So much tension in your body, Dee," she says quietly, lips close to my ear.

"There’s bound to be," I say, "with how stressed I am."

"We’ll get him," she whispers, brushing her fingers over the spot just beneath my ribs.

I huff a tired laugh, letting my head tilt forward, water dripping off the tips of my hair.

"He’s just a cockroach, you know," I say.

"A slippery little shit who crawls out of every trap I set."

Estela doesn’t try to cheer me up with empty optimism. She doesn’t pretend I’m not exhausted. She just holds me—solid and present and real in a world that’s anything but.

As Jiang Yuxi, what I felt for her was a potent cocktail of infatuation and lust. I loved her, yes. I’d give my life for her. But I kept pieces of myself hidden.

As Evelyn, when I locked away the memories of Yuxi, the love didn’t vanish. It was there and she was there.

But Estela... she’s different. Yet the same. A new name, a new life, and still—when I look at her, I feel that same impossible certainty. I love her. I think I always will.

From the moment I first saw Yuxi—my first memory of her—something in me was never mine again. It belonged to her.

Estela though she sees through the cracks and my false bravado.

I mean I tried to hide, and act fine even when I was sad and she called me on my bullshit, now I don’t bother to hide anything at all.

I didn’t think it was possible to fall deeper and deeper in love with the same soul, over and over, yet here I am. What I’m feeling right now could barely hold a candle to what I felt back then.

I turn in the shower and hold her face in both hands. The water beads on her eyelashes, glides down her cheeks, gathers in the curve of her jaw.

"I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the universe," I say softly.

She blinks, then grins. "Now where did that come from?"

"I mean it," I reply, brushing my thumb across her cheek. "Every word."

"Hmmmnnn..." Her eyes glint mischievously. "What if I was a worm?"

I snort. "Seriously?"

"Dead serious," she says, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," I say, pressing my forehead to hers, "I’d find you the richest patch of soil, tuck you into the coziest pile of leaves, and pray to the gods that I be reborn a worm too—so we can live out our wormly romance together."

She giggles, her laughter high and delighted, echoing in the steam-filled bathroom. "Wormly romance, huh? That’s disgusting and adorable."

"Your favorite combination," I tease.

"Okay, okay," she continues, clearly on a roll now. "What if I was a spider?"

I hesitate. Just for a second. A beat too long.

She catches it immediately. "Aha! You paused!"

"I was just...thinking."

"Liar," she declares, narrowing her eyes. "Would you still love me if I had eight hairy legs and spun webs in the corners of our ceiling?"

"Of course," I say with mock solemnity.

"I’d build you a web-shaped castle and bring you only the juiciest flies."

"Romantic." She smirks. "Okay then. What if I was a snake?"

Now I pause again. Longer this time.

Her face lights up like she just won a bet. "I knew it! Your love has limits!"

"Snakes are...look, they’re not my favorite creature, okay?" I mumble, trying not to shudder. "They slither. And they’re creepy."

"I’m hearing a lot of excuses," she says, stepping back dramatically, arms crossed.

"You’d leave me in the garden like Eve?"

"Never," I say, reaching for her. "If you were a snake, I’d conquer my fears and be with you anyway."

She makes a skeptical noise. "Hmmmnnph. Liar."

I grin and pull her close. "I’d buy anti-venom. I’d build a snake terrarium with silk curtains. I’d even let you coil around me every night."

She raises an eyebrow. "Now that sounds like a fetish."

"I have many fetishes when it comes to you," I whisper against her ear.

"Just that some are now snake-shaped."

She bursts out laughing, collapsing into my arms, our bodies slippery with water and heat and the kind of love that makes even the ridiculous feel sacred.