QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)
Chapter 184: My wife

Chapter 184: My wife

184

Estela POV

I look down at the ring on my finger—simple, elegant, understated, but so heavy with meaning.

I’m now Estela Castellano.

I still can’t believe it.

The way it happened was so... us.

A small, rushed court wedding—no elaborate fanfare, no grand mafia spectacle. Just us, Julie as one witness, and a random pediatrician pulled from the spa because "we needed a second witness and she had nice handwriting."

I can’t stop smiling every time I think about it.

When I said yes, she didn’t wait. No speech. No flowery declarations. She stood, grabbed my hand, and said, "Come on then. We’re getting married right now."

And we did.

I turn my hand in the light, watching the gold catch the soft sun. The ring fits perfectly. Like it was always meant to be here.

Married.

To her.

I exhale a little laugh, cheeks warm.

Married.

The thought keeps looping through my head, and every time, it sends this little flutter through my chest.

And of course—of course—after all the luxury beach resorts and penthouses we’ve been staying at, for our honeymoon she decides to bring us... here.

To the literal middle of a desert.

Only her.

She calls it "the ultimate luxury desert experience" and technically it is. The suite is massive, the ceilings high and arched, the décor warm and rich—deep golds, crimsons, and ivories. The bed is enormous. The bath is a carved marble pool that looks like something out of a fantasy.

And the view...

I pad barefoot across the cool stone floors to the massive wall of floor-to-ceiling crimson curtains.

I tug them open with both hands—

And my breath catches.

Miles and miles of sand—rolling, endless, undulating waves of gold and rose under the morning light.

Nothing but desert as far as the eye can see.

It’s... ethereal. Quiet. Timeless.

There’s a strange peace to it. Like the desert has secrets. Like it remembers everything and nothing all at once.

I can almost hear her voice in my head—"I knew you’d love it."

She wasn’t wrong.

I step up to the glass, press my fingertips lightly against the cool surface.

Behind me, soft footfalls.

Strong arms wrap around my waist.

"Morning, wife," Daphne murmurs against my ear, voice low, rough with sleep.

I smile wider.

I like the ring of that title.

Wife.

So much for our so-called wedding night.

By the time we’d finally arrived here—flown halfway across the world, driven in a ridiculous luxury convoy out into the desert, gone through all the check-ins and formalities—we were exhausted.

Bone-deep exhausted.

We’d barely managed to stumble through quick showers before collapsing into the massive bed, limbs tangled, too tired to do more than hold each other and drift off.

No steamy honeymoon antics. No romantic first night.

Just sleep.

And honestly? I hadn’t minded.

Falling asleep with her arms wrapped around me... it was more than enough.

And now, waking up to this—her warmth against my back, her breath teasing my neck, her voice calling me wife—this is perfect.

She presses a lazy kiss just under my ear, nuzzles into the curve of my neck.

"You smell nice," she mumbles, voice still hoarse with sleep.

"You always say that," I murmur back, cheeks warming.

"Because it’s true," she says.

I’m about to respond when her hands trail—sneaky, warm—slipping beneath the hem of my nightgown, fingers finding their way up, cupping my chest with absolutely no shame.

"Daphne!!" I snap, swatting at her hands, heart racing.

She only chuckles, slow and wicked.

I scramble out of her arms, tugging my nightgown back down and stalking toward the window, yanking the enormous crimson curtains closed with a sharp swish.

"Someone could see!" I hiss, cheeks burning.

Daphne—utterly unrepentant—props herself up on one elbow, the sheets falling dangerously low around her waist.

"Who?" she says innocently.

"The sand dunes?"

She’s amused. Too amused.

I cross my arms, trying to look stern. "There are staff. Cameras."

Her mouth curves into a knowing smirk. "Darling, do you think I’d bring you somewhere with cameras in the private suites? Please."

I open my mouth—then close it again.

Of course she wouldn’t.

She’s Daphne Castellano.

Which... only makes it worse.

Because now I know there’s nothing stopping her.

And the glint in her eyes says she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

I turn away quickly, flustered. "Still. Behave."

Behind me, I hear the low rustle of sheets.

"I am behaving," she says. "You’re the one in that pretty little nightgown, flaunting yourself like this first thing in the morning."

I glare over my shoulder. "Flaunting—?!"

I roll my eyes, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reply.

Instead, I turn sharply on my heel and stride right past the bed, chin up, aiming straight for the bathroom.

Behind me, I hear a low whistle.

"Mmm... and the sway of those hips—truly cruel," Daphne murmurs, voice all velvet and mischief.

I shut the bathroom door with a firm click, heart thumping far too fast, honestly I might die early with how often my heart races around her.

***

Something is suspicious.

Very suspicious.

Apart from her grabby hands this morning—which, fine, is normal behavior for my wife—Daphne has been acting... too good all day.

Too good.

She’s been letting me have full control of the schedule. Taking photos for me. Buying little snacks from every vendor. Letting me pick which streets to wander down. Even letting me drag her into that tiny artisan shop where I spent nearly an hour choosing scarves.

And now?

She’s sitting across from me at this lovely candle-lit table in the middle of the desert resort’s private garden. Soft string lights glow above us. The air is warm. The food is delicious.

And my wife...

...is smiling at me.

That innocent, too-sweet smile.

I narrow my eyes at her.

She raises a perfectly groomed brow. Tilts her head. Takes a slow sip of her wine, as if butter wouldn’t melt on that sharp tongue of hers.

Hmmmn.

Very, very suspicious.

We spent all day sightseeing—temples carved from stone, ancient ruins half-buried in sand, winding market streets full of bright silks and spices. I had fun, of course I did. I laughed a lot, took photos, even held her hand openly in public, ofcourse we lied saying we are just friends, not that it was a believable lie.

But something in my gut says she’s up to something.