[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-qt-i-hijacked-a-harem-system-and-now-i-m-ruining":3,"chapter-qt-i-hijacked-a-harem-system-and-now-i-m-ruining-qt-i-hijacked-a-harem-system-and-now-i-m-ruining-chapter-156":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1854894,2462,"Chapter 156: Boom","qt-i-hijacked-a-harem-system-and-now-i-m-ruining-chapter-156",156,"\u003Cp>Chapter 156 – Daphne POV\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tensions aren’t rising anymore.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They’ve already exploded.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now we’re just sitting in the fallout, pretending there’s still a table between us and not a war.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Luciano’s voice is the match this time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"We should get rid of them all,\" he growls, slamming his hand on the table. The wood groans under the force.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Burn them out. Every last one.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting the throb blooming behind my eyes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"This isn’t the fucking ’80s anymore,\" I say tightly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You want to leave a trail of bodies across the city? What next? Print Castellano calling cards and leave them on the corpses?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He glares at me. \"Then what the fuck are we supposed to do?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"That’s the purpose of this meeting, isn’t it?\" I snap, letting the full weight of my fury bleed into my voice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Across the table, Raffaele leans forward, lips pressed into a pale, trembling line. His hand is still bandaged from the shrapnel. His coat is wrinkled. His eyes?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His eyes are empty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he turns sharply, locking on one of the men kneeling on the ground in front of us—a former courier, or maybe a contact. They all blur together lately, so many bleeding out at our feet with no answers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You,\" Raffaele says, voice flat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The man doesn’t speak.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raffaele’s hands tighten at his sides. His knuckles go white.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"How did this happen?\" he growls.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Still, the man says nothing. Just breathes through his nose and stares at the floor like a dog waiting to be put down.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raffaele doesn’t wait.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He pulls out his gun with a speed that doesn’t feel like rage—it feels like ritual. And fires.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The shot goes clean through the man’s hand. The scream is immediate and awful, echoing off the stone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Blood hits the marble..\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raffaele doesn’t stop. He throws the gun across the room hard enough to crack the plaster. It hits the wall and drops with a clatter. He stands now, breathing hard, eyes red-rimmed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I don’t stop him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because I understand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Those girls were his. His to protect. His responsibility. And they died branded and burned in rooms meant to be safe.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The war room is a simmering pit of fury. Everyone’s raw—bleeding power and pride—arguing over retaliation, loyalty, losses. The walls feel too tight. The air too heavy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The doors slam open.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Everyone turns. Instinctively.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Julie barrels in like a bullet.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No heels. No jewels. Just slacks, a tight black tee, and a face dripping with sweat. His curls are barely pulled back, and there’s a wildness in his eyes I’ve only seen once—when I killed my first man, and he cleaned the blood off my shoes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Julie?\" I rise halfway from my seat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He doesn’t stop to breathe. Doesn’t blink.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"**Valentino Jr. is the snake. Code B-0-9!\" he yells, voice ragged.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For a split second, no one reacts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But I do.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I bolt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Raffaele—RUN!\" I scream, already sprinting for the door. \"It’s all gonna blow!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That’s all it takes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Panic detonates in the room.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Chairs scrape, men shout, bodies shove.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Luciano curses and kicks the table over, drawing his gun on instinct as if bullets can stop a firestorm. The rest of the Castellano heads surge behind me, stampeding through the hallway.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sirens start wailing overhead—internal alarms, ones no one’s heard since the lockdown drills our fathers practiced.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>We turn a sharp corner—just past the grand stairwell—and I see it:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The massive floor-to-ceiling window.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Outside, the grounds. The courtyard. Freedom.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I don’t think.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I grab the nearest lamp stand, a cast-iron decorative piece, heavy as sin. I swing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The first hit bounces.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It’s bulletproof. Reinforced.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Help me!\" I shout, and two guards leap in. Luciano grabs a candelabra. Raffaele crashes his shoulder into the glass.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>We slam it again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It cracks—finally. Spiderwebbing down the middle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Another blow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The whole pane shudders.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I throw my weight into the last hit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Glass shatters.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No hesitation. No pause. No breath to spare.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I jump.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Glass slices across my cheek on the way out—sharp, hot, blooming like fire just beneath the skin. My coat catches on the jagged edge, tearing, but I don’t care. The wind whips past me. The courtyard rushes up to meet me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I hit the ground hard—knees slamming into earth, jarring up my spine, gravel biting into my palms.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But I don’t stop.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I can’t.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There’s no time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not to scream. Not to curse. Not to even process the way my ribs feel like they’ve cracked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I’m already on my feet.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Already running.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As fast as I can. As far away from the fucking bloody estate as my legs will carry me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>My lungs burn. My legs ache. Every breath scrapes down my throat like glass—but I run.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Behind me, the earth shakes. A low, awful groan rolls through the ground like something ancient waking up beneath the foundation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>BOOM.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>***\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Estela POV\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"We interrupt this broadcast to announce—there’s been a terrorist attack on the Castellano estate...\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The anchor’s voice drones on, words slicing the air like razors. But I don’t hear them. Not really. Just that one sentence, looping like a knife in my chest.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>My hands go numb.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The clipboard I was holding clatters to the floor. I don’t even register the sound.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Castellano estate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Terrorist attack.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Daphne.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She said she had a meeting today. Said it casually, like it was just another boring discussion with her bloodthirsty siblings and war-hungry cousins. No reason to worry. No reason to follow up.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She even kissed me goodbye that morning.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Told me to eat something.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I can’t breathe.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The air feels thick. My knees buckle beneath me like someone’s cut the strings. I fall hard, but I barely feel it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Estela!\" someone calls—one of the women at the shelter, maybe Mary, maybe Sofia—but I can’t answer. My throat is closing. My vision is starting to tunnel.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I’m not dramatic. I’ve seen death. I’ve caused death.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But this? This isn’t supposed to happen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not to her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not when I just started letting myself believe this life was real. That we could make it out. That I could stop surviving and start living.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hands are on me, trying to lift me. A glass of water appears. Someone switches off the TV, but the words keep echoing in my head.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Daphne.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No, she can’t be—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I surge up suddenly, pushing the hands away.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I have to go,\" I say, breathless.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Estela, no—wait, you don’t even know where—\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"She was there.\" My voice cracks. \"She had to be there.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stumble toward the door, not even sure how I’m going to get to the estate—if it’s even still standing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But I have to find her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Or what’s left of her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because if Daphne’s gone—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then there’s no point in this new life.\u003C\u002Fp>",1139,"2026-06-09T07:29:29.584Z",1,"novelbin.me","59b02c0dd32da34ec24d8c4b133d45556829c494332e398c8539a9d1bda5dfde","qt-i-hijacked-a-harem-system-and-now-i-m-ruining-chapter-157","qt-i-hijacked-a-harem-system-and-now-i-m-ruining-chapter-155",399,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fqt-i-hijacked-a-harem-system-and-now-i-m-ruining-cover.jpg"]