Chapter 286

Daphne

What is a woman?

What makes a woman?

Do I still count as one?

No. If womanhood was reduced to nothing but genitals, it would invalidate those who’ve lost them—to trauma, to illness, to circumstance. My mind knows that.

But I have a fucking dick.

I remember intersex people, strong and beautiful, who identify as women regardless of what they were born with. Their womanhood isn’t a debate. It’s a fact.

But at least they always had something. Some form, some foundation. My own foundation has been ripped out and replaced.

Mind is gone. The thought echoes, hollow.

[Host. You have company.]

The System’s voice cuts through the spiral. I don’t answer. I just lean back in the chair of my too-fancy high-rise apartment, staring at the ceiling.

The buzzing of the door is so annoying and consistent, I end up standing and walking to the door, my robe loosely tied.

I open the door and come face to face with someone who looks like me.

Someone who uncomfortably looks like me.

A man.

Standing in front of me, is my twin brother and one of the male leads, Damien Han.

I don’t step back. I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice low and flat.

"Great to see you too," he replies, his tone utterly deadpan.

According to the memories simmering in the back of my mind, we’ve never had a good relationship. Tense. Distant.

That’s fine by me.

"Spit it out."

He lets out a short, quiet breath, his gaze scanning over me as if checking for cracks. "You recently came back to the country, and you haven’t been home. Mother sent me."

He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Likewise.

*

The sound of my heels clicking behind Damien is loud, sharp, and deliberate as we walk up the outside stairs to the main house.

The last time I wore shoes like this was in my first life—my original life. The memory is blurry, worn thin by centuries and other worlds, but I remember the feeling. I wore them to board meetings just to piss off the old men in suits, to remind them and others that it infact was a woman in that position.

This time, it’s different. More personal.And I like the way they make me tower over Damien.

We’re the same height—both just over 190 centimeters but in these heels, I have the advantage. I’ve always liked towering over men.

The house is large, opulent in a way that whispers old money and quiet power. Servants move like ghosts in the periphery. It makes sense, the Han family has been entrenched in politics for over a century.

Damien leads us to the study. Inside, two figures wait. Behind a massive oak desk sits an imposing man in his sixties, his presence like a closed fist. Beside him stands a beautiful woman who looks no older than forty.

What?

System?

[Olga Blue is an Omega from an affluent family. She was married to the Alpha Bernard Han when she was nineteen. He was twenty years her senior. That is the host’s current father.]

The information slides into place, cold and clear. I immediately dislike the man behind the desk.

"Daphne."

The woman—my mother in this world—rushes forward, her face brightening. She embraces me in a hug that’s all soft perfume and genuine warmth. I freeze.

Motherly affection... it’s foreign.

Awkwardly, I pat her back.

She pulls away, beaming up at me. She’s tiny, delicate, radiant. Clearly where Damien and I got our looks. Against my will, my heart softens. I manage a small, real smile.

"Mum."

"Look at you," she frets, her hands fluttering. "Have you been eating well? You look like you’ve lost weight."

I take her hands gently and bring them to my lips, kissing her knuckles. "I’m sure with your cooking, I’ll gain it all back."

She beams, the worry melting into delight. According to the memories flickering at the edges of my mind, this is rare. Damien and the sperm donor behind the desk often overlook her, speaking around her, dismissing her.

Not on my fucking watch.

She starts to say something else, her voice soft.

"Enough. Leave us." 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Bernard Han’s voice cuts through the room like a blade. He doesn’t even look at her. I see it happen in real time—the light in Olga’s eyes snuffs out. Her shoulders dip almost imperceptibly. She nods, turning to go.

Yeah. My dislike is crystallizing into pure, cold hate.

"It’s basic courtesy," I say, my voice slicing the silence, "to wait for a conversation to take its course and conclude before intruding, Father."

I don’t look at my mother. I keep my eyes locked on the man behind the desk. The temperature in the room plummets.

He looks at me, his gaze weighing and dismissing me in the same breath, as if he’s decided I’m not worth the effort of a real confrontation.

"You will have your own reunion after this conversation," he says, his voice like gravel under a polished shoe.

"If you really cared, you wouldn’t have been in town for two weeks without stepping foot in this house."

Firstly, that was the other Daphne. And secondly, I spent the first week of that time mourning the loss of my vagina. Not that I can say that.

"It wasn’t mother I was avoiding," I say instead, letting the implication hang.

"Daphne! Don’t speak to your father like that." Olga’s voice is a hushed, urgent whisper. She takes my hand, her grip surprisingly firm, and gives me a chastising squeeze.

She turns back toward Bernard, her posture softening into something placating. "I’ll have dinner prepared," she murmurs, and then she’s gone, slipping out of the study and closing the door with a quiet, final click.

The silence she leaves behind is thick and charged. Damien hasn’t moved from his place by the window, a silent, watchful statue. I already don’t like this family.