God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem

Bella froze...For a moment, she couldn't breathe.

She had expected anything but that.

Her hands trembled slightly on the table as she stared at him, her throat tightening, her emotions whirling in chaos inside her.

He wasn't joking.

There was no teasing smirk, no playful lilt to his voice.

Kafka—the same arrogant, smug, unshakable Kafka—was sitting there, vulnerable, waiting for her answer like it actually mattered to him.

Like she mattered to him.

A warmth spread through her chest, something overwhelming, something she didn't know how to name.

Her eyes burned slightly, and she bit her lip, trying to process what had just happened, what he had just offered her.

A second chance...A real one.

Not out of pity...Not out of obligation.

But because he wanted to...Because he chose her.

Her fingers curled like she was trying to create some warmth in the cold as she swallowed hard, trying to steady herself.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt safe.

Kafka shifted slightly in his seat, suddenly very aware of the words that had just left his mouth.

'What the hell did I just say?'

It wasn't like him to get sentimental—not like this, not so openly, and definitely not with his own emotions laid bare on the table.

The weight of his own words settled on him like an unexpected realization, and a rare warmth crept up the back of his neck. His fingers tapped anxiously against the wood of the table, resisting the urge to rub at his face in embarrassment.

He hesitated, contemplating whether he should turn his head slightly, maybe just enough to get a peek at Bella's reaction—just to gauge what she was thinking, whether she thought he had gone completely insane or was simply joking with her.

But before he could even move, something soft and warm collided into his chest.

Kafka barely had time to process it before he felt arms wrap around him tightly, pressing into him like she never wanted to let go.

His dark eyes went wide, his body instinctively stiffening for a split second before he realized—

Bella was hugging him.

No, not just hugging him—clinging to him, burying her face against him, her entire frame trembling slightly as if she were desperately trying to keep herself together.

She whe wasn't arguing with him like usual, she wasn't punching him, she wasn't scoffing, teasing, or rolling her eyes at him.

She was simply holding onto him, as if she was afraid he would disappear if she let go.

Kafka blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

Then, slowly, he felt himself relax.

A small smile pulled at his lips as he let out a quiet exhale, his arms gently encircling her, one hand resting on her back, the other lightly patting the top of her head.

"So." He murmured, his voice low, teasing but warm. "Can I take that as a yes and your bestowing me the opportunity of me being your second chance?"

Bella thought about it for a second before nodding against him, her grip tightening slightly around his shirt, as if she still wasn't quite ready to let go.

Kafka's chest loosened with relief, a genuine warmth spreading through him as he closed his eyes briefly, resting his chin lightly against the top of her head.

For once, there was no need for words.

This moment, this feeling, was enough.

But then—

"Alright, alright, that's enough, you two!"

The sudden voice made them both freeze.

Kafka lifted his head lazily, while Bella groaned against his chest, already knowing who it was.

Camila stood at the entrance to the kitchen, arms crossed, her eyes narrowing slightly at the scene before her.

"Let go of each other." She huffed, marching closer. "You two can cuddle all you want after a certain someone leaves. But if your father walks in and sees this, he's going to throw a tantrum!"

Bella immediately lifted her head, her expression darkening in an instant.

"Who's my father?!" She scoffed, her voice full of disdain. She harumphed, crossing her arms before leaning back into Kafka's chest like a stubborn child. "I don't know who you're talking about, as Kafka is the only father I have!"

Kafka's eyes widened slightly, his arms still loosely wrapped around her.

Camila's lips parted, her brows raising slightly in surprise, but before she could even react, Bella—as if to emphasize her point—hugged him even tighter.

"See? Daddy won't me go even if you say so." She said firmly, not budging an inch.

"Unbelievable...I just don't what you said to her Kafka that's she's hugging onto you like a little monkey, when she looked so sombre a minute ago." Camila exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose as her daughter sided with her lover without batting an eye.

Kafka, meanwhile, was trying not to laugh.

Bella's childish stubbornness, Camila's exasperation, the entire situation—it was all so ridiculous, and yet…So, so perfect.

This was his family now.

And Kafka knew that he wouldn't trade this moment for anything in the world.

But just as the mood in the kitchen was starting to become harmonious, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway, each one deliberate, slow, and seething with frustration.

Bella, despite all her earlier defiance, instinctively tensed at the approaching presence.

She had no fear of the man walking toward them—he was nothing to her anymore.

But she didn't want to make a scene. Not right now.

So, begrudgingly, she loosened her grip around Kafka and slid back into her seat, her expression cool, composed—like she hadn't just been clinging to him moments ago.

But just as Kafka thought that was the end of it, Bella suddenly leaned in again and, with the swiftest motion, pressed a quick kiss against his cheek.

Kiss~

Kafka blinked. His eyes widened slightly, caught completely off guard as the warmth of her lips lingered against his skin.

And just as his fingers reached up to touch his cheek, to confirm that it had actually just happened, her father entered.

The air in the room shifted instantly.

The man stepped into the kitchen, his expression deathly, hollow, utterly drained.

He looked like a shell of the arrogant man who had walked in earlier. The pride, the smug confidence—it was all gone.

Replaced by something ugly, bitter, festering with resentment.

Camila's brows furrowed the moment she saw him. "Why do you look like that? You look like you just walked out of your grave." She asked bluntly, already pulling out his chair.

But he didn't answer.

He just stood there, his gaze locked onto Kafka, his indignant eyes burning with something he couldn't even put into words.

A mixture of hatred and helplessness.

Kafka, on the other hand, looked utterly unfazed.

He sat there, leaning back against his chair, his face completely relaxed, as if he hadn't just wrecked the man's entire life. His fingers still rested against the cheek Bella had kissed, his lips curled into the faintest smirk.

Seeing his calm demeanor, her father clenched his fists at his sides before huffing under his breath and looking away. He finally lowered himself into his chair, though every motion was stiff, reluctant, as if just sitting at the same table as Kafka was a personal humiliation.

Camila watched the entire exchange with slight confusion but ultimately sighed, deciding not to push further.

If he wanted to sulk, he could sulk. She had no energy for his tantrums tonight.

Instead, she picked up the bottle of apple juice from the table and started pouring it into everyone's glasses.

"Alright." She said, settling into her own seat beside Kafka. "Since I made the meal, it's only fair that you're the one to give the toast."

"Me?" Kafka raised an eyebrow, glancing at her with a smirk.

"Yes, you." She confirmed, placing the juice bottle down.

Bella, already sensing his reluctance, perked up immediately, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. "C'mon, Daddy, give us a good one!", not even caring that she was calling him 'Daddy' in front of her actual father.

Kafka sighed, running a hand through his hair, feigning exasperation, but there was a hint of amusement in his expression.

"Fine, fine." He muttered, lifting his glass lazily.

But then—

His gaze softened.

He turned his head slightly, looking at Bella and Camila, the two women who had somehow become the center of his world in ways he never expected.

And as he did—his smirk melted into something much more genuine.

He let out a quiet breath, his lips curving into a smile—a real, heartfelt one.

"To the most beautiful and wonderful mother-daughter pair I was lucky enough to meet." He said, his voice gentle but sure, filled with an undeniable warmth.

Bella and Camila both froze for a split second.

"I thank God for the blessing of bringing you two into my life." He continued smoothly, tilting his head slightly. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Silence.

And then, both Bella and Camila blushed.

It was brief, barely noticeable, but Kafka caught it.

Bella immediately cleared her throat and snatched her glass, clinking it against his hurriedly.

"Alright, enough of that, drink up!" She said, deliberately diverting the conversation.

Camila, also flustered, quickly followed suit, lifting her glass and clinking it against his as well. "Yes, yes, drink up before the food gets cold!"

Kafka laughed, shaking his head, fully amused by their reaction. But he didn't push it.

Instead, he took a sip of his drink, smiling against the rim of his glass.

This…This was home.

The laughter, the clinking of glasses, the lighthearted teasing—This was what life was about.

But while they were having fun, Bella's father barely heard any of it, barely processed the warmth and joy radiating from the other side of the table. His mind was elsewhere, trapped in a suffocating storm of resentment and frustration.

His gaze remained locked on his plate, his fork pushing around the pasta he didn't even want. His jaw clenched.

Camila...She hadn't listened to him.

He had asked her to make something else—had told her he didn't want pasta.

And yet, here it was, steaming on his plate, as if his words had meant nothing at all.

In the past, if he had made such a request, she would have changed the meal immediately, without hesitation, without question.

She had always been attentive, always making sure her family's needs came first.

But now?...Now, she didn't even spare him a glance.

Instead, she was laughing at Kafka's jokes, pouring juice for him, checking to see if he was enjoying the food—the way she used to with him.

His fingers curled tightly around his fork, the sharp tips scraping against the table.

And then there was Bella.

She always sat beside him at the table, always his little girl, always within his reach, always listening to his words, valuing his opinions.

Now...Now she was sitting next to him.

To that boy.

That damn boy who barged into his life uninvited, who turned his daughter against him, who made his wife ignore him.

He felt like an outsider in his own home.

A humiliated stranger at his own table.

This was supposed to be the night he came back to his perfect wife, his obedient daughter, the life he had so carefully built—the one he thought would always be there waiting for him.

But now…Now, it was ruined.

Because of him.

That devil who somehow slithered his way in and took everything from him.