NOVEL NEXT Chapter 605: Dutiful Husband, Son And Father
The kitchen hummed with the gentle rhythm of slow music drifting from a small speaker on the counter, its mellow notes weaving through the air as Kafka stood over the stove, stirring a pot of pasta with a practiced ease.
The rich, savory aroma of garlic, herbs, and simmering tomato sauce filled the room, curling upward in fragrant tendrils that promised a meal crafted with care.
His movements were flawless effortless, almost second nature—as he tossed the pasta in the pan, a sprinkle of fresh basil here, a dash of olive oil there, each action seamless and precise. The kitchen glowed with warmth, the pleasant smell wrapping around him like a comforting embrace, and for a moment, he lost himself in the simple joy of cooking, the clink of utensils and the bubbling sauce grounding him in the present.
But his mind wandered, drifting beyond the steam and the music to a single, nagging comment that Evangeline had made after that unforgettable night with Nina.
She'd said it casually, almost offhandedly,
"Your real mother, up in heaven, Lady Vanitas, didn't watch this last trial. She'd been at every one before, but not this time."
The words echoed in his head, tugging at a thread of curiosity he couldn't quite shake.
Why hadn't she watched?...What were her intentions now, after all this time?
His brow furrowed as he plated the pasta, twirling it neatly onto three dishes, the sauce glistening under the soft kitchen light.
Was she judging him from afar?...Planning something?
The thought lingered, a faint shadow over his contentment, but as he finished garnishing the plates with a sprinkle of parmesan, he let it go with a quiet exhale.
"Doesn't matter." He muttered to himself, his voice low against the music. "As long as she doesn't show up knocking on my door, stirring up trouble, I don't care what she's up to. I'm happy—right here, right now."
He carried the plates into the living room, the scent of the pasta trailing behind him as he stepped into the cozy space.
There, on the couch, sat Bella, his adorable daughter and Abigaille, his beloved mother—huddled close, their eyes glued to the television with rapt attention.
The drama unfolding on the screen had them utterly captivated, their faces etched with serious focus as the characters argued passionately about some tangled betrayal.
Kafka paused in the doorway, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he took in the sight. Just a few months ago, these two had been strangers—distant figures in a life he hadn't yet claimed—and now, they were his closest family, the heart of his world.
The thought warmed him, a quiet pride settling in his chest as he realized that no matter who came his way—even if it was his 'almighty mother' from beyond, he'd protect this little haven with everything he had.
He stepped forward, setting the three plates down on the coffee table with a gentle clink, the steam rising in delicate wisps.
"Alright, you two—eat up." He said, his voice warm and inviting as he straightened, wiping his hands on a dish towel slung over his shoulder. "It's that creamy herb pasta you both love—I made it special, infused it with those flavors I know you can't resist."
"...Bella, I added that extra kick of garlic you're always sneaking into everything, and Mom, I went heavy on the basil, just how you like it. Dig in before it gets cold."
But neither of them moved. Bella's pretty blue eyes, just like her mother's stayed fixed on the screen, her brow furrowed as the drama's heroine slammed a door in a fit of tears, while Abigaille leaned forward slightly, her lips parted in quiet suspense as the music swelled.
Neither of them even twitched at his presence, their focus absolute, as if he'd vanished into thin air.
Seeing this, he cleared his throat, louder this time, his voice cutting through the room with a touch of impatience.
"Hey, hello? Earth to Bella, earth to Mom? The food's gonna get cold if you don't eat soon—stop ignoring me already!"
He waved a hand dramatically, gesturing at the plates, the savory aroma of of the creamy pasta wafting up as if to back him up.
But to his disbelief, they treated him like a ghost, their eyes never leaving the screen, Bella's fingers clutching the edge of the couch, Abigaille's breath hitching as the drama's plot thickened.
Kafka sighed, a deep, exaggerated sound as he rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze softening despite his irritation.
He knew this about them both Bella and Abigaille had always loved these soppy dramas, even before they'd become family. Bella would curl up with her mother's old DVDs, tearing up over star-crossed lovers, while his mother had her secret stash of melodramatic mobhes she'd watched late into the night.
When they discovered their shared passion, it was like a match made in soap-opera heaven. They'd started spending nights like this—huddled together, binge-watching episodes, gasping and giggling in sync, swapping theories about who'd betray whom next.
Kafka loved it, really he was happy to see his new-found daughter and his mother bonding, their laughter filling the house with a warmth he'd never known growing up.
Bella soaked up Abigaille's presence like a sponge, delighting in the motherly affection, while Abigaille glowed with the joy of having a daughter—figure to dote on, something she'd never had before.
But there was a catch—whenever they got into one of these drama marathons, they slipped into their own little world, a bubble he couldn't pierce no matter what he did.
Normally, they'd shower him with attention—Bella chattering about her day, his mother fussing over his cooking or teasing him about his latest antics with Nina.
He'd gotten used to being the center of their orbit, their affection a constant hum in his life, so this sudden exclusion stung more than he'd admit.
Right now, they were like kids glued to a cartoon, ignoring dinner despite his best efforts, and it left him feeling oddly out of place in his own home.
"Alright, that's it."
He muttered, his patience fraying as he stepped forward, planting himself squarely in front of the TV, his broad frame blocking their view of the screen.
The reaction was instantaneous—both erupted into a commotion of complaints, their voices overlapping in a cacophony as they flailed their arms.
"Kafi, move!" His mother cried, her tone a full of exasperation and urgency as she leaned to the side, trying to peek around him. "The big reveal's coming—you can't stand there right now!"
"Daddy, come on!" Bella chimed in, her eyes wide with horror as she clutched a throw pillow, her voice pitching into that familiar, pleading 'Daddy'. "We have to see this—she's about to confront him about his cheating! We can't miss it!"
Kafka turned to face them, his expression full of dismay and incredulity as he crossed his arms, the remote dangling from one hand.
"You're kidding me, right?" He said, his voice rising with a theatrical edge as he waved the remote at them. "This isn't the olden age—you can pause it, you know! It's not some live-or-die broadcast—hit a button, and you can watch it later!"
Hearing this, Abigaille fixed him with a look like he was some rookie who'd never heard of true fandom—her lips pursing as she sat back, her tone dripping with mock superiority.
"Oh, Kafka, you innocent little child—watching it live is the best. It's like you're in it with the rest of the world, feeling every twist as it happens."
"...A true fan doesn't just pause a show like this—it's about the experience, the connection! You just wouldn't get it."
Bella nodded vigorously, her parted bangs bouncing as she chimed in, her voice earnest and resolute. "Exactly, Auntie's right! Pausing it kills the vibe, we'd miss the whole thrill of it airing right now!"
Kafka stared at them, his mouth half-open in disbelief as they doubled down, their united front unshakable.
"Unbelievable." He muttered, shaking his head as he held up the remote, his thumb hovering over the pause button. "Fine, then what about dinner? You gonna skip the poor meal I slaved over—hours of hard work, blood, sweat, and tears, poured into this pasta just for you two?"
"...I'm out here like some neglected housewife, cooking my heart out, and you're letting it go cold over some guy's secret letters that revealed his infidelity!"
His voice took on a guilt-tripping whine, his eyes narrowing as he played up the wounded act, knowing full well it'd tug at their soft spots.
It worked—almost too well.
Bella's resolve wavered, her gaze flicking to the plates, the creamy herb pasta glistening temptingly under the living room light, its garlic-basil aroma curling toward her.
"Oh...It does smell really good."
She murmured, her voice softening as she bit her lip, clearly torn.
Abigaille's stern expression faltered too, her nose twitching as she inhaled, her love for his cooking warring with her drama obsession.
"I mean, it is our favorite."
Abigaille admitted, her tone reluctant as she glanced at the plate, then back at the screen, her hands twisting in her lap.
"You did make it just how we like it, Kafi—and it'd be a shame to let it sit there...but we can't stop watching now! It's too good!"
They sat there, caught in a comical deadlock-eyes darting between the TV and the food, their faces scrunched in indecision.
Kafka watched them, half-amused, half-exasperated, waiting for one of them to crack.
Then Bella's face lit up, a spark of genius flashing in her blue eyes as she snapped her fingers, her voice bright with triumph.
"Wait—Daddy, you can feed us! Yeah, just sit here and give us bites while we watch—problem solved!"
Abigaille latched onto the idea instantly, her eyes widening with delight as she clapped her hands together, her voice eager.
"Oh, that's brilliant, Bella! Kafi, you can sit right in the middle of us—feed us both at the same time! It's perfect—you get to pamper us, and we don't miss a second of the show!"
Kafka blinked, staring at them in sheer disbelief as their plan sank in, his jaw dropping slightly.
"You're serious?" He said, his voice rising with incredulity as he gestured at them with the remote. "You're not babies—you don't need me spoon-feeding you like some toddler duo! What's next, bibs and mashed peas?"
But they weren't backing down. Bella's lips puckered into a pout, her blue eyes going wide and pleading as she clasped her hands together, her voice a sugary whine.
"Please, Daddy? Just this once? It'd be so nice—pretty please?"
Abigaille joined in, her own pout forming as she tilted her head, her tone softening into an adorable, coaxing lilt.
"Come on, Kafi—you're so good to us. Won't you spoil your girls a little? We'd love it so much!"
Their twin pouts hit him like a double punch and kick combo, their voices weaving a net of guilt and charm he couldn't escape.
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he muttered,"You two are impossible—absolutely shameless."
But the fight was already lost—he couldn't resist them when they teamed up like this, their adorable pleas melting his resolve like butter in a pan.
"Fine, fine—I'll do it." He relented, his voice gruff but tinged with affection as he tossed the remote onto the table, unpausing the show with a flick of his thumb. "I have to make dinner and feed it as well...The things I do for love."
They cheered in unison, a burst of giddy laughter as they parted on the couch, scooting to either side to make room for him.
"Yes! You're the best, Daddy!" Bella chirped, patting the cushion beside her as Abigaille nodded, her smile wide and triumphant. "Such a good son! I knew you'd come through, Kafi."
He sighed again, a theatrical sound as he grabbed a fork and settled between them, the two pasta plates balanced on his lap. The drama resumed, the heroine's sobs filling the room as he twirled a forkful of pasta, lifting it toward Bella's mouth.
"Here, open up, drama queen." He teased, his voice warm despite the grumble. She obeyed, her eyes still on the screen as she took the bite, a muffled "Mmm!" escaping her lips. He turned to Abigaille, offering her a forkful next. "You too, Mom—eat before you faint from all this suspense."
The night settled into a cozy mood—Kafka feeding them bite by bite, their murmurs of delight blending with the TV's melodrama, the pasta slowly disappearing as he played the role of dutiful husband, son and father for his beloved family...