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

A noise from the living room broke the quiet air of the evening, making Camila whip around in concern. She had just finished setting the table, the aroma of the freshly made pasta filling the house, when the sound of something—or someone—hitting the floor reached her ears.

Frowning, she quickly wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and walked toward the living room, her brows furrowed.

"What happened?" She asked, her voice carrying an edge of worry as she stepped inside.

But the sight in front of her made her stop in her tracks.

Bella was slumped on the sofa, her posture completely limp, her phone still loosely clutched in her trembling fingers. Her eyes—normally sharp and filled with expression—were glazed over, as if her mind had completely left the room. Her lips were slightly parted, but no words came out.

And then there was him...Her husband.

He wasn't in his seat. No, he was on the floor—his knees bent, his body slouched as if the weight of the world had just come crashing down on his shoulders. His fingers gripped Kafka's phone too tightly, his knuckles white, and his expression—

Camila had seen many expressions on his face before...Arrogance. Pride. Irritation.

But never this.

His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open, and his face was pale. He looked like he had just seen something that shattered him. Something that defied every ounce of logic he had ever built his beliefs upon.

The room was heavy, so eerily silent, that Camila felt a prickle of unease creep up her spine.

"...What the hell is going on here?" She demanded, her gaze flicking between Bella's blank stare and her husband's ghostly complexion.

Her voice cut through the silence, snapping the stillness of the room.

Kafka, however, remained completely unbothered. He stretched slightly, before letting out a lazy sigh.

"Nothing serious." He said casually, too casually, as if this were just a mundane inconvenience. He waved a dismissive hand in the air. "We were just trying to find the TV remote. Got a little tired in the process."

Camila blinked.

"...What?" She said flatly.

"Yep." Kafka tilted his head toward Bella. "Isn't that right, Bella?"

Bella, who had barely moved, still looked lost in her thoughts. Her mind was still trying to grasp reality. Trying to process the numbers she had just seen. Kafka's words barely registered, but somehow, she nodded.

Camila eyed her skeptically, while Bella looked shell-shocked.

"...The remote?" She repeated, now eyeing Kafka suspiciously.

Kafka smiled. "Yep." He said casually. "Just a remote."

Camila exhaled sharply, rubbing her forehead. "You all are way too dramatic." She muttered before letting her gaze sweep over the room.

Then, within seconds, she spotted the remote sitting right there on the nearby shelf.

She grabbed it effortlessly, turned, and held it up.

"Seriously? This wasn't hard to find at all." She said, shaking her head as she walked back toward them.

Kafka grinned, reaching out to take it from her. "Ah." He mused. "What would we do without you?"

"Clearly suffer." Camila deadpanned, rolling her eyes.

Kafka didn't deny it. Instead, he simply gave her an amused look before gesturing slightly with his hand.

"Come a little closer." He said as he gestured towards her.

"Why?" Camila frowned.

"Just for a second. Come here." Kafka only smiled.

Camila hesitated, glancing at him warily. But eventually, she sighed and leaned in slightly, bending down to his level.

And then, before she could process it, Kafka reached up. His fingers, cool to the touch, grazed the corner of her lips.

She froze, her heart suddenly skipping a beat. She felt his touch—slow, deliberate—as he wiped something from her lips.

And then, she saw him bring his finger to his mouth.

And taste it.

Kafka's gaze flickered slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes as he deliberately swiped his tongue across his fingertip, tasting the sauce he had just taken from her lips.

"Sweet." He murmured, which made Camila's face erupt in heat.

Her breath stalled, her mind momentarily short-circuiting as she realised exactly what had just happened.

"Wha—" She sputtered, immediately stepping back, her hand instinctively covering her lips.

Kafka simply leaned back comfortably, watching her with an unreadable look.

Camila's heart raced in her chest. She whipped her head around, her body tensing in panic, afraid her husband had seen.

But, he wasn't even looking.

He was still frozen. Still gripping the phone like a lifeline. Still staring at the numbers on the screen as if they had just shattered everything he ever believed in.

Camila exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her chest, trying to steady her breath.

But as the initial relief settled, irritation flared in its place.

She turned sharply toward Kafka, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You—" She started, narrowing her eyes.

He was playing games in front of her husband.

That lazy smirk, that devious glint in his eyes—he was enjoying this way too much.

And Camila wasn't about to let him get away with it.

Without thinking, she raised the spatula in her hand, intending to knock him on the head—not hard, just enough to make her point.

But before she could, Kafka's hand shot up, catching the spatula with ease.

Camila stiffened. She whimpered slightly as she felt the strength in his grip—he barely exerted any effort, yet she couldn't move it an inch.

Kafka's lips then curled into a dangerous smirk, his fingers tightening slightly around the spatula.

And he pulled...Not harshly. Not aggressively.

But just enough to try and pull her in.

Camila's heart lurched, and she instinctively dug her heels into the floor, but she knew—knew—that she had no chance against him if he actually wanted to pull her closer.

Her arms tensed as she tried to pull away, her face heating up as she felt the shift in tension, her fingers gripping the spatula tightly for a second.

But her husband was still here.

And even though he was still dazed, still reeling from whatever reality-shattering truth he had just seen, Camila couldn't risk it.

So, without another second of hesitation, she let go. The second she did, she turned on her heels and walked off—no, ran off—toward the kitchen.

"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes!" She called out over her shoulder, her voice slightly rushed, as if desperate to regain her composure.

Kafka let out a low chuckle, watching her disappear around the corner.

His fingers lazily twirled the spatula in his hand before setting it aside, a small, satisfied smile still lingering on his lips.

But the moment she left the room, a sound cut through the silence.

Riiiling~ Rililing~

The sudden ringing of a phone.

Bella and her father immediately snapped out of their daze.

Not because of the sound itself, but because of what Kafka had said earlier.

The call he had predicted. The call that was about to change everything.

Bella felt her body tremble, her fingers clenching into the sofa. Her father—who had been frozen moments ago—stiffened violently, his eyes widening in horror.

And then, his gaze slowly lowered to his phone.

The name on the screen sent an icy chill down his spine.

Bella saw the way his hands shook.

And she knew this was it; this was the moment he would realise exactly who he had just insulted.

The phone kept ringing.

The sound echoed through the dead silence of the room, a rhythmic, impending chime that seemed to stretch time itself.

Bella's father stared at the screen, his breathing shallow and uneven, his hands clammy against his thighs. His mind raced, caught in the impossible space between denial and horrified anticipation.

Should he pick it up?

Every fibre of his being screamed that this was just some ridiculous bluff. That Kafka was nothing but an arrogant brat spouting nonsense.

That the numbers in his daughter's bank account—the absurd, stomach-turning number of zeroes—were some kind of illusion.

But—

The moment he saw Kafka's own bank balance, something inside him broke.

That—that was not fake. That kind of money did not belong to an ordinary man.

And now, the phone was ringing. And it was his boss.

His heart pounded violently in his chest, his stomach twisting into a cold, paralyzing knot.

He couldn't pick it up...He didn't want to pick it up.

But before he could even process his next thought, Bella picked it up for him.

He whipped his head toward her, his eyes widening in pure horror as she answered the call and tossed the phone onto the table in front of him.

Like she had just thrown a grenade in his lap.

"Wha—Bella, you—" He choked, his voice rising in panic, but Bella only smiled innocently.

"I-I also want to know what's going to happen next." Bella said in a guilty manner, as she couldn't handle the suspense of what was going to happen next, and answered the phone herself.

Her father swallowed thickly, staring at the phone like it was a loaded gun pointed at his head.

He had no choice now. His hands trembled as he pressed the speaker button, his voice straining to sound composed. Continue your adventure with My Virtual Library Empire

"H-Hello?" He rasped, his throat dry, his stomach churning violently. "Sir, I—why are you calling so late at night?"

For a brief second—

There was silence.

Then—

It erupted.

"WHY THE HELL DO YOU THINK I'M CALLING YOU AT THIS HOUR, YOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT?!"

The voice on the other end boomed through the speaker, shaking the walls with its sheer fury.

Bella's father flinched so violently that he nearly dropped the phone, his skin breaking out into a cold sweat.

"W-What—" He stammered, his voice trembling.

"WHAT?!" His boss screamed even louder, so loud that it felt like the phone itself would explode. "YOU TELL ME, YOU DAMN IDIOT! YOU THINK I'D BE CALLING YOU AT MIDNIGHT FOR A CASUAL CHAT?! YOU THINK I'M JUST BORED?!"

Bella's father felt his pulse skyrocket, the wrinkles on his face twitching.

"S-Sir, I don't—"

"YOU DON'T KNOW?! YOU DON'T KNOW?!"

A loud bang sounded on the other end—something had been slammed down violently, maybe a table, maybe a phone—maybe a chair had been kicked across the room in blind rage.

Bella's father squeezed his eyes shut, his lips quivering. "P-Please, sir, just tell me—"

"TELL YOU?!" His boss roared. "HOW ABOUT YOU TELL ME WHY MY ENTIRE COMPANY IS GOING TO HELL BECAUSE OF YOUR DAMN NAME?!"

His breath stopped.

What?...His name?

His hands turned ice-cold. "I—"

"YOU USELESS WASTE OF SPACE!" His boss spat. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT KIND OF NIGHTMARE I JUST WOKE UP TO?! I WAS RELAXING IN MY DAMN POOL, DRINKING MY DAMN COCKTAIL, LIVING MY DAMN LIFE—WHEN SUDDENLY, OUT OF NOWHERE, I GOT A CALL FROM MY INVESTORS SAYING THEY'RE ALL PULLING OUT!"

All the investors?...Gone?

His boss wasn't done.

"ONE AFTER ANOTHER! BAM! BAM! BAM! ONE CALL, THEN ANOTHER, THEN ANOTHER—EACH ONE TELLING ME THEY'RE PULLING THEIR FUNDING, THEIR ASSETS, THEIR EVERYTHING—UNTIL MY ENTIRE COMPANY IS COLLAPSING BEFORE MY EYES!"

His voice was hoarse with fury, but it only grew wilder with every word.

"AND YOU—YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO ASK ME WHAT'S WRONG?!"

Bella's father was frozen, his face turning pale as death, his throat so dry that no words came out.

He felt terrified. This couldn't be real. This was a nightmare. But then, his boss's next words shattered him completely.

"AND YOU KNOW WHAT THE BEST PART IS? DO YOU?!!"

His voice turned ragged, as if he had been screaming for hours.

"THEY ALL TOLD ME THE SAME DAMN REASON!"

Bella's father stiffened, his breath stopping short.

Kafka's words from earlier rang in his ears—

"And when the owner realizes their downfall, make sure they know exactly who caused it."

His boss took a ragged breath, his fury boiling over into something purely unhinged.

"THEY SAID IT WAS ALL BECAUSE OF YOU!"

Bella's father felt his soul leave his body. His limbs went numb. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out...And his boss wasn't done.

"AND YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT ELSE?! I PANICKED SO MUCH I PEED MY DAMN PANTS!"

Bella blinked, caught off guard by the statement that came out of nowhere

Kafka chuckled softly, thinking that the person on the other end of the phone was rather hilarious.

But the man on the other end of the line was still going ballistic.

"AND EVERY CALL I GOT ONLY MADE IT WORSE! EVERY CLIENT I HAD, EVERY CONNECTION I BUILT—ONE BY ONE, THEY ALL STARTED PULLING BACK! NO EXPLANATION, NO NEGOTIATION—JUST GONE!"

His father felt his head spinning, his stomach twisting into knots so tight it hurt. His breath came out in shallow gasps, his hands shaking as reality crashed into him.

This was real...Kafka had actually done it.

He had single-handedly erased the entire foundation his father had been leeching off for decades...And he had done it like it was nothing.

His eyes slowly, slowly, lifted toward Kafka, who was watching him with a casual, lazy smirk—

Like this was just another evening for him.

Like this was just a game, destroying another man's life just because of a little disagreement.