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

Her husband stepped into the living room, his critical gaze now directed at Bella and Kafka. Camila trailed behind, her heart pounding as she prepared herself for whatever was about to unfold.

She had braced herself for chaos as her husband entered the living room. She had expected sharp words, confrontations, or even Kafka losing his composure completely. But when she stepped into the room, she was met with an unexpected and eerie silence.

Nothing really happened at all, but the absence of noise was unsettling.

As her eyes scanned the room, she finally caught sight of Kafka, and what she saw left her momentarily stunned.

He was lying back on the sofa, his head tilted slightly to one side, his eyes closed. His face was still set in that unnervingly blank expression, the tension in his jaw and furrow of his brow making him look almost menacing even in sleep.

But with his eyes shut, there was something disarmingly boyish about him, as though all the weight he carried had temporarily eased in his rest.

Camila blinked, her mind racing to understand what she was seeing. This wasn't what she had expected at all. Kafka wasn't the type to simply disengage like this, especially not in a situation like this one.

Before she could even think to ask, her gaze shifted to Bella, who was standing nearby, her arms crossed and her expression calm but guarded. Bella met her mother's confused look with a slight nod, the faintest hint of a knowing smile on her lips.

Camila's shoulders relaxed as understanding dawned. Somehow, Bella had coaxed Kafka into resting, diffusing the tension before it could explode. She didn't know how her daughter had managed it, but a wave of relief washed over her, and she let out a quiet sigh. Discover hidden tales at empire

Her husband, however, had noticed Kafka as well. His brow furrowed as he stared at the man on the sofa, his expression shifting between curiosity and something harder to place—disdain, maybe even a flicker of unease.

"Who's this?" He asked sharply, his tone cutting through the quiet. His eyes narrowed as he studied Kafka, as though trying to piece together why the sight of him made his skin crawl.

Camila's chest tightened. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Bella stepped forward.

"Dad..." Bella said, her voice steady but carrying an edge of forced politeness.

Her father turned to her, his inquisitive look lingering. "Bella..." He said, his tone softening slightly. "You're here. I didn't think you'd be home."

"Well, I'm on a break right now, so it's only natural I would come back home." Bella replied, her voice clipped but polite. She forced a smile onto her face, though it didn't reach her eyes. "It's good to see you."

It wasn't good to see him...Bella hated the sight of her father—the man who had caused her so much pain and driven a wedge into her life.

She hated being in the same room with him, hated the memories he dredged up just by existing.

But she was smart enough to know better than to let her disdain show. She had to keep up the image, playing the role of the dutiful daughter, if only to keep the fragile peace intact.

Her father, however, seemed oblivious to the weight of Bella's discomfort. His sharp eyes studied her, his lips twitching slightly into something resembling a smile.

There was pride in his gaze, but not the kind born from love or admiration. It wasn't the pride of a father cherishing his daughter for who she was.

No, his pride was colder, more clinical. He looked at her as if she were a product he had created—something that had grown to meet his expectations.

Bella had become a smart, beautiful young woman, someone who could meet the world with poise and grace. To him, she was a trophy, an extension of his image, just like Camila had once been in his eyes.

And one couldn't help but wonder—if Bella hadn't met his standards, how would he view her then? What kind of twisted, conditional love would he offer?

The thought made Bella's stomach churn, but she kept her expression neutral, her forced smile still in place.

Her father's smile widened slightly as he took a step toward her.

"You've grown so much since the last time I saw you." He said, his tone almost fatherly, though it carried an edge of self-satisfaction. He reached out to stroke her head, a gesture meant to appear affectionate but carrying an undertone of possessiveness.

But Bella moved quickly, stepping back just before his hand could make contact. "That's only natural." She said smoothly, her voice calm but distant. "It's been so long since we last met."

Her father's hand hovered in the air for a moment before he lowered it, a flicker of something—confusion? Irritation?—crossing his face. He studied her, his gaze narrowing slightly as though trying to figure out what was different.

She had always been polite, fond even, during his visits in the past. But now, there was a distance, a guardedness he wasn't used to. Something was off.

Still, he chose to brush it aside, chalking it up to her having grown up.

"Of course." He said with a faint chuckle, adjusting his glasses. "You're an adult now. Things change."

Bella didn't respond, her forced smile unwavering as she kept her gaze steady on him.

Her father's gaze then landed on the figure reclining on the sofa, and his expression hardened almost instantly. His sharp eyes took in Kafka's relaxed posture, the way he lay back with his eyes closed, and a faint sneer curled on his lips.

"Who is this?" He asked, his tone dripping with disdain. "And why is he carelessly sleeping in my living room?"

Bella's twitched at the way her father spoke about Kafka, her forced smile threatening to falter. She hated how dismissive and condescending he sounded, but she forced herself to remain calm.

"That's Kafka." She quickly said. "He's the boy next door. He moved in recently."

"And what's he doing here when his home is next door?" Her father raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

"He's been helping out around the house." Bella replied, keeping her tone steady. "He's been a big help."

Camila stepped in then, her voice calm but with a subtle firmness. "He really has. With you being away so often, it's been nice to have someone around who can lend a hand."

Her husband's eyes flicked to her, narrowing slightly at her words. There was an unspoken tension in his gaze, a mix of irritation and something deeper—something closer to insecurity.

Bella noticed the shift in his expression and decided to add more, trying to steer the conversation. "He's actually been helping me with my university project." She said, her voice casual. "We've been working on it for hours, and I guess he got tired and dozed off."

Her father's sneer deepened. "What kind of man falls asleep when he's supposed to be helping? And you're saying he's capable of helping with your project? Are you sure he even has the ability to do that?"

Bella bit her lips in frustration, but she kept her smile plastered on her face. "He's very capable, Dad...Don't underestimate him." She said, her tone colder now.

"Capable enough to ignore his surroundings and sleep while the man of the house arrives? That's insulting. He hasn't even bothered to introduce himself." Her father let out a scoff, his disdain clear.

And then, all of a sudden, he started moving toward Kafka, clearly intending to wake him. "I'll fix that." He muttered.

"Dad." Bella interrupted sharply, stepping in front of him and putting a hand on his arm. "There's no need. He's just tired. Let him rest."

Her father stopped, his frown deepening as he looked at her. "No need?" He repeated, his tone incredulous.

"Please." Bella said, her voice softer now, though her eyes were firm. She gestured to a chair. "Sit down. Why don't you tell us how work's been going? I'm sure you've been busy."

Her father hesitated, glancing back at Kafka one more time, his eyes focusing on his face that looked too young to even bother about. And then finally, with a faint huff, he turned and sat down, though the tension in his posture made it clear he wasn't letting it go entirely.

He adjusted his glasses and leaned back in his seat, his expression shifting to one of smug satisfaction.

"Work's been excellent." He said, his voice filled with pride. "I've closed some major deals recently—big clients, high stakes, the kind of work only someone with my experience can handle. My boss is thrilled. He's even been dropping hints about a promotion."

Bella nodded politely, her forced smile returning as she listened. "That's great, Dad." She said, though her tone was more automatic than genuine.

Her father went on, his voice growing louder and more arrogant as he continued to detail his accomplishments.

"It's not easy being a sales manager, you know. You have to be sharp, strategic. People think they can just walk in and do what I do, but they'd crumble under the pressure. It takes a certain kind of person to succeed at my level."

Bella nodded again, her gaze flicking briefly to Kafka, who remained motionless on the sofa. A part of her couldn't help but wonder if he was really asleep or just choosing to ignore everything happening around him.

Camila, standing to the side, remained silent, her arms crossed as she watched her husband boast. Her expression was neutral, but Bella could see the faint flicker of annoyance in her mother's eyes.

As her father continued to talk, Bella's mind raced, trying to think of ways to keep the peace and prevent the situation from escalating.

For now, she focused on nodding along to her father's words, keeping him distracted and away from Kafka—at least for the moment.