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

He glared at Kafka, his voice trembling with fury as he demanded, "Who do you think you are to tell me how to speak to my own daughter? This is my house! I'll say whatever I want to her!"

He jabbed a finger toward Kafka, his tone rising.

"And don't think you'll get away with this. You put your hands on me! I could call the police right now and have you arrested for assault."

Camila's lips pressed into a thin line as she stood to the side, her face neutral, but inside, her mind was filled with disdain.

'Coward.' She thought bitterly. 'Hiding behind the police because he can't handle being put in his place.'

Kafka opened his eyes lazily and tilted his head slightly to look at him.

"You call yourself the 'man of the house." He said, his voice calm, almost conversational, but it carried an edge that made the room feel colder. "...and yet you can't even sort out a simple family problem without threatening to call the police. That's what you resort to? It's embarrassing."

The words landed like a punch, and Bella's father's face turned an even deeper shade of red. "You've got some nerve—"

"More nerve than you, apparently." Kafka interrupted, his voice still calm but now carrying an unmistakable weight. He then leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as his sharp eyes bored into the old man before him, and continued saying, "You call Bella your daughter, but do you even know what that means?"

"...A father isn't supposed to shout at his child like she's some kind of failure just because she doesn't meet your precious standards."

Bella's father flinched, his mouth opening to respond, but Kafka didn't give him the chance.

"You treat her worth like it's tied to what she accomplishes. Like she's some trophy to polish and show off," Kafka continued, his voice more solemn now. "You barely know her. You're barely present in her life. And yet you think you have the right to scream at her and demand she fall in line for the sake of your ego?"

The room was silent except for the sound of Bella's father grinding his teeth. His hands tightened around the armrests of the chair, the tips of his fingers scratching the smooth leather.

Kafka straightened, leaning back again as if bored by the man's silent rage. "Here's what's going to happen." He said simply. "You're going to apologise to Bella for shouting at her. And you're going to promise her you won't ever do it again."

Bella's father's head snapped up, his eyes wide with indignation. "Apologise?" He spat. "To my own daughter? For what? For telling her the truth?"

Kafka's eyes narrowed slightly, and he tilted his head as if studying him. "For treating her like she's an object instead of a person." He said softly, the quiet menace in his voice unmistakable.

Bella's father was about to argue, his mouth already open, but the way Kafka looked at him—cold, unflinching, and entirely unimpressed—made the words die in his throat. For a moment, the room felt suffocating, the tension so thick it was hard to breathe.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, Bella's father clenched his jaw and muttered, "Fine." His voice was low, barely audible, as though each word physically pained him. "I'm...I'm sorry." Kafka raised an eyebrow, waiting. His eyes trembled, and he ground out the rest of the words through clenched teeth. "I'm sorry for shouting at you, Bella. It won't happen again."

Bella didn't look up. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, trembling slightly as she stared at the floor. The apology her father had forced out meant nothing to her.

It wasn't genuine—it never could be. It wasn't about her; it was about his pride, about getting the moment over with so he could feel like he'd won.

The room was tense, the air filled with the unspoken. And just as the silence threatened to stretch too long, Kafka spoke, ordering another favour.

"Now apologise to Camila." He said, the words cutting through the quiet like a blade.

Camila blinked, her head snapping toward Kafka, startled. "What?" She said, her voice faint with disbelief.

Bella's father's reaction was immediate and preposterous as well. He scoffed loudly, his lips curling into a sneer.

"Apologise to her?" He repeated, his tone dripping with mockery. "For what? For telling her to keep her mouth shut when she kept on barking like a dog?"

Camila's expression tightened, but she remained silent, her lips trembling like she was holding herself back from choking him out. Bella also flinched at the remark, a spark of anger flashing in her eyes, but she didn't speak either.

Kafka, however, didn't flinch. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze locking onto Bella's father with unnerving steadiness.

"Yes." He said calmly and then continued saying, "For that too. And for everything else, like coming into her life with your worthless existence."

The room seemed to freeze. Bella's father stiffened, his face flushing with a mix of anger and humiliation when he heard the degrading words thrown at him.

"What did you just say?!" He hissed, his voice trembling with fury.

Kafka's expression didn't change. He remained calm, his posture relaxed, as he repeated, "I said, now listen carefully since I don't want to say it again—You should apologise to Camila for coming into her life with the worthless existence of yours."

Bella's father's hands curled into fists, his entire body tensing as though he were about to lunge forward. "You—"

"You what?" Kafka interrupted, his voice colder now, his tone cutting. "What are you going to do? Prove me right by acting exactly like the selfish, prideful man you've always been."

The older man snapped to his feet, his chest heaving as he glared down at Kafka. "You have some nerve, you unruly brat." He spat, his voice rising. "Do you even know who you're talking to? I'm her husband! I'm her father! This is my house, and I'II—"

"Enough!" Camila stepped forward, placing herself between Kafka and her husband, her hand on his chest to stop him from advancing. "Calm down." She said firmly, her voice steady despite the tension in the air.

Her husband looked down at her, his nostrils flaring. "He insulted me. Scolded me in the worst way he can." He snapped, his voice low and dangerous. "Do you expect me to just let that go?"

"Yes." Camila replied without hesitation, meeting his gaze head-on. "He's young. He said some hasty things. Don't make a big deal out of it."

"Hasty?" He repeated incredulously, his voice rising again.

Camila shook her head, her tone softening slightly as she tried to diffuse the situation. "He's close to Bella." She explained. "They're close friends. He stood up for her because he cares about her. That's all this is."

Her husband gritted his teeth, his eyes flicking back to Kafka, who remained seated, watching him with a quiet intensity that made the room feel unbearable to be in.

Camila's voice lowered, gentler now but still firm.

"Sit down." She said. "Take a moment and collect your thoughts. Let me finish dinner, and we'll talk when everyone's calm."

Her husband hesitated, clearly torn between his simmering anger and the realisation that escalating this further would only make him look worse. He glanced at Kafka one more time, and the look in the younger man's eyes—the sheer lack of fear, the cold confidence—seemed to make him reconsider.

With a sharp huff, he stepped back and dropped into his chair, muttering under his breath. "A kid like him doesn't know how the world works." He said bitterly.

Camila ignored the remark, her shoulders relaxing slightly now that he was seated. She turned to Bella, her expression softening.

"Take care of Kafka, will you?" She said quietly, her hand brushing Bella's shoulder. "Make sure nothing happens while I'm in the kitchen."

Bella nodded slowly, her gaze flicking between her father and Kafka.

Camila hesitated for a moment, her eyes lingering on her husband, who sat stiffly in his chair. Finally, she turned and walked toward the kitchen, her steps deliberate and calm, hoping nothing would happen while she finished up dinner.

Silence descended upon the room once she left, thick and oppressive. Kafka sat on the sofa, his posture relaxed, but his eyes were fixed on Bella's father with an emotionless stare.

It wasn't a glare, nor was it overtly hostile—it was just cold, unyielding, and impossible to ignore.

Bella's father fidgeted under the weight of that gaze, his hand tightening around the armrest of his chair. He tried to meet Kafka's eyes, but the intensity was too much. His gaze flicked away, landing somewhere near the coffee table, then at the far wall, avoiding the younger man altogether.

Bella, sitting beside Kafka, felt the silence gnawing at her nerves. She glanced between her father, who looked visibly uncomfortable, and Kafka, whose steady stare hadn't wavered once. The atmosphere was unbearable, and she couldn't take it anymore.

Turning to Kafka, she cleared her throat.

"Hey, Da—...I mean, Kafka." She said, almost referring to him as 'Daddy' when her actual father was sitting there. "So, you know that project you helped me with?"

Kafka's eyes shifted to her, his expression softening slightly, the coldness in his gaze melting away like snow on a warm spring day.

"Yeah, the you were struggling with since you had no team members." He said simply.

Bella smiled, relieved to have found something to talk about.

"Well, my professor loved it." She said, her voice growing more animated as she spoke. "Like, he really loved it. He said it was one of the best submissions he's seen in years."

A faint grin tugged at Kafka's lips. "That's great, Bella." He said, his tone low but genuine. "Congratulations."

Bella's eyes lit up at his words, her excitement bubbling to the surface.

"Thanks! But that's not all." She continued, leaning forward slightly. "He showed it off to the dean. The dean! Can you believe that? Apparently, he was so impressed that he called a meeting with the entire department just to showcase it."

Kafka raised an eyebrow, his grin widening just a fraction. "Really? That's impressive." He said.

"It was insane." Bella said, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I didn't even know until I got an email from the dean's office saying they wanted to use my project as an example of innovation for our department." She paused, her cheeks flushing with pride. "And, get this—they're even talking about giving me an award for it."

Kafka's grin softened into a quiet smile as he listened, his eyes never leaving hers. "You deserve it...You put a whole lot of sleepless nights into finishing it." He said simply.

Bella's smile widened, her excitement undeterred.

"And that's not even the craziest part." She added, her voice rising slightly. "Apparently, a couple of companies heard about the project through the dean, and they're interested in buying the idea."

"Companies?" Kafka blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

Bella nodded eagerly. "Yeah. I mean, nothing' s finalized yet, but they're already setting up meetings to talk about licensing and everything. It's...it's overwhelming, but it's exciting, you know?"

Kafka turned towards her slightly, his smile lingering. "I'm happy for you, Bella." He said, his voice quiet but sincere. "You worked hard for this. You earned it."

Bella felt her heart swell at his words. She wasn't sure why, but hearing his approval meant more to her than anything else. She ducked her head slightly, a small, bashful smile forming at her lips.

"T-Thanks..." She murmured, her voice softer now.

But just as she thought the pressure in the room was finally easing, her father let out a sharp snort, destroying the moment like he was dropping a bomb on a peaceful valley.

"You shouldn't trust him, Bella." He said, his tone laced with disdain. His eyes flicked toward Kafka, narrowing. "Men like him don't help for no reason. He probably has no good intentions. You'd be smart to keep your distance."

Bella stiffened, her blood boiling at his words. The sheer audacity of him to say something like that about Kafka, of all people.

Who was he to judge anyone's intentions? After all the damage he'd caused, after everything he'd done—or hadn't done—as a father?

Her mouth opened, ready to argue, ready to demand who he thought he was to say something like that about someone who had done nothing but help her. But before she could get the words out, she noticed Kafka turning his head, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he'd been waiting for this moment.

The smile on Kafka's face wasn't warm or amused—it was cold, mocking, and razor-sharp. His eyes carried an unsettling calm, the kind that made Bella's father falter slightly in his seat.

Bella's heart skipped a beat as she watched Kafka's expression shift.

For some reason, she just knew—without him even speaking yet—that her father was about to regret his words. Find more adventures on My Virtual Library Empire

Kafka didn't need to raise a hand or his voice. He wasn't going to lash out physically or lose his composure.

No, he was going to dismantle him.

He was going to make her father wish he'd never spoken, with nothing but carefully chosen words that would cut deeper than any blow, and she swallowed hard, instinctively bracing herself for what was coming next...