God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem - Chapter 497

Chapter 497: Caught In The Act
Nina sat on Kafka’s lap, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck as her lips moved softly against his. The world around them faded into a blissful haze, the warmth of her touch making every other thought vanish. Her breathing was shallow, her verdant cheeks glowing with embarrassment and excitement.

But then—

“NINA!”

The warm, intimate atmosphere behind the counter shattered like glass at the sharp, grating sound of someone yelling.

Nina froze mid-kiss, her eyes snapping open in panic. Her face, once flushed with the warmth of the moment, drained of all color.

Kafka blinked, his expression shifting from mild confusion to irritation as he turned toward the source of the interruption.

A skinny man with glasses stormed into view, his movements sharp and awkward, his face twisted in a mix of anger and self-righteous indignation. The slight figure barreled toward them with a determination that made his wiry frame seem almost threatening. His eyes locked on Kafka and Nina, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles looked like they were going to snap.

Nina slid off Kafka’s lap, trembling slightly, her verdant cheeks now pale. Her lips parted, but no sound came out as she stared at the approaching figure in a mix of fear and dread.

Kafka’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “Who’s this clown?” His tone was calm, almost amused, though a flicker of annoyance lingered in his eyes.

Nina finally found her voice, though it came out as a weak whisper.

“That’s… That’s my husband.”

Kafka blinked, then let out a low, almost imperceptible chuckle, leaning back in his chair and holding Nina even tighter with an air of casual defiance.

“Your husband, huh?” His lips curled into a sly smile as he cast a glance at the trembling Nina. “Don’t worry, Nina.” He said smoothly, his tone calm but confident. “I’ll handle this.”

His words seemed to soothe Nina instantly, her trembling subsiding as she clung to his steady presence. Her wide, frightened eyes softened slightly as she looked at him, realising just how much she depended on Kafka in moments like this.

The contrast struck her deeply—she was the older one, the one who should have been composed, yet here she was, relying on his confidence to shield her.

Meanwhile, the bespectacled man closed the distance, his glare locked on Kafka with an intensity that suggested he might try to throw a punch. But Kafka didn’t flinch. If anything, his relaxed demeanour seemed to irritate the man further.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing with my wife?” The man stopped a few feet away, his voice sharp and trembling.

Nina, startled, scrambled to her feet, her lips parting to speak. Her hands shook slightly, but before she could utter a word, Kafka glanced at her, his eyes calm but commanding.

It was a look that said: Sit down…I’ve got this.

Nina froze, her resolve melting under his steady gaze. Slowly, almost like an obedient lamb, she sank back onto the chair, her fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt. Her gaze dropped, and she bit her lip, unsure of what would happen next.

Seeing that Nina was following his words, Kafka turned his attention back to the man, a low chuckle escaping him as he tapped his fingers against the counter. “Your wife?” He asked, his tone light, almost mocking. “Funny. Nina’s never mentioned having a husband…Not to mention one who looks like a baboon.”

The man’s face twisted in irritation. “What are you even saying?” He snapped, his fists trembling at his sides, while Nina was caught off guard by his comment and was trying her best to hold her laugh in.

Kafka shrugged casually, the picture of calm in the face of fury.

“I mean, how am I supposed to know you’re really her husband and not some crazy person off the street?…People say all sorts of things.” He smirked, his words deliberately poking at the man’s fragile confidence. “Couldn’t you just be making it up?”

The bespectacled man’s mouth opened and closed for a moment, like a fish gasping for air, before he managed to stammer out, “You can—You can just ask her!”

He turned to Nina, pointing a shaky finger at her.

“Nina! Tell him! Tell him I’m your husband!”

All eyes turned to Nina. She sat rigidly in her chair, her head bowed low as her fingers twisted together in her lap. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her chest rose and fell unevenly.

For a moment, the silence was deafening.

But when she finally lifted her gaze, there was no fire, no defiance—only sadness. Her voice was a whisper, but it carried enough weight to still the air around them as she slowly uttered,

“This is…This is the first time in years you’ve called me your wife.”

The man froze, his accusatory hand dropping to his side. His expression faltered, his face shifting from anger to confusion and something that almost resembled guilt.

Kafka tilted his head, his smirk softening as he crossed his arms. “Huh.” He muttered, his voice low but sharp. “You know, for a guy claiming her as his wife, you sure don’t seem to act like it.”

Nina’s eyes remained on her lap, her voice quiet but steady as she added, “You’ve never…introduced me that way to anyone before.”

The man took a step back, his composure visibly cracking. “I…I just didn’t think it was necessary, since you know everyone else already knows you are.” He muttered defensively, his earlier bravado slipping.

Kafka leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze locking onto the man like a predator sizing up its prey. “Necessary?” He repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. “You’re married to a wonderful woman like Nina, who’s like a rare treasure in this filthy world, and you don’t think it’s necessary to let the world know?” He shook his head, a low chuckle escaping him. “Man, you’ve got some priorities.”

Nina’s cheeks flushed, but this time it wasn’t just embarrassment—it was something deeper, a flicker of pride at Kafka’s words. For once, someone was standing up for her, making her feel like she mattered.

It was a feeling she hadn’t had in years.

Nina glanced at Kafka again, her heart tightening as she watched him. Despite the growing tension in the air, he remained calm and composed, a faint smile playing on his lips as though none of this could faze him.

It struck her deeply how unshakeable he was, how safe he made her feel in a situation that would have otherwise been unbearable. It made her realise just how much she leaned on him—how much he had become her anchor in a storm she’d been weathering alone.

Kafka’s sharp eyes shifted to the man’s hand, and he tilted his head slightly. “You know…” He said casually, his voice carrying an air of playful curiosity. “I really can’t blame myself for thinking you’re not her husband.”

The man blinked, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

Kafka gestured toward his left hand with a smirk and said, “I mean, you call Nina your wife, but you don’t even have a wedding ring on, which is supposed to be the material bond of your marriage.”

The man stiffened, his face twisting in sudden realization. His right hand shot up to cover his left, hiding the glaring absence of a ring. But it was too late—Nina had already seen it.

Her eyes flicked down to her own hand, where her wedding ring sat coldly against her skin. She rubbed it absently, a pang of sadness settling in her chest.

‘What use is it when my own husband doesn’t even care to wear his?’ She thought bitterly.

Kafka then started playing with Nina’s thighs under the counter to Nina’s shock, his smirk widening. “And it’s not just the ring.” He continued, his tone light but biting. “Do you have any evidence that you’re actually married to her? A photo? A video? Maybe some cute couple texts? Anything that proves you’ve spent time together and actually, you know…like her?”

The man’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His eyes darted to the floor, then back to Kafka, his irritation now replaced with a flicker of panic. “I don’t need to prove anything?” He exclaimed defensively.

“Oh?” Kafka raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Because from where I’m sitting, the only evidence you’ve got is Nina saying you’re her husband…And I don’t know, man. That’s not looking too good right now.”

Nina’s breath hitched as Kafka’s words settled over the room. She stole a glance at her husband, whose face had turned a pale shade of red as he scrambled for an answer. But the truth was painfully clear—he didn’t have anything.

No photos. No videos. No loving texts…Nothing that showed any sign of a bond between them.

The realisation stung more than she thought it would. ‘How did it get this bad?’ She wondered, her thumb brushing over her wedding ring.

She couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a picture with her or even asked how her day was. The only messages they exchanged were about money or logistics—cold, distant exchanges that made her stomach churn.

Her mind involuntarily drifted to Kafka. The contrast was glaring.

In just a short time, she’d shared more laughs, more conversations, and more meaningful moments with him than she ever had with her husband. Her phone was filled with hundreds of messages from Kafka—playful banter, thoughtful check-ins, silly photos he’d sent just to make her smile.

Her gallery had more pictures of Kafka than of herself. And now, sitting here in this tense moment, she couldn’t shake the thought that Kafka felt more like her partner than her husband ever had.

Her cheeks flushed at the realisation, and she quickly looked down, trying to steady her breathing. Kafka, still stroking her plump thighs secretly with his signature smirk, glanced at her and gave her a subtle, reassuring nod, as if to remind her he was there.

But the moment was shattered when her husband’s voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and trembling with frustration when he noticed the situation going out of his control, when he was clearly in the right here after catching his wife cuddling with another man.

“Listen here, you little shit!” He spat, his fists clenching at his sides. “This has nothing to do with you. You’ve got no business interfering in what happens between me and my wife, so scamper off to whatever hole you crawled out from!”

Nina’s head snapped, her eyes narrowing. The audacity of her husband’s words sent a wave of indignation through her.

As much as she liked to scold Kafka herself, hearing someone else insult him—especially her husband—made her blood boil.