God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem - Chapter 541

Chapter 541: I’ve Waited Long Enough…
When Kakfa heard Camila’s question, he smiled wider, almost as if she had asked him something completely normal.

“Why? Of course, it’s because it would be a waste if no one ate this slid pasta.” He said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “So I’m taking it as my duty to do so.”

Camila let out an exasperated sigh, her patience hanging by a thread as she reached for Kafka’s arm, firmly trying to pull him up from the floor.

“Kafka, stop this nonsense.” She said, her voice laced with irritation and concern, unable to understand why he was suddenly behaving like a dog that had spotted some food on the floor. “It’s already touched the floor, it’s dirty—just get up and eat the food on your plate!”

But Kafka—

Kafka simply smiled.

Not his usual teasing, smug grin.

Not a lazy smirk meant to annoy her.

But a gentle, warm, almost reverent smile.

And then—he spoke.

“I sadly can’t do that Camila, since you see, ever since I had my first spoon of your cooking…” He said, his tone carrying something undeniably sincere. “…I decided that I wanted to keep eating your wonderful food for the rest of my life.”

Camila was taken aback by his sudden praise that came out of nowhere. Her grip on his arm slightly loosened, her breath catching at his words.

But he wasn’t finished.

He lowered his gaze for a moment, as if recalling a precious memory, before meeting her eyes again, his expression unwavering.

“And so, I solemnly swore to myself that day…” He continued, his voice unwavering in its conviction. “…that I would never waste anything you made. No matter how small, no matter how simple—if you made it, I would cherish it.”

“…I would appreciate the time and effort you put into every dish.”

Camila’s chest tightened, her fingers unconsciously clenching against the fabric of her dress.

“So…” Kafka exhaled softly, twirling another forkful of pasta, his kind gaze still locked onto hers.

“If I let your cooking go to waste just because it fell on the floor.” He murmured, his voice quiet, but heavy with meaning. “I’d be breaking that promise.”

His smile warmed.

“And I can’t do that, can I?”

And then—He kept eating.

Camila just…stared and something inside her broke.

There was a man who had once promised to love her for a lifetime.

Who had stood at the altar, who had vowed to cherish and respect her, who had told her she was the most precious thing in his world.

And yet, he couldn’t even keep that promise for a fraction of that time.

Couldn’t even hold onto his commitment when it mattered the most.

Couldn’t even be a decent husband, a decent father.

And yet, here was Kafka.

A man who had made no grand vows.

Who had never stood before an altar with her.

Who had no obligation, no duty, no reason to hold onto something so small, so insignificant.

And yet, he did.

He was sitting on the floor, eating pasta off the ground, just because of a promise he made to himself.

Just because he wanted to honor the effort she put into something.

Camila felt her chest ache, a wave of overwhelming emotion swirling inside her, twisting deep into places she didn’t know she could still feel.

Her heart clenched painfully, but not out of sadness—

Out of gratitude.

Out of love.

Out of sheer, unfiltered appreciation for this ridiculous, wonderful, infuriating, loving man in front of her.

Her eyes softened, warmth filling her gaze in a way that made her feel lightheaded, like something inside her had just melted completely to the extent that it looked like someone that was in heat and was looking for someone to feast on.

And before Kafka could even react, she suddenly grabbed onto his shoulders.

Her grip on Kafka’s shoulders was firm—almost too firm.

Before he could even register what was happening, she pulled him up, her strength catching him completely off guard.

There was something different about her expression—something so intense, so overwhelming that it made Kafka pause.

Her eyes…They were filled with something deep, something unspoken, something that borderlined desperation, devotion…and lust even.

Kafka barely had a chance to open his mouth, to ask what she was doing, but she didn’t let him speak.

Before he could utter a word, she grabbed his wrist and started dragging him away.

“Oi—Camila?” He said, blinking rapidly. “Where exactly are we going?”

But she didn’t answer.

She just kept walking, her grip tight, possessive, unwavering.

“Mom?” Bella’s voice cut through the air, her expression a mixture of shock and growing horror as she saw the direction her mother was leading him toward.

She felt heat crawl up her neck, her ears burning red as she suddenly realized—

She was taking him to her bedroom.

Bella almost choked on air.

“MOM?!”

Camila still didn’t respond, her mind seemingly somewhere else entirely as she pulled Kafka along like she couldn’t bear to let him go.

Bella’s heart raced wildly, panic kicking in as she instinctively shot up from her chair, ready to follow them.

But just as she moved, her foot bumped into something solid on the ground.

She froze.

Her eyes flickered down and a sharp chill crawled up her spine.

Lying on the floor, barely noticeable amidst the broken plate and spilled food, was a butcher’s knife that her mother used to cut bones with.

Bella’s heart stopped for a second

‘W-Why was that there?’ Her brows furrowed slightly as she took a slow, hesitant step forward.

And then—

A memory surfaced.

A fleeting moment, barely a second long, but now that she was thinking about it, it stood out like a bloodstain on a white canvas.

She remembered—

Her father’s hand, raised in anger.

And—

Kafka…Standing there, silent, unmoving, expression unreadable—

Holding that very knife in his hand.

And just when her father had lifted his arm all the way up—

She swore she saw Kafka lift the knife just as high.

Like he was waiting.

Like he was prepared to cut his head off in one single chop and dye the entire kitchen in his dripping blood.

Bella stared at the knife, her throat dry, her entire body tense as the realisation crept in.

Had she…imagined it?

Had it been a trick of her adrenaline, her panic making her see things that weren’t there?

Had it been real?

She swallowed hard, the weight of that possibility sending a deep shiver down her spine.

Because if it had been real, then her kitchen wouldn’t have just been stained red with pasta sauce…It would have been something else entirely.

A sharp breath left her lips. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

But one thing was certain—

She was glad her father had backed off.

Because if he hadn’t, if he had actually struck her mother in that moment.

…Well, Bella wasn’t sure what Kafka would have done and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Pushing down the unease in her chest, she quickly turned away from the knife, shaking the thought from her mind.

She had more pressing concerns right now.

Like figuring out what the hell her mom was about to do behind closed doors.

And with that, she rushed after them leaving behind the innocent knife that was used to slice through beef and chicken, which almost turned into a murder weapon that was about to cut into the throat of a full grown man and lob his head right off.

Bella rushed after her mother and Kafka, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She caught up just as her mother pushed Kafka into her bedroom, his expression still one of bewildered confusion.

“Mom, what are you—” Bella started, reaching for the door handle to follow them in, driven by a mix of concern for Kafka and curiosity about the situation.

But as she attempted to enter, she was met with resistance. A soft, yet firm, push sent her stumbling back from the doorway. It wasn’t until she looked up that she realized it was her mother’s plump chest that had gently but effectively blocked her entry.

The realisation made her blush, her mind briefly wandering to the thought of how had to grow her assets as well if she wanted to match her mother’s physical presence.

“M-Mom, what are you going to do with Daddy?” Bella stammered, her face burning with embarrassment as she tried to regain her composure.

Camila stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her gaze knowing and slightly amused.

“Oh, Bella dear, I think you know exactly what your mother is going to do.” She said with a playful tone, alluding to what had been happening between Bella and Kafka whenever they went behind closed doors, while she was still at home. Camila then smirked with a lustful look in her blue eyes and said, “It’s my turn to take him for the night…I’ve been on the sidelines for far too long.”

Bella’s cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red at her mother’s words, her eyes wide with shock and a bit of intrigue.

Camila continued, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, “Maybe I’ll even let you join us when I’m done, but for now, wait by the door if you wish. Listen for when we call you…And…Well…Ignore the other noises that will also come out.”

With a cheeky chuckle and a wink, Camila shut the door, leaving Bella in the hallway, her mind racing. She then heard a muffled laugh from behind the door, followed by other, less identifiable sounds that sparked her curiosity further.

Bella stood there, torn between retreating back to her dinner or succumbing to her curiosity.

And finally, because of her innate perverted nature that longed for anything taboo in nature just like her mother, the latter won out. She leaned closer to the door, her ear pressed against it, trying to catch every whisper and movement, her heart pounding with anticipation and a touch of envy.

As she waited, her thoughts were a mix of excitement, embarrassment, and a newfound respect for her mother’s directness.

And she hoped that she wouldn’t have to wait too long before her mother called her in, as she could already feel her lower body throbbing at the thought of the night that was about to unfold, and she didn’t know if she could hold back enough long enough that she wouldn’t barge in herself and join them in their night of pure pleasure…