God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem - Chapter 669

Chapter 669: Just A Little Prank
Olivia’s breath caught as she leaned forward, her voice stammering with concern.

“Abi, what’s wrong? Why are you looking like that? Did I…did I say something wrong?” Her eyes searched Abigaille’s, panic rising as she replayed her words, unable to fathom how her praise could have hurt her friend. “I was just saying how amazing the food is. What’s going on?”

Abigaille’s eyes glistened, her wry smile tinged with exaggerated drama as she clutched her chest, her voice a theatrical lament.

“Oh, Liv.” She said, her tone heavy with betrayal. “I never expected this…this stab in the back from my best friend.”

“…To think you’d wound me so deeply with your words, I don’t know how to handle this!” She turned away slightly, her shoulders slumping, her expression pitiful and sad, like a wounded puppy.

Olivia’s eyes widened, her heart racing as she waved her hands frantically, her voice rising with flustered panic.

“Betrayed? How did I betray you, Abi? What did I do? I was just praising the food! Tell me what’s wrong, please!” Her words tumbled out, her embarrassment mingling with a desperate need to fix whatever she’d broken, her usual composure crumbling under the weight of Abigaille’s reaction.

Abigaille sighed, her gaze dropping to the plate before her, her finger pointing accusingly at the food. “This…this feast you’re raving about? I didn’t make it, Liv.” She said, her voice soft but laden with mock sorrow. “I bought it from a restaurant, brought it home. That’s all.”

She looked up, her eyes narrowing with a pitiful glint.

“I was tired today, but I wanted to make tonight special, so I ordered out. I thought you’d enjoy it, and tomorrow I’d cook you a proper breakfast, blow your mind with my real skills. But now…”

She paused, her voice trembling for effect.

“You say this is the best thing you’ve ever tasted, better than anything I’ve ever made. You don’t even like my cooking anymore, do you?”

“…Guess I’ll just order takeout from now on, since that’s what you love.”

Olivia’s jaw dropped, her mind reeling as she processed Abigaille’s words.

“What? No way!” She gasped, her voice thick with disbelief, her eyes darting to the plate, the flavors still vivid on her tongue. “There’s no way this is from a restaurant, it’s too good, too…homemade!”

She shook her head, her gaze snapping back to Abigaille, searching for a sign she was joking.

“You’re pulling my leg, right? This has to be yours!”

Abigaille nodded solemnly, her expression unwavering, her voice firm.

“Nope, it’s true, Liv. I bought it. Picked it up on my way home, plated it all nice for you. And now you’re saying it’s better than anything I’ve ever cooked, that my food can’t compare.” She turned away again, her lips trembling, her eyes gleaming with exaggerated hurt. “Guess I’m done cooking for you. No need for my recipes when you’ve got restaurant food to swoon over.”

Olivia’s heart sank, a wave of guilt crashing over her as she saw the sadness in Abigaille’s face, the playful act cutting deeper than she’d expected.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong!” She cried, her voice trembling with urgency, her hands gesturing wildly. “I didn’t mean it like that, Abi!”

“Yes, this food is amazing, but your cooking—it’s incredible too! I’ve been dreaming about your meals ever since I was in the city, craving your dishes, your flavors.”

“…I wasn’t saying I don’t love your food, I swear!”

Her cheeks flushed, her embarrassment surging as she realized how her words had been misconstrued, her usual cool facade replaced by a flustered, almost childlike panic.

But Abigaille only shook her head, her expression still mournful, her voice a soft rebuke.

“Excuses, Olivia.” She said, her tone laced with mock disappointment. “You couldn’t even tell it wasn’t my food. You think some restaurant slop is better than my heart and soul? I don’t wanna talk about this anymore—it hurts too much.”

She turned away fully, her shoulders hunching, her act so convincing that Olivia’s heart twisted with pity, her friend’s sadness piercing her like a knife.

“Abi, please.” Olivia pleaded, her voice cracking, her eyes wide and glistening with regret.

The sight was striking—her usually cold, collected demeanor replaced by a raw, endearing desperation that made her look like a scolded child.

Unable to bear Abigaille’s hurt, she turned to Kafka, her son still holding her close, his thigh warm beneath her. Her gaze was pleading, her voice a soft, pathetic whimper as she called out to him, her puppy-dog eyes wide and beseeching.

“Kafi, please…help me. I didn’t mean to hurt her, I swear. I’m such a bad friend, do something, please!”

Kafka’s smile was gentle, his hand sliding over her shoulder, pulling her closer in a comforting embrace, his fingers brushing the edge of her breast with a casual intimacy that sent a shiver through her.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” He asked, his voice a soothing rumble, his eyes meeting hers with a tender intensity. “You look like you’re about to cry when, it’s just a little misunderstanding…It’s not that big of a deal.”

Olivia shook her head frantically, her voice trembling with urgency, her hands clutching his arm.

“No, it’s not just a little thing, Kafi!” She said, her tone fervent, her eyes darting to Abigaille’s turned back. “Abi’s so sensitive about her cooking, it’s her heart, her love for us. Even if she acts tough, I know this’ll hurt her, and I can’t stand it!”

“…Please, do something, say something to make her feel better. I’m begging you!”

Her plea was desperate, her vulnerability laid bare, her usual strength crumbling under the weight of her guilt.

Kafka’s eyes glinted, a subtle calculation flickering in his gaze as he recognized the opportunity to steer the moment to his advantage. His smile widened, his voice calm but laced with a playful edge.

“Alright, Mom, I’ll help you out.” He said, his hand squeezing her shoulder. “But you gotta promise me something later, you’ll do whatever I ask to help me out…Deal?”

Olivia nodded without hesitation, her voice a fervent rush, her eyes locked on his. “Yes, yes, anything, Kafi!” She said, her tone desperate, her focus solely on fixing her mistake. “Just help Abigaille, please, she’s more important right now!”

Her words were a blur, her mind too consumed with guilt to consider the implications of her promise, her trust in Kafka absolute.

Kafka’s grin deepened, a spark of mischief in his eyes as he pulled her closer. She expected him to offer soothing words, to coax Abigaille with gentle reassurances.

But to her shock, he turned to Abigaille with a blunt, commanding tone.

“Alright, Mom, cut the act.” He said, his voice firm but laced with amusement. “Mom’s feeling way too bad about this, and unless you want her to have a full-on breakdown, you better stop pretending. She’s practically shaking over here.”

Abigaille, who had been facing away, her shoulders slumped in despair, spun around, her face lighting up with a playful grin that caught Olivia off guard.

“Oh, Olivia!” She exclaimed, her voice bubbling with laughter, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You should see your face, so adorable, all worked up like that!” She leaned closer, her breast brushing Kafka’s arm, her tone teasing but warm. “I was just joking, silly. I’m not hurt at all, it was a prank to see how you’d react.”

Olivia’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening in disbelief as she stared at Abigaille, her heart still racing from her earlier panic.

“What?” She gasped, her voice trembling with relief and indignation. “You…You were pretending? Abi, why would you do that? I thought | really hurt you!” Her gaze darted to Kafka, her tone sharpening with confusion. “Kafi, what’s she talking about? You knew she was faking?”

Kafka chuckled, his hand sliding down her back, his touch warm and reassuring. “Yeah, Mom, I could tell.” He said, his voice a low, playful rumble. “Mom’s dramatic most of the time, but she can’t hide that twinkle in her eye when she’s pulling one over on you. I just went along to see how far she’d take it.”

Abigaille’s laughter was melodic, her eyes softening as she reached out, brushing Olivia’s arm with a gentle, affectionate touch.

“Oh, Liv, don’t be mad.” She said, her voice rich with warmth. “You were so cute, all flustered and guilty, those big puppy eyes begging Kafi for help. I couldn’t resist teasing you a bit.”

“And honestly? I’m flattered you care so much about my feelings.” She paused, her smile turning mischievous. “But I wasn’t lying about the food, not completely. It was made at home, just…not by me.”

Olivia’s brow furrowed, confusion washing over her as she processed Abigaille’s words.

“Not by you?” She echoed, her voice tinged with curiosity, her eyes narrowing. “Then who…?”

Her gaze then suddenly flicked to Kafka, a dawning realization sparking in her mind, her heart skipping a beat as she turned to him, her voice trembling with disbelief.

“Kafi…was it you? Did you make this dinner?”