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

The voice on the other end of the phone didn't stop. It only grew more furious, more frantic, and more unhinged as the pressure of what was happening continued to crush the man speaking.

"This is your fault!" His boss shouted, his voice raw from all the yelling. "Everything is falling apart because of you! Do you hear me?! You!"

Bella's father sat there, frozen, sweat dripping down his back as the words drilled into him.

"And if you don't fix this—" the voice on the other end spat, venom dripping from every syllable. "—then you better start digging your own grave, because you won't be able to handle the consequences!"

Bella's father's mouth went dry, his throat closed up as his fingers twitched on the table.

"I-" He croaked out, licking his lips as he struggled to find his voice. "How...How am I supposed to fix this?"

"I don't care how!" His boss snapped. "All I know is that this mess started because of you, so you're going to clean it up!"

His voice lowered into something sharp, cutting, and final.

"You don't want to know what happens if you fail."

And then—

Click.

The call ended...Silence.

Bella's father stared blankly at the phone, his fingers still hovering over it like he wasn't sure if he had just imagined the entire thing.

He could hardly breathe. His chest felt tight, like a rope had been wrapped around his ribs and was slowly being pulled tighter and tighter with each passing second.

His mind raced in circles, trying to find some way out of this, some sliver of hope that this was all some sick joke, that he hadn't just lost everything in a single night.
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But the weight of reality crushed down on him, unrelenting and suffocating. His entire life, his entire career, all of it had been built on the foundation of power and control, of knowing that he held the upper hand in every situation.

And yet, in the span of just a few minutes, all of that had crumbled to dust beneath the casual whim of the man sitting in front of him.

The silence in the room was unbearable, pressing in on him like a living thing. He swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing, but no matter how much he tried to pull himself together, the shaking in his hands wouldn't stop.

His gaze lifted hesitantly, trailing up to Kafka, who still sat there, one leg crossed over the other, watching him with the same relaxed amusement as if this were nothing more than a mildly interesting television show playing out before him.

There was no anger in his expression, no overt cruelty, nothing that screamed revenge or spite. It was worse than that...It was indifference.

And that indifference sent a fresh wave of fear crawling up his spine.

Then, Kafka sighed, stretching slightly as if he had grown a little bored with the entire situation.

"Wow." He mused, shaking his head with a small chuckle. "Losing your job like that? That's got to be rough." His voice was light, almost playful, but the words stabbed through his heart. Bella's father flinched, his throat tightening as the humiliation of his situation began to settle in as he continued, "All that hard work, all those years of dedication, all the pride you took in yourself…gone just like that."

The words felt like a slap across the face, like someone had reached inside his chest and squeezed the last bit of air out of his lungs. He clenched his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms as he struggled to maintain what little composure he had left.

"But you don't have to worry too much." Kafka continued, leaning back against the couch, his smirk widening just slightly. "I hold your family pretty dear, so even if you end up completely broke, I wouldn't mind taking care of them."

His gaze flicked toward Bella for a brief moment before settling back on him.

"Of course, that just leaves you to figure things out for yourself. Maybe get a new job, start from the bottom again, and work your way back up? I'm sure you can manage something."

The casual way he spoke, as if none of this really mattered, as if it was just an idle conversation and not the complete destruction of his life, sent a deep chill through Bella's father's bones.

He had thought he understood power. He had spent his entire life chasing after it, climbing the social ladder, making connections, and manipulating those beneath him to get ahead. But this…this was something else entirely.

This was not power as he had known it. This was something greater, something terrifying in its ease, in the way Kafka wielded it like it was just an extension of himself, something as natural as breathing.

The realisation hit him like a hammer to the chest.

He was going to lose everything.

Not just his job, not just his career, but his reputation, his standing, everything he had worked so hard for would be wiped away, and in its place, he would be left with nothing. He would be no one.

Panic surged through him, swallowing the last remnants of his pride, and before he even realised what he was doing, he was already moving.

His knees hit the floor with a dull thud, his body lurching forward as he scrambled toward Kafka, his trembling hands grasping onto the younger man's leg like a drowning man clutching at driftwood.

"Please." He gasped, his voice breaking as he sucked in a desperate breath. "Please, I'm sorry! I-I was wrong! I take back everything I said!" His fingers dug into the fabric of Kafka's pants, his grip tight as if letting go would send him spiralling into the abyss. "I didn't know who you were! I didn't know what I was saying! Please, just…just take back what you did! Undo it, I beg you!"

Kafka didn't move. He simply watched, his expression unreadable, his lips curling ever so slightly at the corners as if he were observing something mildly interesting but ultimately insignificant.

Bella, on the other hand, let out a sharp scoff, crossing her arms as she stared down at the scene before her with nothing but disdain.

This was the same man who had lorded over their family for years, who had spoken down to her mother as if she were nothing more than an accessory to his life, the same man who had always told her to behave, to listen, to obey because he knew best.

And now, that very same man was on his knees, grovelling, pleading, reduced to nothing more than a pathetic mess.

"Please." He continued, his voice growing more desperate, more frantic, as he clung onto Kafka like a lifeline. "Please, I—I swear I won't ever say a word against you again! I'll do whatever you want, anything! Just—just fix this! I'll—I'll apologise properly, I'll make it up to you, just…please!"

For a long moment, Kafka said nothing. He let the silence stretch between them, let the weight of the moment sink deeper and deeper until the sheer humiliation of it all was carved into the man kneeling before him.

Then, slowly, he exhaled, leaning forward just slightly as he rested his elbows on his knees, his gaze locking onto Bella's father with an air of complete control.

"Tell me." Kafka said, as he stared into the man's trembling eyes. "How does it feel?"

Bella's father blinked, his lips parting slightly, confusion flickering in his eyes as he struggled to comprehend the question. "W-What?"

Kafka tilted his head, his smirk deepening. "How does it feel..." He repeated, his voice dropping just slightly. "...to be the one begging instead of the one looking down?"

A violent shudder ran through Bella's father's body as the words sank in. His face burnt with shame, his pride utterly shattered, but even still, he didn't loosen his grip...He couldn't afford to.

"Please…"

Kafka chuckled softly, though there was no real emotion in it. Then, he leaned back once more, drumming his fingers lightly against the armrest as if pondering something unimportant.

For a moment, he let the silence hang, watching the man trembling on the floor before him, his fingers still clutching at the fabric of his pants like some desperate beggar. The sheer contrast between the arrogant man who had strutted into this house and the pathetic creature groveling before him now was almost laughable.

Finally, Kafka sighed, tilting his head slightly as if coming to a decision. "Well….I could fix everything for you." He said. "But that depends on whether or not you keep your word."

Bella's father's breath caught, as his swollen eyes flickered up, uncertain. "M-My word…?" He croaked.

Kafka smiled, but there was nothing kind about it.

"Yes. You remember, don't you?" He said with a knowing gaze. "You once said that if you ever met a man so powerful, so above you in every way, you'd fall to the ground and grovel for his favor." He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into something silkier, almost amused. "Well…Here I am."

For a second, Bella's father didn't move.

He had forgotten.

Or maybe he had never expected to find himself in such a situation, never thought there would be a day where he would have to make good on such a statement. His mind reeled, trying to grasp at any sense of pride, any last vestige of dignity to cling to. But no matter how much he tried to fight it, the cold, suffocating reality crashed down on him like a wave.

He had no choice.

His hands clenched into fists, shaking violently. The idea of doing this in front of a kid—someone young enough to be his son—disgusted him to his very core. But the alternative…

The alternative was losing everything.

Bella watched in horror as her father slowly, painfully, began to shift his position. She didn't want to believe it. She couldn't believe it. But right in front of her, step by step, he lowered his body further, moving inch by inch until his forehead touched the floor.

And then, in a single, terrible moment, he began to rub his head against the ground.