God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem - Chapter 890

Chapter 890: I Can’t Keep Calling You That, Can I?
But just then, before either of them could speak again, a sharp, firm voice cut through the peaceful silence.

“Kafka! Kafka, come on, let’s go already! We’re already late for the appointment. Why are you still sitting there?”

Both men turned their heads.

Coming down the aisle between the shelves, her heels clicking against the wooden floor, was Vivian—strict, composed, and radiating that same commanding energy he’d described.

She looked every bit like a woman who ran her household with an iron will and an organized schedule.

Her hair was tied neatly behind her head, her expression calm yet deadly serious—the kind of look that could make even the boldest man sit up straight.

And in her hand, she was dragging along a small, protesting Daisy, who was clutching a children’s book in one arm and muttering about how unfair everything was.

It didn’t take much guessing to know that the family was clearly headed to a prenatal check-up.

The plump Kafka instantly tensed up in his chair, shoulders straightening, his entire face turning pale.

“V-Vivian…” He stammered.

Vivian raised a sharp brow, her voice tight with impatience.

“Don’t ‘Vivian’ me. We’re already ten minutes late, and you’re just sitting here chatting away—”

But then she stopped mid-sentence.

Her gaze drifted from her husband…to the man standing just beside him.

Her breath hitched.

For a moment, she simply stared.

Her husband’s face, but not his. Sharper. Taller. Broader shoulders, refined posture, a certain intensity in his eyes that seemed to draw her in.

It was Kafka, yes—but as if sculpted by a god.

Her lips parted slightly.

“You…” She whispered. “You look just like…”

Before she could finish, Kafka stood up, composed and polite, taking a single step forward. He smiled warmly, bowing his head slightly before extending a hand to her.

“Hello there.” He said in that confident tone that could charm ice into melting. “I’m actually Kafka’s close friend. We haven’t seen each other in years and we’re catching up, but I suppose you must be Vivian, his lovely wife.”

Vivian blinked rapidly, still processing, but nodded slightly. “I—yes, I am…”

Kafka smiled charmingly, his tone effortlessly smooth as he went on to say,

“He’s told me so much about you. Honestly, I thought he was exaggerating when he kept saying how beautiful you were—how pretty, how captivating. I figured it was just the kind of thing a man says when he’s deeply in love.”

He chuckled softly, still holding her hand lightly.

“But now that I’ve met you in person…I see he was being far too modest. You truly live up to every word he said and more. He’s incredibly lucky to have you.”

The words fell like velvet—confident, poetic, sincere.

And for a moment, it completely disarmed her.

Vivian, the sharp-tongued prosecutor who could stare down a courtroom full of liars without flinching, suddenly found her face heating up.

A faint pink rose across her cheeks. She opened her mouth to respond—but no words came out.

“I—uh—” She stammered, her ears turning red. “Thank you, I—um, that’s—”

Even Daisy blinked in confusion, tugging at her mother’s hand.

“Mommy, what’s wrong? You look funny.”

Vivian cleared her throat quickly, straightening her posture, though the faint blush refused to fade.

“N-Nothing, sweetie, I’m fine.”

Meanwhile, across the table, the plump Kafka’s teeth clenched slightly as he stared at his other self.

In that instant, he understood.

He finally understood exactly how this version of him had managed to charm gods, queens, and countless women across worlds.

That voice, that ease, that disarming smile—it was like weaponized charisma.

And there was no way he was letting that weapon aim at his wife.

“Alright! Well, that’s enough catching up for today.”

The plump Kafka said loudly, leaping up with surprising speed for a man his size.

“Come on, honey! The doctor’s waiting, and we can’t be late.”

Vivian blinked, snapping out of her daze. “But your friend—I mean, I didn’t even get to—”

“Later, later!” He said quickly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and gently steering her toward the exit. “We’ll all meet again some other time, maybe when he’s less dangerously charming, alright?”

Vivian tried to glance back, still looking slightly flustered. “But—”

“No buts! Let’s move, we’re late.” He said firmly, guiding her down the aisle, Daisy in tow, who was giggling at how red her mother’s face still was.

As they neared the door, the plump Kafka suddenly paused.

He turned back toward his counterpart, a soft smile spreading across his face.

“Goodbye, my other half.” He said simply, raising his hand in farewell.

Kafka returned the smile, just as genuine, and lifted his hand to wave back.

“Goodbye, Kafka. Take care of them.”

And with that, the plump Kafka nodded once, turned, and disappeared through the shimmering doors of the library—his wife’s voice echoing faintly as she scolded him for walking too fast, and Daisy’s laughter trailing behind them.

Kafka just stood there, silent for a long moment, staring at the now-empty doorway. A faint smile touched his lips.

He didn’t know if he’d ever see them again—that peaceful, ordinary family, the version of himself that had learned contentment instead of conquest—but somehow, that was alright.

Because right now, he felt it.

Peace.

A rare, perfect stillness in his heart. No weight of guilt, no lingering regret. Just quiet satisfaction.

He turned back toward the desk that was once his and slowly walked over. He ran a hand along its smooth surface, just like he used to in the old days, before everything began.

For a brief moment, he considered sitting down again, just once more, as if to relive that life he’d left behind.

But before he could pull out the chair, the world around him began to ripple—the walls fading, the light dissolving, the shelves turning into stardust.

And the next instant, the library was gone.

Kafka found himself standing beneath an endless stretch of glittering night sky, the stars reflecting gently in his eyes. The familiar cool breeze brushed against his face.

He took a slow breath, still half lost in the memory of the library, when suddenly a gentle, sweet voice echoed from behind him—soft yet familiar, filled with warmth.

“Kafi! Kafi! There you are! I’ve been searching all over for you!”

He turned instinctively.

And there she was—Abigaille, walking swiftly across the grass, her silken dress flowing in the moonlight, her expression somewhere between relief and mock annoyance.

“Where did you go? We were all waiting for you to cut the birthday cake already!”

Kafka blinked, still half disoriented, but as soon as his gaze fell on her, everything—every lingering thought of the other world—melted away.

He quickly strode toward her, his steps steady and light.

“Abi, what are you doing? You shouldn’t be walking so fast.” He reached her and gently took her hand, his voice soft but firm. “You have a baby in your belly right now, remember? You can’t be running around like that.”

“Oh, come on, Kafi.” Abigaille gave a small, playful scoff, waving her free hand dismissively. “I wasn’t even walking fast. You always exaggerate everything.”

“Exaggerate? I’m just being careful.”

But Abigaille pouted, though her tone carried warmth and teasing affection.

“Honestly, carrying the baby and dealing with morning sickness and all that isn’t the hard part. The hard part is you!”

“You’re always worrying about me—about everyone. You treat all of us like we’re fragile children who can’t do anything on our own. It’s too much, Kafka. You care too much.”

Kafka grinned, pretending to think deeply.

“Oh really? Because I was actually considering getting wheelchairs for all of you—that way, none of you will ever have to walk again. You can all just roll around safely, and I’ll pull you wherever you need to go.”

Abigaille gasped dramatically, her eyes widening before narrowing in mock outrage.

“You—! You—! I swear Kafi, if you do something like that!” She scolded, and without hesitation, reached up and pinched his cheek hard.

“Ow, ow, okay, okay!” Kafka laughed, hands raised in mock surrender. “I was joking! I was joking, Abi! I know if I actually did that, the rest of you would gang up and kill me before I even finish ordering them.”

Abigaille huffed, though her lips curved into a faint smile.

“You bet we would.”

He chuckled before he looked down at her then—really looked.

Her soft features, the glimmer in her eyes, the way her hair framed her face, it made something in his chest tighten warmly. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

The motion startled her for a moment, she blinked, surprised by the sudden affection. But then she melted into his embrace, resting her head lightly against his chest.

“Kafi…” She murmured softly, her voice muffled against him. “What’s this all about? Why are you hugging me so suddenly?”

He smiled faintly, tightening his hold around her.

“Do I really need a reason to hug my wife?” He whispered gently. “I just…feel happy right now. Happier than I’ve been in a while. And I wanted to share that with you.”

Abigaille froze for a second before a smile spread across her face.

“Hearing you call me your wife still feels strange, you know. Even after all this time, I still haven’t quite gotten used to it.”

“Strange, huh?” He chuckled quietly, resting his forehead against hers.

“M.m.” She hummed. “And not just that. You calling me by my name, that’s strange too. You always used to call me ‘Mom’. It feels weird hearing you call my name or ‘darlin’ or ‘baby’ now.”

Kafka smiled mischievously and pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.

“Well, I can’t keep calling you what I used to. The babies will get confused if they hear me calling you the same thing they will call you in the future.”

And before she could reply, Kafka grinned slyly and added,

“Though you, on the other hand…still call me the same thing the children will call me in the future—especially at night.”

Abigaille didn’t get what he was saying at first…until her eyes went wide, her cheeks immediately flushing.

“Y-You…you naughty fellow!” She stammered, lightly smacking his chest with her hand. “Always having such deviant thoughts, even at times like this!”

Kafka only laughed, the sound rich and heartfelt.

But Abigaille noticed something then—something different. His smile carried a lightness, a quiet joy, that made him more jovial then he normally was.

Her expression softened. “Something happened, didn’t it?” She asked gently. “You seem…happier than usual.”

Kafka nodded slowly, a serene smile still on his lips.

“Yeah.” He said quietly. “Something did happen. Something…really good.”

“What was it?” Her brows lifted slightly in curiosity.

He shook his head, chuckling softly.

“Let’s not talk about it now. First, let’s go cut the birthday cake before Nina or Bella start threatening to eat it without us. They’re probably already licking the icing by now.”

Abigaille rolled her eyes fondly, though she couldn’t help but smile.

“Fine, fine.” She sighed. “But you will tell me later.”

“Sure.” He said warmly, lacing his fingers with hers.

They began walking together, hand in hand, her steps slower this time as he kept pace beside her.

The glow of lanterns flickered in the distance where laughter and whispers floated in the air, the celebration waiting for them.

But just as they neared the path leading back to the house, a soft sound of footsteps echoed behind them.

Kafka stopped. Abigaille did too, glancing back curiously.

And there, emerging from the shadows beneath the starlight, was a familiar figure. Tall, elegant, her raven black hair flowing like silk, and as majestic as always.

Vanitas.