God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem-Chapter 559 That Should’ve Been Me

Kafka's shoulders shook with each breath, and when she heard another soft, stifled sob escape him, something in her chest tightened painfully.

She had imagined this moment so differently.

She had imagined herself breaking down, maybe even slapping him for making her feel like she wasn't worth chasing after. She had imagined him being the one to comfort her—to hold her gently, to whisper reassurances that she was precious to him, that he would never let her go.

But instead—

Instead, he was the one sobbing.

He was the one clutching onto her like he was afraid of losing her.

Camila had no idea what to do.

"…Kafka?" She whispered hesitantly, her voice barely above a breath.

He didn't respond.

He just pressed his face deeper into her shoulder, his body shaking slightly as another choked sob wracked through him.

Seeing him like this...hearing him like this...it was too much.

She couldn't take it anymore.

Slowly, carefully, she lifted a hand and placed it on the back of his head, her fingers threading through his dark hair, stroking it gently in slow, soothing motions.

Kafka let out a soft, shaky breath at the touch, but he didn't stop crying.

"…Why are you crying?" She finally asked, her voice unsteady. "I should be the one crying right now, not you."

Kafka sniffled, his fingers digging into the fabric of her clothes as he clung onto her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"…Because I'm horrible." He choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "I...I didn't realize how much I hurt you."

Camila felt her heart lurch painfully in her chest. She had never heard him sound so fragile.

Kafka took another shaky breath before whispering. "I thought it would be fun to tease you...I thought I could just ignore you for a little while and see what you'd do." His voice wavered, and his grip on her tightened. "I thought maybe you'd get mad at me...or scold me like you always do...I thought you'd roll your eyes and call me a stupid brat, and everything would be the same as always."

He let out another trembling breath.

"But then you—" His voice broke, and another sob escaped him.

Camila swallowed hard, her fingers continuing to stroke his hair, trying to soothe him as best as she could.

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"You started saying all those things…" He whispered, his voice barely holding together. "You told me how much you had been waiting for me...how much you wanted me to fight for you...how much it hurt when I didn't—"

He sucked in a breath, his whole body trembling.

"…And it killed me." He admitted, his voice breaking completely. "Hearing you say all of that...hearing how much you needed me and how much I made you suffer—I hated myself for it."

Camila's breath caught in her throat. Kafka let out another choked sob.

"I didn't mean to make you feel that way." He whispered, his voice thick with guilt. "I never wanted you to feel like you weren't worth fighting for."

Camila bit her lip, her own eyes burning with emotion.

"…You are worth it, Camila." He murmured, his voice raw and desperate. "You always have been."

Camila felt something deep inside her twist at the sight before her. Kafka—her strong, confident, and endlessly teasing Kafka—was crumbling in front of her, his expression so raw with emotion that it left her breathless.

His tears weren't dramatic or loud; they fell silently, almost hesitantly, as if he himself didn't quite understand how he had ended up like this.

And though she had been the one wronged, though he had been the one to play with her emotions, all she could think about now was comforting him.

Her motherly instincts kicked in before she even realized it. With no hesitation, she reached forward and wrapped her arms tightly around him, pulling him into her embrace. She pressed his head against her chest, cradling him like he was something fragile, something precious.

She stroked his hair with slow, soothing motions, her fingers threading through the soft strands as she whispered, her voice low and filled with warmth.

"I know." She murmured. "I know how much you love me. And I know you never meant to hurt me."

Kafka let out a choked sound, muffled against her chest. His fingers curled into the fabric of her blouse, clinging to her as if she were the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

"I understand, darling." She continued, her tone soft and reassuring. "You don't have to cry anymore, alright? I'm not as hurt as you think I am."

For a moment, he didn't respond. Then, in a voice so small and uncertain that it nearly broke her heart, he whispered. "Really?"

Camila's smile grew tender. She pressed another gentle stroke through his hair before tilting her head down, resting her cheek against the top of his head.

"Really." She murmured. "I never felt as bad as you think. And even if I did…"

She pulled back just slightly, just enough to cup his face in her hands. His eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, met hers, and her heart clenched at the sheer vulnerability reflected in them.

"…Even if I did feel hurt." she whispered. "I'd still forgive you."

Kafka's breath hitched. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Camila smiled softly. Then, she leaned forward and placed a delicate, lingering kiss on his forehead, her lips warm against his damp skin.

"There's nothing you could do that would make me hate you, Kafka." She whispered the words as if sealing an unbreakable vow. "I will always love you, no matter what."

The moment the words left her lips, something in him cracked completely. A sharp breath escaped him, and then—

He broke.

A new wave of tears welled up in his eyes, and with a soft, trembling sob, he buried himself back into her embrace. His arms wrapped around her tightly, his fingers gripping at her back like he was terrified she'd disappear if he let go.

Camila chuckled softly, feeling his warm breath against her collarbone as he trembled in her arms.

He really did look so cute like this.

For all his bravado, for all the times he acted untouchable, at the end of the day, he was just her Kafka—vulnerable, emotional, hers.

And honestly, it was kind of worth getting hurt if it meant she got to see this side of him.

With that thought, she let out a contented sigh, resting her chin atop his head and continuing to stroke his hair with slow, comforting touches.

"Cry as much as you need to." She whispered, her voice as warm as a lullaby. "I'm not going anywhere."

Kafka only held onto her tighter.

Nina and Abigaille watched in silence as Kafka remained nestled in Camila's embrace, his quiet sniffles muffled against her chest, while she stroked his hair with a soothing, almost divine tenderness.

Camila, with that soft, knowing smile of hers, had won—and they both knew it.

Nina sighed heavily, crossing her arms while giving Camila a look of pure envy. "Well, it looks like the winner of this match was Camila after all." She muttered, her voice tinged with reluctant admiration.

Her verdant eyes remained fixated on the way Camila's fingers moved through Kafka's hair, how he clung to her so desperately, like he couldn't bear to be anywhere else in the world. Nina shifted slightly, her lips pursed in frustration.

That should be me.

She wasn't foolish enough to say it out loud, but the thought burnt in her mind. She'd gotten her share of Kafka's attention just moments ago, been kissed all over, spoilt, and coddled—but now that she was watching this scene unfold, she realized this was on a whole other level.

This wasn't just playful affection.

This was something deeper.

It was rare—unprecedented even—for Kafka to be so vulnerable, so utterly broken down and clinging to someone like his life depended on it. And the fact that Camila of all people was the one receiving it?

It stung...Badly.

And judging by the way Abigaille was biting her lower lip, a deep frown forming on her usually gentle features, she was feeling the exact same way.

With a soft, frustrated sigh, Abigaille crossed her arms and murmured. "Kafi's never acted this vulnerable in front of me before."

Her voice was low, quiet—but filled with something dangerously close to jealousy.

Nina glanced at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Not fair." Abigaille added, her tone almost sulky as she continued to stare at the scene before her. "It's not fair that only Camila gets to have this side of him."

Nina blinked.

Abigaille was jealous?

That was rare. She was usually the most easygoing of them all, the one who always had that warm, affectionate patience.

But right now?

Right now, she looked as if she were one second away from marching over there and stealing her son back.

Nina let out a short laugh, though there was no real humor in it.

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it now." She muttered, slumping her shoulders slightly. "We already had our fun. It's Camila's turn now."

But to her shock, Abigaille suddenly turned her head toward her, her expression dead serious as she asked. "Nina, what if...What if I just...pushed her aside?"

Nina's jaw dropped.

"What?!"

"I mean..." Abigaille continued, her eyes locked onto Kafka and Camila. "If I just...moved her a little. Just a little. I can—"

Nina's face twisted in disbelief.

"Abi." She hissed, keeping her voice low. "You love Kafka. I love Kafka. But you cannot just physically remove someone because you want to be the one comforting him."

Abigaille pouted slightly, her usual serene expression clouded with frustration.

"But it's not fair." She whined under her breath. "I want him to cry in my arms too."

"Yeah, and I want that too, but—" Nina stopped mid-sentence, realizing how ridiculous she sounded. She sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Listen." She said, exasperated. "As much as I hate to give one to her, Camila earned this, alright? We both had our turn. Just...Just let her have this moment."

Abigaille exhaled slowly, glancing at Nina before reluctantly nodding. "Fine." She grumbled, though she still didn't look happy about it. "But I swear, next time he cries, it's going to be in my arms."

Nina smirked. "Yeah, good luck with that."

The two of them fell silent again, their eyes drifting back to the sight in front of them.

Camila was still stroking Kafka's hair, whispering soft reassurances in his ear as he clung onto her, his trembling breath warming the fabric of her blouse.

She was so damn lucky.

How had this even happened?

Just minutes ago, Camila had been left out, looking bitter while Kafka showered them with attention. And now, somehow, she was the one in his arms, holding him as if she were the most important person in his world.

Nina exhaled deeply, resting her chin on her palm as she muttered. "She really is the winner, huh?"

Abigaille let out a defeated sigh.

"Yeah." She admitted grudgingly, still watching the way Camila held Kafka so possessively. "She really is."

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And so, with nothing else to do, the two of them simply continued watching, both consumed by the same envious thought.

...That should have been me.