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

In all honesty, Kafka had been playing this little scene for one reason only, to get under Olivia's skin.

If praising her directly, chasing after her, and showering her with over-the-top compliments hadn't worked, then he was going to flip the board and make her come to him.

The plan was simple: give every other woman in the room the kind of attention Olivia was used to getting from him, and make her watch from the sidelines until she cracked.

He'd have her fuming, stewing, unable to stand it, and eventually she'd come storming over just to yank him away from the others.

And it had been working, sort of. He could feel her eyes on him like cold daggers from across the boutique. She was seething. It was only a matter of time before she exploded.

Part of that plan was to include June, to give her the same treatment he'd been giving the employees, lift her chin, give her that signature look, and make Olivia watch it happen.

But the moment June opened her mouth and spoke in that same self-deprecating tone he'd heard from her long ago, everything screeched to a halt.

He let out a quiet sigh.

Because this wasn't just some random thing with June, he knew where it came from.

She had a delicate history, one he'd learned about over multiple visits to her shop.

Despite being the owner of a boutique, despite spending her days helping other women look and feel beautiful, June had a habit of rejecting any praise directed at herself.

She could layer her voice with warmth and encouragement for customers, tell them they looked stunning, but the moment anyone returned even a fraction of that energy toward her, she'd duck her head with that half-smile that wasn't joy at all, it was deflection.

He'd discovered it during his very first visit here.

He'd casually told her she looked good in a dress she'd been modeling for a client's fitting. It was nothing over the top, just a simple compliment, but she'd brushed it off immediately, saying no man would ever look at her that way, that there was no point in dressing herself up because of her limp.

It was sad, he'd thought at the time, because June was a gorgeous woman. And over time, he'd made it a point to break that habit, to tell her straight out she shouldn't speak of herself that way.

He'd told her repeatedly that she had beauty most women envied. That she should carry herself as if she knew it and she actually had improved from all of it.

But now, sadly, now here she was again, the habit slipping out like an old reflex.

And witnessing this, his gaze softened. The cold, sharp look he'd given her a second ago eased into something gentler, the kind of expression that made people instinctively relax around him, as he knew he had to do something about it.

"There's no need to apologize, June."

He said quietly, the corners of his mouth lifting into that warm smile that carried more weight than any scolding.

"Actually, it's a little funny that you even are apologizing. You're probably older than my own mother but you're apologising like I'm your teacher or something."

That earned him a raised brow from Olivia, standing nearby, as she couldn't believe that he was calling out her age in this situation.

He then chuckled lightly, glancing at the crowd of women watching like it was a live drama unfolding in front of them.

"And if you keep apologizing, you're going to make me look like some kind of villain in front of all these ladies."

June looked up at him again, visibly relieved that the scary sharpness from before was gone, replaced by the easy warmth she was used to.

And now that he had her full attention, he leaned forward just slightly and spoke in that coaxing, certain tone that never really left room for argument.

"I've said this before, but I'll say it again until it gets into that stubborn head of yours."

To her surprise, he reached out and gave her forehead a light poke.

"Yes..." He continued. "It's true that the first thing people notice when they see you is the crutch. It's obvious, too obvious for anyone not to notice. And yeah, they'll form opinions because of it."

June swallowed, and Olivia's eyes narrowed, ready to cut him off, because telling a woman who already felt insecure about her disability that people do notice it sounded like the worst possible thing to say. She opened her mouth—

And stopped

Because he wasn't finished.

"But that all changes..." He said, his voice dropping a little lower. "...the second they actually see your face. Because once they do, everything else disappears."

June's eyes widened, and a faint blush began to creep across her cheeks.

"They realize..." Kafka went on, smiling now. "...that you're beautiful. Genuinely beautiful. You have this skin that's so perfectly toned, it looks like it was designed to match that hair of yours, that dark, bluish-purple, like a night sky just before the stars come out."

A couple of the employees watching made small, involuntary noises, the kind people made when something unexpectedly hit their heart.

"I mean it, June, you're ravishing. You could be walking with two crutches, or even be in a wheelchair, and people would still forget every other detail about you once they looked you in the face. It's too eye-catching to ignore. Too...impossible to forget."

Her breath caught.

"And to tell you the truth, when I saw you for the first time." He added with a half-smile. "I didn't even think you were the owner. I thought you were a model here to shoot a campaign for the store."

June's blush deepened, and she gave a small laugh. "Oh, please...now you're doing too much."

Kafka didn't let June's flustered laugh slide.

"Oh, not at all. Most definitely not."

He said, placing his hand flat over his chest like a man swearing an oath. His tone was deep with mock-seriousness, but the glint in his eyes told everyone watching he meant every word.

"You might think I'm joking, or that I'm pulling this out of nowhere just to make you feel better, but I'm telling you, this is exactly what I thought the first time I ever saw you."

June gave him a wary glance, as if unsure whether to believe him or not.

"In fact..." Kafka went on smoothly, turning to face the cluster of employees who had been silently watching like they were front-row at a theater performance. "I'd bet my life that I wasn't the only one. Ladies..."

He gestured at them broadly.

"...when you first came to interview for this store, the moment you laid eyes on your owner here...what were your first thoughts? And be honest."

It was like he'd set off a spark in a room full of firecrackers.

Almost on cue, their faces lit up, and voices started tumbling over each other in excited agreement.

"She was so beautiful, I didn't even think she was the owner!" One blurted.

"I thought she was a professional model." Another added with an eager nod.

"Elegant, confident, and utterly enchanting!"

"I couldn't even speak properly in my interview because I was too stunned at how pretty she looked!"

"We all look up to her!"

"She's the standard for elegance!"

The rush of voices overlapped, each girl's words layering over the last until it was just a chorus of bright, genuine praise.

And hearing all this, June was frozen for a moment, eyes wide, clearly caught off guard. The pink in her cheeks deepened until it dusted the tips of her ears, and she raised her crutch just slightly, as if unsure where to put herself.

Kafka, with the timing of a practiced conductor, swung back to face her with a dramatic gasp.

"See?" He declared. "It isn't just me. The whole store feels the same way."

And then, because he was Kafka, he turned his head deliberately toward Olivia, a knowing look in his eyes.

"In fact…" He let the pause hang, making sure she saw exactly what he was doing. "Let's ask her too."

Olivia's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She knew exactly what game he'd been playing earlier and the fact that he wanted to taunt her by complimenting all those girls.

And because she didn't want to fall for such a obvious trick she wanted to keep her walls up, to keep her cold expression steady and unshaken, but this was different.

This was about another woman. And when another woman was being uplifted like this, she couldn't refuse to add her voice.

She stepped forward, looking at June with a gentleness that surprised even herself.

"I thought you were really beautiful the first time I saw you." She said evenly, but with warmth. "And for the record, even though Kafka says the first thing people notice is your crutch...I honestly didn't see it at all. I was too focused on how ladylike and elegant you looked."

Her words softened further, almost fond.

"I thought you were exactly the kind of woman who should be running a boutique like this. It suited you perfectly."

The effect on June was instant, her ears flushed a deeper shade of pink, her lips parting in a shy smile.

Kafka then grinned like a man who'd just won a bet, his eyes flicking between the two women.

"See? This is what I'm talking about."

He stepped back toward June, resting his hands firmly on her shoulders and giving them a small shake, as if trying to physically rattle the stubbornness out of her.

"You're so hard on yourself all the time. I know you've been through a lot. I know what your husband used to say to you. I know the crap you've had to carry on your own."

"But you've got to start believing in yourself. Because the only person who doubts you...is you."

His voice lost some of its teasing edge, his sincerity grounding every word.

"Every single other person who sees you knows exactly how amazing you can be. It's just you who refuses to see it."

June's eyes searched his face for a moment, and slowly, hesitantly, her lips curved upward into a smile that wasn't shy, or evasive, or dismissive. It was genuine.

And the room seemed to warm in response. Even the employees, who hadn't been the focus of his words, stood a little taller.

It was the way he said it, like the truth applied to them, too. Like they'd all been reminded of something they'd forgotten.

Even Olivia, who had been so determined to keep up her cold, distant facade, felt the corner of her lips soften against her will.

Watching him like this, putting aside whatever little scheme he'd been running, forgetting all about his playful "make her jealous" nonsense, just to focus entirely on making someone else feel seen and valued, made it impossible to stay mad at him.

In that moment, she saw him not as the infuriating man who loved to tease her, but as the boy she'd once known, the one she'd watched grow.

The boy who had now become a man who could lift a woman's heart with a few words, who knew instinctively when to put his pride aside and give someone the reassurance they needed most.

A warm, swelling pride filled her chest, the kind only a mother might feel, pride that her son had grown into a true gentleman, one who knew how to cherish and uplift a lady, to make her feel as though she mattered in the world.

Because Kafka wasn't just charming. He wasn't just clever.

He was good.

Because Kafka wasn't just charming. He wasn't just clever.

...He was kind.

And as she watched him help a woman, once trapped in her own doubts, stand a little taller again, Olivia thought that this, this right here was the kind of man she had always hoped her son would become and she was so happy that it had come true...