God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem - Chapter 845

Chapter 845: My Two Beautiful Daughters

Kafka paused outside the living room door, closed his eyes, and whispered a quick, silent prayer.

“Alright, God.” He muttered under his breath, clasping his hands dramatically. “It’s me again. I know I’ve asked for a lot lately, but this time, I’m serious—please, please let whoever’s inside say yes to what I’m about to ask. I don’t care if you’re my mother or not—divine mercy, divine pity, anything works right now.”

He peeked one eye open toward the ceiling, sighed, then muttered.

“God…I hope this prayer works. I’m desperate”

With that, he pushed the door open and the scene that greeted him was a burst of color, sound, and laughter.

In the center of the room, three women were locked in a fierce battle—not of blades or spells, but of pixels and reflexes.

Camilla stood tall, poised and graceful even as she flicked the controller in her hand with deadly accuracy, her expression a mixture of calm focus and smug amusement. Her dark wavey hair swayed slightly as she shifted her stance, eyes glued to the television screen.

Across from her were Bella and Lyra, partners in crime, or more accurately, victims in training.

Both were gripping their controllers with the determination of soldiers marching to their doom.

Bella’s brow was furrowed in exaggerated concentration, her tongue sticking slightly out as she mashed buttons. Lyra beside her looked equally focused but hopelessly lost, her movements frantic and uncoordinated.

On the TV, their virtual tennis avatars darted back and forth across a bright, cartoonish court.

The scoreline flashed mercilessly: Camilla – 6 / Bella & Lyra – 0.

“Come on, come on, have mercy, Mom!” Bella cried out, hopping in place as her on-screen character completely missed a serve.

“Yes, Mom!” Lyra added dramatically, pretending to kneel on the carpet even while holding the controller. “We’re but humble mortals before your divine tennis might!”

Camilla chuckled softly, lifting her chin with that elegant, teasing pride that came so naturally to her.

“Oh, but mercy isn’t part of the game, my dears.” She said smoothly, her tone warm but condescendingly playful. “If you wish to defeat me, you’ll have to earn it. And right now…” She smirked as her avatar delivered a flawless spinning volley. “…you’re barely managing to keep up.”

“Ugh, she’s doing it again!” Bella groaned, half-laughing, half-wailing as she leaned toward Lyra. “She’s doing that thing where she acts all motherly and evil at the same time!”

Lyra nodded furiously.

“Yeah! Like she’s about to pat us on the head and say, ‘good try, sweeties,’ before crushing us!”

Camilla smirked, flicking her hair back elegantly.

“Good try, sweeties.” She said, perfectly imitating the tone Lyra described.

“AAAHH! She said it! She actually said it!”

Bella yelled, collapsing backward onto the couch, before looking at her mother in a indignant manner

“I’m your daughter, aren’t I, Mom? Can’t you be a little merciful to me for once?!” She cried, pointing accusingly at the TV. “And Lyra’s your daughter too now! Aren’t we pitiful enough in your eyes?”

Both Bella and Lyra turned their faces toward Camilla at the same time, widening their eyes into identical, exaggerated puppy-dog gazes, perfectly synchronized, perfectly adorable.

Camilla, of course, only laughed.

“Oh, my sweet girls.” She said with that calm, honeyed warmth that instantly softened the air around her. “Any other day, at any other moment, you are both my precious daughters, my treasures.”

Her voice melted as she leaned forward and gently pinched their cheeks between her fingers.

Both of them brightened immediately, hope sparking in their eyes.

Then Camilla smirked.

“But when it comes to games…” She straightened, eyes glinting with merciless pride. “I have no mercy.”

Before either could react, she gave her controller a deft flick.

THWACK!

The virtual tennis ball shot across the screen like a comet, straight past Lyra’s stunned avatar and into the corner of the court.

“Game! Match point, Camilla wins!”

The victory screen flashed, cheerful music playing, while Camilla sat gracefully onto her seat like a queen accepting her throne.

“Nooooo!” Bella cried, falling to her knees. “We lost again!”

Lyra slumped beside her, controller limp in her hand. “That’s the thirteenth time! Thirteen! We’ve been playing for hours!”

Camilla smoothed her hair back, utterly composed, not a drop of sweat on her. “And yet you still haven’t managed to beat me even once.” She said sweetly.

“You’re not even sweating! Look at us, we’re dying here!” Bella gaped at her, waving her arms dramatically.

Lyra nodded, panting. “How is that even possible? She’s glowing. She actually glows! She looks perfect while I look like I crawled out of a sauna.”

“This isn’t fair!” Bella groaned.

“Exactly, girls.” Camilla crossed her arms, smiling. “Life isn’t fair.” She gave them a little tap on the forehead with one slender finger. “By showing you no mercy in this game, I’m teaching you that lesson.”

“That’s not parenting, that’s villainy.” Bella narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Yeah, you’re just enjoying this..” Lyra nodded in agreement.

Camilla paused, then smiled mischievously. “…Well, that’s true too.”

“Mom!” Lyra cried, while Bella covered her face in defeat.

Camilla laughed, her soft, melodic voice filling the room.

“But honestly, how could I resist? Watching you two pout and groan and complain is so adorable! I don’t even want to let you win, it’s too much fun watching those expressions.”

Both girls immediately puffed their cheeks and glared at her with synchronized pouts.

“You’re the worst!” They shouted together.

Camilla was about to make another teasing remark when she noticed something out of place. Her expression softened.

“Oh, hold on…” She stepped behind Lyra and began gently fixing her hair. “Look at this, Lyra.” She murmured warmly. “The braid I put in for you this morning came loose. It’s all messy now.”

Lyra blinked, startled. “O-Oh! I didn’t even notice…”

“Shh, don’t move.” Camilla said softly, carefully weaving the pink and yellow strands back together with soft, practiced fingers. “Just like that…nice and neat again. You have such lovely hair, you know that? You really should take more care of it.”

With surprising speed and dexterity, she began to patiently re-tie Lyra’s pink and yellow hair, pulling it neatly back into place.

Meanwhile, Lyra felt Camilla’s warmth against her back, her mother’s hands carefully working through her hair, and her soft, warm, motherly words focusing entirely on fixing something for her.

The sudden, overwhelming realization of this small, tender act of care, having someone simply ask to braid her hair, and then fixing it when it came undone, crushed her defenses.

She couldn’t help it.

Tears welled up, and she began to cry silently, her shoulders shaking just a little.

Bella immediately noticed the strange shift that come out of nowhere and in response, she groaned while rubbing Lyra’s shoulder comfortingly.

“Oh, come on, Lyra! You can’t keep on doing this over and over again!” Bella said, her tone a mixture of playful exasperation and soothing concern, almost as if she had seen this scene many times before. “Every time Mom does something nice for you, you just keep on crying like a little baby! You have to stop!”

Camilla also let out a deep, understanding sigh. She finished the braid, then took out a crisp, white handkerchief and gently dabbed at the tears running down Lyra’s cheeks.

“Bella is right here.” Camilla said softly, kneeling down so she could look Lyra in the eyes. “Of course, I don’t mind you crying. Crying is a good thing; it’s letting your emotions out.”

“But come on, sweetie, you don’t have to get so worked up every time I do something like this…You’re my daughter already, and you’re part of the family now. You have to get used to it.”

Lyra sniffled, wiping her eyes with her palm while offering a watery, embarrassed smile.

“Sorry, sorry, Mom…I didn’t mean to cry.” She said, her voice thick. “It’s just that…it’s just been me and my sister for so long. And since the world we lived in was much more cold and cruel, we never even imagined we’d have a family, not to mention a mother someday.”

A fresh wave of tears started.

“So, to suddenly feel a mother’s embrace and a mother’s kindness like yours…and have someone ask to braid my hair, which I have been braiding myself my whole life…”

She shook her head, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through.

“These tears just come inside of me.”

Camilla’s heart swelled so much it almost hurt. The beautiful, elegant smile completely dissolved, replaced by a look of pure, deep maternal love.

“Oh, my dear Lyra…” She whispered, her voice husky.

She pulled Lyra into a powerful, comforting hug.

Lyra too melted into the embrace, burying her face against Camilla’s shoulder as quiet tears slipped down her cheeks.

Seeing this, Bella smiled faintly and moved closer, wrapping her arms around both of them.

“You’re such a crybaby, Lyra.” She muttered softly, her voice full of warmth. “But you’re our crybaby now.”

Camilla laughed through the faint sting of tears in her own eyes, holding both girls close.

“That’s right.” She whispered, brushing her hands through their hair. “My two beautiful daughters…And I wouldn’t trade either of you for the world.”

While the trio embraced each other, Kafka, who had been watching the whole thing from the doorway, found himself going completely still.

His lips parted slightly, and before he even realized it, he was brushing his fingers against the corner of his eye, wiping away the single tear that had escaped.

It wasn’t just because the scene was sweet, though it absolutely was—the kind of gentle motherliness that could melt even the coldest heart.

It was because it hit him right in the center of something raw and familiar.

For someone like him, someone who had grown up in a cruel, empty world without warmth or family, watching this was more than touching.

It was healing.

He knew that loneliness all too well: the cold nights, the echo of silence, the way the world could make you feel invisible.

And seeing Lyra, someone who’d lived through the same kind of darkness, finally find the light of a mother’s love was almost too much to bear.

“Guess I’m not the only one who got lucky and found their mother.” He whispered softly to himself, half-laughing through his own tears.

But if someone else had walked in at that moment—if any ordinary person had seen the sight before him, they’d never have understood it.

They would’ve seen Bella and Lyra smiling one second and crying the next, over something as simple as a braid, and probably thought,

‘What’s wrong with them? Why the tears?’

They’d never have guessed the weight behind it, the story that had quietly grown between Camilla and Lyra over the past months, one thread of love after another, until something unbreakable had formed.

Because behind that little gesture of fixing a braid was a whole history.

A story of how Camilla had adopted Lyra as her own daughter.

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