God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem-Chapter 622: Murder Attempt

She didn't walk and to both of their utter shock, she actually ran, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she charged toward them at full speed, her frosty blue eyes narrowing with an intensity that sent a chill down Kafka's spine.

Her gaze, already cold, turned glacial, brimming with what looked like deadly intent and Abigaille gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, while Kafka's instincts screamed at him to react.

"Mom, what are you—"

He started, but his words died as Olivia reached the kitchen counter and, to their absolute horror, yanked a large knife from the holder with a swift, practiced motion.

Her movements were fluid, terrifyingly precise. She raised the knife high, her arm poised in a stabbing position, her eyes locked on Kafka with a cold, unyielding stare that made him feel like a slab of meat on a butcher's block.

And then with no hesitation, she plunged the blade downward, aiming straight for his chest, the steel glinting in the light as it descended with lethal force.

Seeing Olivia for some reason try to stab her own son, Abigaille screamed, her voice a raw burst of horror, but she was too stunned to move. Kafka, on the other hand, reacted in a split second.

His hands shot up, clapping together with a resounding smack, catching the blade between his palms just inches from his heart. The force of Olivia's strike vibrated through his arms, her strength surprising him, but he held firm, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Olivia's own eyes flickered, a flash of shock breaking her emotionless facade, as if she'd been certain the knife would find its mark.

'How had he caught it so easily?'

But Olivia wasn't done.

Her mind moved as fast as her body, and she didn't miss a beat. Releasing the knife, she lunged for the smaller vegetable knife Kafka had been using earlier, its blade still slick with carrot juice. She snatched it up, her movements a blur, and swung it toward his throat, her eyes blazing with that same murderous intent.

Kafka's heart raced, his mind struggling to comprehend why his mother was trying to kill him.

Yes, what he and Abigaille were doing was taboo, wrong on every level, but this?

...This was beyond reason, beyond anything he could have anticipated.

But just as the blade arced toward his neck, Abigaille finally broke free of her shock.

"Olivia! What in the world are you doing?!" She shrieked, her voice piercing the chaos. "Why are you trying to stab Kafi?!"

The words hit Olivia like a thunderbolt.

Her arm froze mid-swing, the knife hovering inches from Kafka's throat. Her entire body stiffened, as if the world had tilted beneath her.

The icy, murderous gaze in her eyes wavered, shifting from cold determination to a flicker of confusion, then a faint warmth, as if she were seeing Kafka for the first time.

But that warmth quickly morphed into horror, her pupils dilating as the reality of her actions crashed over her.

She stumbled back, her breath hitching, the knife slipping from her fingers to clatter against the floor. Her emotionless mask shattered, replaced by a look of raw, unfiltered disbelief.

Kafka and Abigaille stared, their own confusion mirroring hers.

Just moments ago, Olivia had been ready to kill him, her intent unmistakable, but now she looked like she'd seen a ghost, her hands trembling as she backed away.

Slowly, she then turned her head, her serene, melodic voice breaking the silence, though it was laced with shock and uncertainty.

"K-Kafi? He's Kafi?" She asked, her eyes darting between them. "Kafi? Our...our son, Kafi?"

Abigaille blinked, her mouth falling open at the absurdity of the question.

"Of course it's Kafi!" She exclaimed, her voice a mix of confusion and exasperation. "Who else would it be, Olivia? What's gotten into you? Why are you asking something so obvious?"

Olivia ignored her, her gaze locking onto Kafka, then flicking back to Abigaille, her expression twisting with horror.

"I...I thought..." She stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought he was...a molester. Someone who broke in, trying to...to take advantage of you."

Her hands clutched at her chest, as if trying to steady her racing heart.

"I didn't...I didn't realize it was actually Kafi."

Abigaille's jaw dropped, her eyes widening in disbelief.

"A molester?" She repeated, her tone bordering on incredulous. "Olivia, how could you even think that? It's so obviously Kafi! Our son! Not some random intruder! How did you jump to that conclusion?"

Olivia's lips parted, her breath shaky as she tried to form an answer, her mind a swirl of guilt and confusion. She stammered, her usually sharp tongue faltering, but before she could string together a coherent response, her eyes locked onto Kafka's.

His gaze, wide and innocent, pierced through her like a blade. Those eyes—once so gloomy, shadowed by the weight of a troubled childhood she hadn't always been there to ease now stared at her with confusion, searching for answers she couldn't give.

The sight of him, her Kafi, the boy she'd cradled as a baby, chased through the backyard as a toddler, and driven to school with sleepy morning chats, shattered something deep inside her.

She had come home with a singular goal: to be a better mother, to make up for the years lost to her demanding career, to rebuild the bond she'd let slip. She'd dreamed of hugging him, laughing with him, being the parent he deserved.

But instead, she'd nearly killed him.

Not once, but twice, her hands wielding knives aimed at his heart and throat, driven by a blind, murderous instinct she couldn't explain.

The weight of it crushed her.

Olivia, the business mogul who'd stared down boardrooms and brought rivals to their knees with her icy glare, felt her eyes burn with tears. Her lips quivered, her breath hitching as water welled in her cool blue eyes, spilling over to streak her pale cheeks.

She, who hadn't even shed a tear at her own parents funeral, who'd built a fortress around her emotions, was unraveling, her guilt too heavy to contain.

Abigaille, her anger flaring at the thought of Olivia trying to harm their son, had been ready to unleash a torrent of questions and accusations.

How could she, no matter the reason, raise a knife to their son?

But the sight of Olivia's tears stopped her cold.

In all their years together—over two decades of friendship, love, and shared parenthood she'd seen Olivia cry only a handful of times, each instance a rare crack in her unyielding facade. And because of that she knew that this wasn't just shock or anger; something deeper, something profound, was tearing Olivia apart.

Abigaille's frustration softened, her instincts shifting to concern. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, to demand what had driven her to such an extreme, but before she could speak, Olivia moved.

Unable to bear Kafka's gaze any longer, Olivia turned and fled, her legs moving frantically against the floor as she bolted from the kitchen. She didn't look back, didn't pause, her raven-black hair swaying as she disappeared down the hall.

Bang!~

The slam of a bedroom door echoed through the house, a jarring punctuation to the mess that had erupted.

Kafka stood rooted to the spot, his hand still hovering near his half-unzipped jeans, his mind reeling. He was no stranger to high-stakes situations—blood, betrayal, and violence, he has seen it all before...but this?

This was beyond comprehension. His head throbbed, a dull ache spreading as he tried to process the whirlwind of events. Olivia's emotionless stare, her sudden attack, her tears—it was a puzzle with no clear pieces.

He rubbed his temples, his confusion bordering on physical pain, and turned to Abigaille, his voice rough with bewilderment. "Mom, what the hell is going on? Do you have any idea what just happened?"

"...Was it...Was it possibly because she saw us? What we were doing?"

Abigaille shook her head, her own face a covered in worry and puzzlement as she smoothed her top, her earlier fluster giving way to a need to understand.

"No, Kafi, there's no way." She said firmly. "Olivia's not like that. Even if she caught us...in bed, she wouldn't try to kill you. She's too level-headed, too rational and most of there's no way she would stab her own son who she loves so much."

"...There's something else going on here, something bigger. Maybe it's tied to her thinking you were a molester, but I don't know how she got there."

Kafka frowned, his brow furrowing. "But she saw my face, Mom. Clear as day when we turned around. How could she think I was some random creep breaking in? It doesn't add up."

Abigaille sighed, her eyes flicking toward the hallway where Olivia had fled. "I don't know. Kafi, It's...It's not like her. But I need to talk to her, find out what's going on." She started toward the hall, then paused, glancing back at him. "Stay here. I'll handle this."

Kafka stepped forward, his voice insistent. "Let me come with you. It might be better if we both talk to her, clear this up."

But Abigaille shook her head, her expression softening but firm.

"No, Kafi. In the twenty plus years, I've seen Olivia cry maybe three times. She's not herself right now, and...it seems like you're part of why she's reacting this way."

"...I don't want to make this messier than it already is, so let me talk to her first, figure out what's happening. I'll come back and explain, I promise."

Kafka hesitated, his jaw tightening. He hated being sidelined, hated the uncertainty gnawing at him, but he trusted his mother's judgment.

"Fine." He muttered. "But...just make sure she's okay. And figure out what the hell that was about."

Abigaille nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line as she turned and walked toward the bedroom. The door wasn't locked, a small mercy, and she called out softly, "Olivia? It's me." before slipping inside and closing the door with a quiet click.

Kafka stood alone in the kitchen, the faint sizzle of the pan a mocking reminder of the scene that had spiraled into a horror scene. He then shuffled to the living room, slumping onto the couch with a heavy sigh, his mind a tangled mess.

'How had this day, meant to be a joyous reunion with my mother, turned into an attempted murder?'

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, utterly confused and hoping his mother could unravel the truth behind Olivia's shocking actions...