e-booksonline Chapter 520 Did You Wet Your Pants?
Chapter 520 Did You Wet Your Pants?
The moment I shut the door, I let out a soft laugh, the kind of quiet, self-satisfied chuckle you only make when you know you've gotten away with something outrageous. The box was tucked snugly under my arm, and I made my way toward the living room with what I thought was all the stealth of a thief in the night.
I was halfway there when I felt it. That heavy, unspoken tension in the air. My instincts screamed at me to look up, and when I did, I froze.
Camila stood in the middle of the room, her arms crossed, her blouse still clinging damply to her skin. Her hair hung in soft, dishevelled waves around her flushed face, but it was her eyes that stopped me cold.
They were narrowed, glinting like shards of ice. Cold. Calculating. Dangerous.
...And locked on me.
"Well, well." She began, her voice low and sharp, each word laced with venom. "Look who's crawling back silently like he did nothing wrong. Care to explain yourself, Mr Kafka?"Nôv(el)B\\jnn
I opened my mouth to respond, some half-baked excuse ready to tumble out, but she took a single step forward, her bare feet silent against the floor. She reached up and caught my ear between her fingers with a precision that bordered on surgical, tugging me down just enough to make her point.
"C-Camila!" I yelped, stammering her name out in my panic. "Wait! Wait! Let's talk about this!"
Her grip tightened, and I winced, trying to shift without losing the box or my dignity. "Talk about what, Kafka?" She asked mockingly, her tone dripping with sarcastic curiosity. "How you just humiliated me in front of that poor delivery girl? How you made a complete spectacle of me?" She leaned in closer, her gaze boring into mine like twin daggers. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't pinch your ear so hard it starts bleeding."
I swallowed hard, my mind racing. "Okay, okay! I have reasons! Great reasons!" I blurted, raising my free hand in a gesture of surrender. "First of all, today's supposed to be a good day, right? You planned something special for me, a pleasant surprise, something you put your heart into. Do you really want to ruin that by turning it into a bloodbath?...I mean, imagine trying to enjoy whatever you've got planned with me bleeding all over the place. That's not exactly festive."
Her brow arched slightly, but her grip didn't loosen. I scrambled to continue.
"Second." I said quickly. "If you pinch my ear and I bleed, you're going to feel so guilty afterward that you'll have to take care of me. And do you really want to add 'Kafka's nursemaid' to your list of responsibilities today? I mean, you've already had a lot on your plate.
Her lips tightened into a thin line, her expression somehow colder than before.
"Third!" I pressed on, desperation creeping into my voice. "You love me too much to actually hurt me, Camila...Admit it. Deep down, you know it's true. You'd never forgive yourself if you caused me actual pain."
Her gaze didn't waver, but I saw the faintest flicker of hesitation in her eyes. She was thinking about it. Her fingers twitched against my ear, and for a moment, I thought she might actually go through with it.
But then she let out a long, exasperated sigh and released me.
"Damn you, Kafka." Camila muttered, rubbing her temple as though I'd given her the worst headache of her life. "You're lucky I can't stand seeing you hurt. Otherwise..." She trailed off, her tone thick with warning, leaving the rest unsaid but perfectly clear.
I didn't waste a second. The moment she released me, I placed the box carefully on the table, keeping my movements slow and deliberate, like a man treading on thin ice. Then, before she could change her mind—or worse, remember to follow through on her earlier threat—I slipped behind her.
Her shoulders were still tense, her arms crossed in lingering frustration. Gently, I placed my hands on her neck, my thumbs pressing lightly into the stiff muscles there.
I offered her my best grin, prepared to ride this victory all the way to safety, but before I could respond, Camila's eyes flicked around the room. Her brow furrowed slightly, the sharp edge of her practical mind kicking back in.
"Wait..." She said, looking toward the hallway. "Where's Bella? Weren't you two supposed to be fixing the leak in the bathroom? Or did she somehow manage to flood the place instead?"
"Mom?" As if summoned by the words, a small, trembling voice called out from the hallway.
Camila's head snapped toward the sound, her brows lifting in surprise. I turned, following her gaze, and there was Bella, slowly making her way into the living room from the bathroom.
Her steps were hesitant, almost sheepish, and as she stepped fully into the light, the reason for her hesitance became obvious.
Her hair was slightly damp and clinging to her face, her cheeks were flushed, and her pants—oh, her pants were unmistakably wet in several places, dark patches spreading unevenly across the fabric, probably from her love juice that splashed all over the place.
Camila's eyes widened for a moment before narrowing into a sharp, incredulous squint.
"Bella..." She said slowly, her tone teetering between concern and exasperation. "Don't tell me...Did you actually pee yourself in the bathroom?"
Bella's face turned a deeper shade of red, her hands immediately flying to cover the wet patches on her thighs. "What? No! Of course not!" She stammered, her voice a high-pitched mix of fluster and defiance.
Camila crossed her arms, tilting her head with a look of mock disbelief.
"Are you sure? Because I'm seeing wet pants and I'm seeing you trembling. And, oh yeah, you were literally in the bathroom, a step away from the toilet. Do you need diapers, Bella? I think I still have your old ones somewhere. Because this is a little—how should I put it?—childish."
Bella's mouth dropped open, her embarrassment shifting into full-blown indignation. "I didn't pee myself, Mom!" She snapped, her voice cracking slightly as she stomped her foot.
Camila raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the outburst.
"Oh? Then how do you explain..." She gestured vaguely at Bella's pants, the teasing smirk on her face only making the poor girl more flustered.
Bella huffed, crossing her arms in a mirror of her mother's pose before letting her eyes drop—and then they landed on Camila's pants. Her expression shifted instantly, the responses in her head turning before her lips curled into a sly smile.
"You shouldn't be saying anything, Mom." She said, her voice gaining confidence. "Look at your pants! They're also drenched!"
Camila blinked, glancing down at herself as if she'd momentarily forgotten the state she was in. Her pants clung to her thighs, the damp patches from earlier far too obvious to deny.
"So maybe you need diapers too, huh?" Bella let out a triumphant little harumph, her chin tilting up as if she'd won the greatest argument of her life.
Camila's jaw dropped, and for a moment, she seemed at a complete loss for words. Her gaze shifted to Bella's smug expression before snapping to me, her narrowed eyes boring into mine.
The silent accusation in her stare was deafening, and she seemed to be saying: This is entirely your fault.