Chapter 957

Chapter 957: Chapter 957

She didn’t answer right away. Instead she took a few steps back and looked out the window at the snow-covered city. Her hands linked behind her, the red dress shifting slightly with the movement. After a few seconds she glanced over her shoulder.

"Silk."

"Silk..." I repeated. "The goddess you all killed?"

"You don’t need to know that, Henrik." Her voice cooled. "Know your place."

"You told me I died differently. But it turns out that pervert was the one who killed me."

"Ah, come on." She laughed, turning her face toward the glass again. "You didn’t die there. It was a scratch, you big baby."

"Then how?" I demanded. "How did it happen?"

"You..." She looked at me. "Really want to know?"

I nodded.

She drew a slow breath. An UI window appeared beside me.

══════════════════

CRITICAL QUEST

──────────────────

EARN EXP: 0/150,000

──────────────────

QUEST FAILED

══════════════════

"Consider the baby as my payment."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" I started forward. "Don’t!"

She snapped her fingers.

Everything went dark.

FUCK! The quest... the fucking quest! God damn it. That whore, that bastard! I just... I... FUCK!

? ? ?

Yesterday was exhausting. Fucking all those whores all at once was definitely tiring. But at least I’d earned some good amount of EXP.

╭──────────────────╮

│ THE HEART SYSTEM

│──────────────────

│ STATUS: 78 LVL

──────────────────

│ CHARM: 89

│ PLEASURE: 550

│ MP: 55

│ LIBIDO: 191

│ LUCK: 188

╰──────────────────╯

I pushed myself off the bed.

The sheets were cold where she should’ve been. Minne. That fucking bitch wasn’t here.

She forgot? Or she just didn’t want to be in the mansion with me anymore? I’d told her, one more time. One more time and I’d kick her out, stop giving my hard-earned money to her idiotic, bed-ridden, useless sack of a mother.

I sat on the edge of the mattress for a second, letting the irritation curdle. Then I stood and walked out.

The mansion sprawled out under me from the second floor landing. Marble under my bare feet, cold as a slab. A wide open hall, double-height, railings running along the front of the balcony in black iron. Down below, the living room spread out, leather couches, a rug that cost more than my old apartment’s rent, a chandelier I’d never once looked up at on purpose. Past the half-wall, the kitchen, all stainless steel and pale stone, the island catching gray morning light through the tall windows.

Quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that meant somebody was about to get it.

I took the stairs down.

There was a door off the side hall. I didn’t knock. Just turned the handle and pushed in.

Minne was on the bed. Curled up on her side, one arm under the pillow, hair fanned out over the case. Still in yesterday’s clothes.

She stirred at the sound of the door. Irked, dragged an arm up, pushed herself onto her elbows. Rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand like a child.

Then she actually saw me.

And she went pale.

"You forgot my morning blowjob, Minne," I said. "This is the third time this month."

She was already scrambling.

"Are you done living here? Huh?" I walked in, slow. "Maybe you want to live somewhere else. Oh, maybe you found another sugar daddy. One who’ll pay for your stupid-ass mother’s treatment."

She threw the blanket off and got out of the bed fast, dropped down beside me, folded onto her knees. Forehead down to the floor, palms flat on the rug.

"Please, Master, please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t..."

I put my bare foot on the back of her head and pushed it down. Pressed her face into the floor.

"One more," I said. "And you’re out, slut. You hear me?"

She nodded as much as she could with my foot on her skull.

"I’ll fist your ass as punishment. Go get cleaned up. No breakfast for you today."

I moved my leg off her. She was up and gone before I’d finished the sentence, scurrying out the door, hair bouncing, feet slapping the marble all the way up the stairs to the bedroom.

I shook my head at her back. Disappointed.

Then I left the room and went to the kitchen.

Esme was there.

Pregnant. Six uh... wait, eight months, belly pushing out round and tight. And she was wearing the skimpiest shit of all time, a thin white crop that barely covered her chest and didn’t cover the belly at all, and a pair of shorts she must’ve cut herself, they were so small.

"Coffee," I said. "Now."

"Y-yes, Master."

She turned to the counter, already nervous, hands shaking.

I pulled a stool out and sat, elbow on the island, and watched her.

She reached for a glass. Set it down. Then she hooked her thumbs under the hem of the crop top and pulled it up over her tits, letting it bunch at her collarbone. Her breasts hung heavy, swollen, the veins blue under pale skin, nipples dark and thick from the pregnancy.

She cupped one and squeezed. Leaned forward over the glass and pressed, milking herself with short pulls. It came out in thin white streams, splashing the bottom of the glass, dripping off her nipple, running down her fingers.

She worked at it, biting her lip, switching to the other breast when the first slowed. Squeezing harder. Her tits flushed pink from the effort. It was slow going, barely a couple inches in the bottom of the glass, and she was breathing hard through her nose by the time she gave up on the second one.

She got the coffee going. Poured the hot black liquid in over what little milk there was. Stirred it, watching it go from black to a weak, watery tan.

Then she brought it over, head down, and set it in front of me on a little saucer.

I picked it up. Turned it in my hand. Looked at it.

Then I dropped it.

Not slammed. Just opened my fingers and let it fall. The glass burst on the floor, coffee spraying across the stone, splashing her bare shins.

"Try again."