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The night deepened, and outside the villa, there was nothing but the sound of insects and the rustling of the wind through the leaves.
The chaotic thoughts of the day and Kafka's sudden arrival kept my nerves taut.
To distract myself, I simply opened the game terminal and immersed myself in the fighting and light and shadows of the virtual world, trying to fill my brain with operations and strategies to momentarily forget the various anxieties and confusions of reality.
The light from the screen shone on my face, and the sounds of intense battle filled my ears.
Just as I was completely focused, about to complete a critical maneuver—
"Knock, knock, knock."
Three clear knocks, neither hurried nor slow, broke the virtual noise in the bedroom.
My fingers stiffened, my game character was instantly exposed to enemy fire, and the screen quickly turned gray.
But at this moment, I couldn't care less about the outcome of the game.
At this time... who could it be?
The answer was almost unique.
Besides Kafka, who else could be knocking on my door in the dead of night?
What did she want with me? Didn't she say during the day that she would call me if she had a need? Could she have run into trouble? Or... did she have some other intention?
My heart couldn't help but race, carrying a strange premonition and tension.
I put down the game controller, took a deep breath, and stood up to walk toward the door.
My hand rested on the doorknob, I hesitated for a moment, and finally turned it slowly, opening the door.
The sight outside the door made my pupils dilate instantly, and my breath felt as if it had been stolen away.
The person standing at the door was indeed Kafka.
But her outfit at this moment made me freeze on the spot, my brain a blank.
She was wearing... a black lace lingerie set.
The fabric was minimal, the design bold and exquisite. The translucent black lace merely covered the critical areas, yet it teased the eyes by outlining her astonishing, mature, and full curves.
Through that thin layer of delicate, floral-patterned lace, I could even faintly, vaguely see the pink contours on the tips of her full breasts, as well as the faint purple—matching her hair color—visible at the edge of her mysterious zone...
She stood barefoot on the cool hallway floor, her skin exuding an ivory-like luster under the hallway lights.
Her purple ponytail seemed even more casual than it had during the day, with a few strands of hair scattered on her neck, adding to her lazy sexiness.
A rich fragrance flooded into my nostrils as the door opened.
It wasn't just the high-end, slightly chilly perfume I had smelled during the day, but a mixture of something warm and alluring that belonged only to her body.
The two scents intertwined, forming an indescribable, highly aggressive temptation that almost swallowed my sanity.
My gaze couldn't move away from her, my throat was dry, and my heart was pounding madly in my chest.
Seeing me in a completely stunned state, Kafka's mouth curled into a lazy, alluring arc, and those purple eyes shimmered with heart-stopping light in the light.
"Well? Stunned?" Her voice was even lower and softer than it had been during the day, carrying a trace of an elusive smile. "Won't you invite me in to sit?"
I snapped back to reality, my cheeks burning instantly.
I could feel how rude my gaze was, but at that moment, I had completely lost the ability to think.
"Okay... okay... please, please come in..." I stammered, almost subconsciously stepping aside to clear the way, my voice even trembling slightly.
Kafka walked past me with light steps, barefoot, bringing a breeze of fragrance.
Her skin almost brushed against my arm, making me shiver.
She walked into my bedroom, looked around casually, and sat down on the edge of my bed without any avoidance.
The soft mattress dipped slightly under her weight.
I stiffly followed her inside and closed the door, as if isolating everything outside, yet locking this suffocating, ambiguous atmosphere completely in this small space.
I didn't know where to stand, and I didn't know where to put my hands or feet.
Finally, under her gaze, I acted as if possessed and sat down on the edge of the bed next to her.
There was less than an arm's length between us.
I could clearly see the exquisite patterns of her lace lingerie and feel the heat and intoxicating fragrance radiating from her body.
Only a single warm, yellow lamp was on by the bed in the bedroom, the lighting dim, making the atmosphere even more romantic.
We sat side by side on the edge of the bed like this, the warm yellow light outlining Kafka's heart-stopping body contours.
The air was filled with that dizzying scent of hers, a mix of high-end perfume and body scent.
I could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, and I could even hear her steady, soft breathing.
My gaze was drawn to her, time and time again, uncontrollably.
Although I tried hard to appear decent, my peripheral vision always involuntarily drifted toward her body, half-covered by the black lace.
That mysterious, ultimate temptation made my heartbeat unable to settle.
Kafka seemed to have sensed my nearly rude gaze entirely, but she showed not the slightest shyness or displeasure; instead, she maintained that composure and languor.
She even adjusted her posture slightly, seemingly to make it more "convenient" for me to look, and in those deep purple eyes, there shimmered a trace of an elusive smile, as if she had seen through the thoughts of her prey.
She allowed me to engage in this somewhat "ludicrous" behavior so openly, or one could even say, with a bit of indulgence.
This silent acquiescence made me even more embarrassed and hot.
The silence fermented for a moment in the ambiguous atmosphere; I felt that if I didn't say something, I would be drowned by the thick, concentrated hormones.
I cleared my parched throat, gathered my courage, and tried to make my voice sound as steady as possible as I turned to her (of course, my gaze still couldn't help but linger on her for a moment before struggling to move to her face):
"Ms. Kafka... are... are you here in the middle of the night... for anything special?"
Hearing my question, Kafka finally focused her gaze completely on me.
She tilted her head slightly, her purple ponytail swaying with it, the lazy smile at the corner of her mouth deepening.
"Mm? Something special?" She repeated, her tone playful. "Actually, there is no profound secret."
She paused, leaned forward slightly, and that intoxicating fragrance hit me more intensely. She lowered her voice, with a calm like she was stating a fact, yet containing content enough to set off a storm:
"It's very simple. Because Elio predicted that I would become your third wife."
"...Huh?"
My brain buzzed again, wondering if I had misheard.
Thi-third wife?
Kafka looked at my dumbfounded expression, seeming to find it very interesting.
She stretched out a finger, touched her lower lip gently, and continued to explain in that matter-of-fact tone:
"We Stellaron Hunters all act according to Elio's 'script.' You should be very clear about that. This is the arrangement of fate." She paused, and a trace of complex, unfathomable light flashed in her purple eyes. "And..."
She looked up at me, her gaze seeming to hold a bit more scrutiny, and also carrying a trace of... indescribable emotion.
"...I don't dislike you either. So, I'm just following fate's arrangement."
Just like that? Because of a prediction? Because of "don't dislike you"?
I was completely shocked by these words, sitting on the edge of the bed, feeling that all of this was beyond my understanding.
Elio's script, the arrangement of fate... was my life really just a carefully choreographed play?
And Kafka, this mysterious, powerful, and beautiful Stellaron Hunter, just for such a reason, was wearing such sexy lingerie, sitting on the edge of my bed, telling me she would be my... wife?
The arrangement of fate... Elio's script... third wife...
These words swirled in my mind, challenging my perception.
But Kafka's sexy body, nearly unclothed and within arm's reach, and her words "don't dislike me," acted like a potent catalyst, igniting the spark already deep in my heart.
Yes, from the first time we met at the space station, being toyed with in the palm of her hand, I had felt an indescribable throb toward this mysterious, powerful, and beautiful woman—a mix of danger and attraction.
She was like a poppy blooming on the edge of a cliff; knowing that getting close might result in being shattered, one still couldn't help but want to reach out and pick it.
And now, she said, fate had arranged for her to become my wife.
Since it was fate... since she didn't dislike me... since she was sitting on my bed at this very moment in such an unguarded, or one could even say, inviting posture...
My sanity was melting rapidly, replaced by a primitive impulse.
A thought of "Whatever, let's possess her first" took the upper hand.
I even felt that perhaps this was also part of Elio's script?
I couldn't worry about that anymore.