Chapter 525: He Wants Blood

Ding-dong!~ Ding-dong!~ Ding-dong!~

The loud, insistent knocking was quickly followed by another sharp ring of the doorbell, its urgency grating against the quiet warmth that had settled moments before. Bella groaned, breaking the tense silence as she turned toward the door. Enjoy more content from empire

"Who the heck rings a doorbell like that?" She muttered, crossing her arms. "It’s so annoying. Do they think we’re deaf or something?"

She glanced back at her mother, expecting some agreement, but stopped short when she saw her face.

Camila stood still, her usual composed demeanour gone, replaced by something Bella rarely saw—unease. Her face was slightly pale, and her eyes held a ghastly, almost haunted look, like she had just seen something she couldn’t quite believe.

Bella blinked, startled. "Mom?" She asked, her voice softer now, the earlier annoyance forgotten. "What’s wrong? Do you...do you know who that is?"

Camila seemed to snap out of her daze at the sound of Bella’s voice. She inhaled sharply, straightening her posture as if to pull herself together. A faint flush of embarrassment touched her cheeks as she realised she’d let her emotions slip.

"It’s nothing." She said at first, her tone attempting to be casual but failing to mask the tension behind it. She then turned her head slightly toward Bella, avoiding direct eye contact, and continued, "There are only two people who ever used to ring the doorbell like that."

"Two people?" Bella frowned, confused.

Camila’s lips curved into a faint, strained smile.

"One of them..." She said slowly. "...was you."

Bella blinked, her confusion deepening.

"Me?!" She exclaimed, pointing to herself in disbelief.

Her mother nodded, the faintest flicker of humour returning to her expression. "Yes, you. You always used to hammer the doorbell like your life depended on it....You were impatient to a fault."

Bella’s face immediately turned red, and she crossed her arms defensively. "That was in the past!" She said quickly, her voice rising slightly in a fluster. "I don’t do that anymore!"

Camila raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips twitching, but the humour faded as quickly as it had come.

Ding-dong!~ Ding-dong!~

Her eyes flickered back toward the door, her expression once again growing tight. Bella, noticing the shift, felt her own stomach knot.

She opened her mouth to ask about the second person but stopped midway.

Something in her mother’s body language, the way her feet moved restlessly and how her eyes didn’t quite focus, made the answer click in her mind.

Bella’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened, and she turned slowly toward the door, dread settling like a stone in her stomach.

"No...It can’t be." She whispered.

As if on cue, Camila and Bella spoke simultaneously, their voices quiet but filled with unease.

"Your father."

"Dad."

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged, as they turned to look at each other. Bella’s face mirrored her mother’s, a mix of fear and exasperation, as if they both knew exactly what kind of storm was about to walk through the door.

Their synchronised response only seemed to cement the reality of the situation. They exchanged a long look, both understanding without words that this was going to be troublesome, to say the least.

But then out of nowhere, Bella froze, the words she had just spoken ringing in her ears. "Ah! Oh no!...I-I should have said that—" The moment the word ’dad’ slipped out of her mouth, she realised she had crossed a line she hadn’t meant to.

Her face drained of colour as she turned sharply toward Kafka, who was standing quietly behind her.

Her heart leapt into her throat. "D-Daddy..." She stammered, her voice trembling. "Don’t...Don’t do anything hasty, okay? Just—just calm down for a second, alright? Please!"

Camila blinked, confused by Bella’s sudden panic when she seemed alright just a moment ago. "Bella?" She asked, her brows furrowing. "What exactly are you talking about? Why are you acting like this?"

Bella didn’t respond to her mother. Instead, she tightened her grip on Kafka’s arm, as if she were physically trying to hold him back.

The urgency in her movements, the fear in her eyes—it was almost as if she were trying to keep a beast from breaking loose.

Camila’s confusion only deepened. Kafka wasn’t the type to react impulsively, even in tense situations. He always had a calm, measured approach, his natural composure a steadying force in their lives.

...So why was Bella acting like he was about to go on a rampage?

"Bella, what’s gotten into you?" Camila asked, her voice more insistent now. "It’s just your father at the door. It’s not like—"

She stopped mid-sentence, her words dying on her lips as she turned to look at Kafka.

The moment her eyes landed on him, a chill ran down her spine.

Kafka was completely still, standing like a statue in the middle of the room. Bella clung to his arm, but it was clear that her grip wasn’t what was keeping him in place.

His face, usually so warm and expressive, was eerily blank. His features seemed carved from stone, devoid of emotion.

But it was his eyes that made her blood run cold.

The light in his gaze—the spark of kindness, warmth, and humour that always defined him—was gone. In its place was an empty, abyssal void.

His eyes stared unblinking toward the door, their cold, detached focus making it seem as though he were peering through the very fabric of reality itself.

It wasn’t anger, Camila realised with a jolt. It wasn’t even rage...It was something far worse.

It was nothingness.

Her heart raced, goosebumps crawling over her skin as she instinctively took a step back. "Kafka..." She whispered, her voice barely audible.

Bella, still clutching his arm, glanced between him and her mother, her fear mounting. "Mom." She said quickly, her tone urgent. "Don’t say anything to provoke him. Please. He’s not like—he’s not like this often, but when he is..."

She trailed off, unable to finish, her grip tightening on Kafka’s arm.

Camila’s hands trembled slightly as she tried to process what she was seeing. This wasn’t the man she knew, the man who smiled through difficult moments, who always carried himself with calm strength.

This was someone else entirely.

Bella, however, was watching him closely, her brow furrowed. Despite how terrifying he looked at the moment—his eerie blank expression and those dark, abyssal eyes—she realised something important.

He wasn’t doing anything hasty. He wasn’t moving toward the door, wasn’t lashing out. He was simply...sitting there, a silent storm waiting to erupt.

Gathering her courage, Bella tightened her grip on his arm and gently tugged him toward the sofa. "Come on, Daddy." She said softly, her voice trembling slightly but firm. "Sit down. Just sit, okay? Don’t do anything. We’ll handle this, alright? I promise."

He didn’t resist her pull, didn’t speak, or even look at her directly. He allowed himself to be led to the sofa, his movements mechanical, like he wasn’t entirely present. Once he sat down, Bella knelt in front of him, her hands resting lightly on his knees.

"Look at me." She coaxed, her voice softer now. "You don’t need to do anything. Just let us handle it, okay? Please."

His eyes flickered, a faint crack in the impenetrable wall of his demeanour. He didn’t respond, didn’t give any sign that he’d heard her, but he also didn’t move. Bella sighed, the tension in her own shoulders easing just slightly.

She stood slowly, brushing her hands on her thighs, and turned to face her mother. Camila was still rooted in place, her expression a mix of confusion and unease as her eyes darted between Bella and Kafka.

"What’s going on?" Camila whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Why does he look like that? Like...Like he’s going to kill someone?"

She said it as a joke, hoping to lighten the suffocating atmosphere, but the moment the words left her mouth, Bella froze. Her shoulders tensed, and she turned back to her mother with a serious, almost wary look.

"Mom..." Bella began hesitantly, her voice low, as if afraid to say the words aloud. "That’s because he does want to kill someone."

Camila’s body shook, her eyes widening at the revelation that seemed so absurd to her ears.

"What?!" She whispered, her voice sharp with disbelief. "Who?!"

Bella glanced at Kafka, who remained seated on the sofa, staring ahead with that same blank, unsettling expression. She then took a deep breath, as though bracing herself, and finally said,

"Who else?..It’s Dad’s life that he wants to end."

Camila’s heart sank, a chill running down her spine as she heard about her daughter talking about her husband’s death. "Your father?" She repeated in a whisper, her voice almost cracking.

Bella nodded, her hands fidgeting slightly as she continued, "Yeah. That’s why he looks like that. That’s why he’s so quiet. He’s holding it in, but I know him. He’s thinking about what he’d do if he got his hands on him."

Camila let out a short, uneasy chuckle, trying to shake off the tension.

"You’re joking, right?" She said, her tone light, though there was a faint tremor in her voice. "No matter how much he might not like your father for...Well, for how he’s been, Kafka wouldn’t go so far as to kill him. That’s a bit much, don’t you think?"

Bella hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. "If it was just that—if it was only about how Dad’s treated me or you—then yeah, maybe you’d be right. It wouldn’t be a big deal." She paused, glancing at Kafka again, her voice lowering. "But that’s not the reason he’s so worked up at the moment."

Camila frowned, her confusion deepening. "Then what is it?" She asked, leaning closer to her daughter. "What’s got him so angry that he’d look like...that?"

She gestured vaguely toward Kafka, who remained as still as a statue, his dark gaze fixed in the direction of the door like he couldn’t wait to get his hands on the person behind it.