Camila stood there, her usually cool, composed demeanor shattered. A vivid flush crept up her neck and bloomed across her cheeks, painting her face in a shade of red she couldn't hide.
Her lips parted, but no sharp comeback, no biting retort slipped out. Instead, she stammered—a rare, faltering sound from someone who always had the upper hand.
"W-What are you talking about, Kafka?" she managed, her voice cracking slightly as she tried to regain her footing. "What...What babies?"
Kafka, sensing her unraveling, didn't miss a beat. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear, that infuriating smirk still plastered across his face.
"Of course..." He murmured. "The babies we'll have in the future. Obviously."
Camila's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She tried to step back, to put some distance between them, but her legs felt oddly unsteady, as she could feel the heat rising in her body.
