'Tch, if not for getting favors from my wives, I would have cut you off.' He cursed the thing between his legs. At least his tail was much more obedient in this manner. 'So, better take care of them regularly to be their favorite, or else I will cut you off.'

[...]

The system seemed to have glitched at its host's shamelessness.

For Viktor—his mind seemed even worse.

Kaida's pussy clenching around him. Mira's throat swallowing his length. Helena's massive tits bouncing. Bella's desperate moans.

'Focus, you perverted bastard. Cook first, fuck later.'

Viktor's hands moved swiftly—cutting, pouring, stirring. Another pan. More eggs. More vegetables. Bread sliced and toasted.

His Culinary Genius ability made it effortless, each movement flowing into the next without conscious thought.

Thirty minutes passed in a blur of motion and sizzling sounds.

"Here." Viktor grabbed a cloth napkin, leaning down to wipe Toby's mouth. The kid had managed to get egg on his cheek somehow.

"Th...ank... you, Pa...pa."

Something warm flickered in Viktor's chest. Something he immediately shoved down because feelings were fucking complicated, and he had four pregnant—or soon-to-be pregnant—wives to deal with.

'Creak.'

The sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Viktor's head turned, dark eyes locking onto the staircase.

And there they were.

One after another, his wives descended.

Helena came first.

Her brown hair was neatly brushed, pulled back into her usual practical bun. She wore a clean gray maid uniform—different from the one he'd torn off her last night. The fabric hugged her thick curves, emphasizing her massive breasts and wide hips.

But something was different.

Her skin practically glowed. Soft. Radiant. Like she'd shaved ten years off her age overnight. The fine lines around her eyes had smoothed out completely. Her complexion was flawless, almost luminescent in the morning light.

There was a slight stumble in her step. Just a tiny hitch in her gait—barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for.

Viktor knew.

He'd split her pussy open last night. Pounded her ass. Made her squirt until the sheets were soaked.

Mira followed.

She wore a simple brown dress that showed off her thick thighs and wide hips. Her dark hair fell loose around her shoulders, still slightly damp from washing.

Her green eyes met Viktor's, and a faint blush colored her cheeks as she licked her lips like some pervert.

She looked younger too. Her skin had that same impossible smoothness, that same healthy glow. Her lips were fuller, pinker. Her breasts seemed even heavier, straining against the dress fabric.

And her walk? Definitely unsteady. Her thighs pressed together with each step, like she was trying to keep something from leaking out.

'She's too perverted.'

Kaida came next.

The red-haired woman wore a simple tunic and pants—practical clothing that couldn't hide the changes to her body.

She looked damn hot.

If not for him already knowing her, she looked more beautiful than all those heroines combined.

She moved with careful precision, her crimson eyes sharp despite the obvious exhaustion in her posture.

One hand gripped the railing as she descended, knuckles white.

Her legs trembled slightly with each step.

Viktor had fucked her for hours. Broken her. Remade her. Filled her womb so full of cum it had probably reached her stomach.

And finally—Bella.

The silver-haired cat-girl wore a soft white dress that Mira had made for her.

It complemented her petite frame, making her look almost doll-like. Her yellow eyes were downcast, ears twitching nervously atop her head.

Her tail swished behind her—slow, uncertain movements.

She walked the most carefully of all four. Each step deliberate. Controlled.

Because Viktor had claimed her virginity last night. Taken her rough and brutal all night long. Given he wanted easy labor for them, he'd fucked her and Kaida thoroughly in the bedroom.

The four women reached the bottom of the stairs, their gazes all turning toward Viktor.

He stood there in his apron, spatula in hand, looking utterly domestic.

The contrast was absurd.

This was the same man who'd spent all night breeding them like animals.

Viktor's lips curved into a lazy grin. "Hey, wives. Shouldn't you all come here and eat?"

The words hung in the air.

For a moment, none of them moved.

Then—

Helena's cheeks flushed deeper. Mira bit her lip. Kaida's eye twitched. Bella's tail puffed up.

They exchanged glances with each other.

A silent conversation passed between them.

Of course, it could be anything, but Viktor's perverted mind only heard.

'He's acting normal. Like he didn't just—'

'—fuck us unconscious—'

'—fill us until we couldn't walk—'

'—make us scream his name—'

The four women slowly made their way toward the dining table, movements careful and measured.

Viktor turned back to the stove, finishing the last plate with a flourish.

Perfect timing.

CRASH!

The front door swung open inward.

A figure stumbled through—amber eyes wide, dyed black hair disheveled, clutching a worn suitcase like her life depended on it.

Elara.

She looked up.

Her gaze swept across the scene before her.

Viktor—standing at the stove in an apron, looking annoyingly domestic.

Four women—sitting at the dining table, wearing fresh clothes but moving like they'd been thoroughly used.

Toby—eating breakfast innocently.

The exact same scene as when she'd first arrived weeks ago.

Viktor blinked. Then chuckled, dark eyes glinting with amusement as he knew why she must have returned here. "Hey there, Elara. Doesn't it feel like we've already seen this scene before?"

Elara's breath caught.

'Déjà vu.'

Her mind flashed back to that first morning. Walking in on them eating breakfast. Seeing the way those women moved. The slight trembling. The satisfied exhaustion in their expressions.

She'd not known then.

And now—a week later—something had changed.

No.

It had gotten worse.

There were more of them now. Four wives instead of two.

And from the way they sat—thighs pressed together, movements careful, all silent including Bella—it was obvious what had happened last night.

Elara's amber eyes darted from woman to woman.

Helena's satisfied smile. Mira's knowing smirk. Kaida's exhausted glare. Bella's shy, downcast gaze.

'They'd been bred.'

'Thoroughly.'

'All night long.'

Elara's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

A strangled sound escaped her throat.

Her hands tightened on her suitcase handle until her knuckles turned white.

She wanted to scream at her bad luck, at the sheer implications of the events that had pulled her here—from running away until night to nearly getting crushed by the dust storm from that huge tower outside and being saved by a moron swindler who had brought her back to this place.

And then she screamed.

"N-NO...! WHY HAVE I ARRIVED AT THE BREEDING GROUND AGAIN?!"

The scream echoed through the warm, food-scented air of the dining room, bouncing off the walls and dying into an awkward silence.

Every woman there gave a blank look to Elara. It was the kind of look you give to a drunkard shouting nonsense in a library.

Mira immediately moved her hands, covering Toby's ears, shielding the boy's innocence from the outburst. Her motherly instincts were faster than her annoyance.

Kaida, however, didn't have such patience. She slammed her fork down, her red eyes narrowing into slits. "Do you want to get your head cut off? How dare you say such indecent words in front of a kid?"

Hearing that cold, murderous tone, Elara trembled. The adrenaline that had carried her this far suddenly evaporated. As her knees buckled, she fell to the wooden floor with a thud, gasping for air. Her lungs burned. She looked back toward the open door, grit her teeth, and said, "Damn it, I will kill that—"

Before she could complete her curse, a voice came from the door. It was the trembling, pathetic voice of a middle-aged man.

"It's me, sir, it's me."

A man shuffled into the light. He looked like a rat that had been dunked in a sewer—greasy hair, cheap clothes covered in dust, and a face that screamed 'coward'. It was the swindler. The one who had dragged Elara here.

And there, instantly, the atmosphere in the room shifted.

Bella's eyes widened until the pupils were mere pinpricks. Her entire body went rigid, the color draining from her face as if she'd seen a ghost. Her fingers lost their strength, and the silver spoon in her hand fell directly onto the plate.

Clang.

The metal hit the plate, a sharp sound that cut through the tension.

Viktor noticed. Of course he noticed. He noticed everything. His gaze flicked from Bella's terrified, pale face to the trembling trash standing in his doorway.

Viktor slowly wiped his hands on his apron, unhurried, and slipped a hand into his pocket. He looked toward the man and said, "Hey there, Gareth... you seem to be quite alive."

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