Chapter 518: Perverted Battle Angel

As she flew away from Yelena and Fauna, Nadia kept glancing down at Mika.

Her eyes flickered with expectation, with hope, like she was waiting for him to do something.

But he wasn’t doing anything.

Instead, he was chatting on his phone, his thumbs moving rapidly across the screen, a small smile playing on his lips.

He wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t speaking to her.

He wasn’t even acknowledging her presence.

Seeing this, made her mood sour even further.

This was because normally, Mika was incredibly perceptive.

In the entire family, he was the only one who always understood her true thoughts and feelings, no matter what.

Even if she put on the blankest face and spoke in the most monotone voice, she was sure her son would pick up on it. He could read her like a book, a book that no one else could even open.

But right now, that wasn’t happening.

It was obvious she was angry, even Yelena and Fauna could tell, and they weren’t even paying attention.

Yet Mika wasn’t asking why she was angry, what had caused it, or offering words of concern like he usually did.

He was such a thoughtful boy, so attuned to her needs, but right now he was just ignoring her, minding his own business, smiling to himself as he chatted on his phone.

She got even more worked up when she sneakily glanced at his screen.

Normally, she wouldn’t do such a thing.

She was a person who cared deeply about Mika’s privacy, who respected his boundaries, who trusted him implicitly.

But in this moment, she didn’t care about any of that. She couldn’t help herself.

And to her utter disbelief, he was actually chatting with another girl.

A girl named Maria.

The messages from the girl were short, sharp—almost rude. But there was an undercurrent of flirtation beneath the harsh words, a playful back-and-forth that spoke of familiarity.

And Mika was flirting back...all the while being carried by her.

She saw red because of how furious she was.

Because of that rage, the areas she flew over felt a sudden pressure, a weight that descended and lifted just as quickly like death itself had brushed against them for a single heartbeat before vanishing.

People looked up, confused, wondering if they had imagined it.

They hadn’t.

This continued all the way until she reached her house.

And instead of gently dropping him on the ground like she always did, she released him from two meters up to show her frustration.

He landed with a soft thud, stumbling slightly, but didn’t complain. He just kept looking at his phone.

"Thank you for the ride, Nadia." He said casually, already walking toward the front door.

Like she was a taxi. Like she was nothing.

Nadia stood there, frozen, her hands clenched at her sides.

Any normal person would scream. Would shout. Would demand an explanation.

But she wasn’t normal. She didn’t show her anger that way. She couldn’t.

So instead, she did the only thing her body would let her do.

She puffed out both her cheeks like a balloon.

If Mika had turned around at that moment, he would have seen the most adorable sight of his life—Nadia, the cold, composed Battle Angel, pouting like a child who had been denied dessert.

It would have made anyone want to grab her cheeks and pull them.

But he didn’t turn around.

He just went inside and the door closed behind him.

Nadia stood there in the yard, her cheeks still puffed, her eyes wide with disbelief.

He had no interest in talking to her. He wasn’t even looking in her direction.

He was completely ignoring her.

A surge of determination rose in her chest. She wasn’t going to let him escape. She’d planned on having a rational conversation with him, but now she was worked up enough to scold him.

She stormed into the house, her heels clicking against the floor, and headed straight for the living room.

But Mika wasn’t there.

Instead, there was a stack of his used clothes on the sofa. And the sound of the shower running from the nearby bathroom.

She stopped. Then she went over and knocked on the door.

"Mika."

"Nadia?" His voice came through the door, muffled but cheerful. "I’m taking a shower."

"After the whole day, I’m sweaty and need to wash this grime off. Just give me a couple of minutes. I really want to enjoy this."

Hearing this, she deflated like a balloon with a hole.

The anger, the frustration, the desperate need for answers—it all drained out of her, leaving behind a hollow ache.

She slumped against the bathroom door, her forehead resting against the wood.

She had come to confront him. She had prepared herself for a conversation, a confrontation even.

And he was still escaping her, one way or another.

Her mood was miserable.

She struggled to hold all these emotions in—the anger, the confusion, the desperate, aching need for him to just look at her. Because of this, her angry eyes didn’t even look angry anymore.

Instead, they shimmered with unshed tears.

But she rubbed her eyes before they could fall.

That would be too embarrassing.

She walked back to the sofa and sat down, feeling completely defeated. .

At the beginning of all this, she had wanted her son to ignore her. To treat her just like he always had—as a mother, as a parent, as someone to respect.

But now, she wanted him to notice her. To give her attention. To not completely ignore her.

And then there was the taboo—the forbidden feelings she was developing toward her son, the ones she had been fighting so hard to suppress.

And underneath it all, a darker feeling: the fear that she was losing him. That he was slipping through her fingers, and she didn’t know how to hold on.

All those emotions came together at once.

For a moment, Nadia genuinely felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her chest tightened. Her vision blurred. The room seemed to spin around her.

She was having her second panic attack!

She, Nadia, the woman who had faced the Eternal Queen without flinching was having a panic attack because her son was ignoring her.

But just as she was genuinely struggling—she smelled it.

Something familiar. Warm. Comforting.

Mika’s clothes. The ones he had taken off. They were right there, on the sofa beside her.

She grabbed them without thinking. Pressed them to her face. Inhaled deeply.

In. And out. In. And out.

It was like an inhaler, like a burst of fresh oxygen to lungs that had been drowning. Her body sank into the sofa, limp and relaxed.

Mika’s scent had always had a calming effect on her. For years, he had given her a sense of comfort and warmth that she could never replace.

Her daughter’s scent made her happy, excited—reminded her of the joy of motherhood.

But Mika’s scent gave her something else. Security. Satisfaction. Safety.

The manly, musky odor, mixed with that fresh, sun-dried fragrance like clothes hung on a line on a summer day.

It was intoxicating. Her eyes grew heavy and a wave of sleepiness washed over her.

In that moment she also realised something funny.

Mika was the problem. His actions, him ignoring her—it was the reason that shs was struggling right now.

But he was also the solution.

Indirectly, unknowingly, he was bringing her out of the panic attack by simply existing.

It made no sense.

But what it did make her understand was that Mika was essential to her life.

So many things revolved around him. Without him, she didn’t know how she would survive in this world.

A wry smile crossed her lips.

’I truly am his, in every way. It was foolish of me to even be angry at him. ’

She knew that even if she started to scold him, the moment he smiled at her, all her anger would melt away, her efforts feeling completely meaningless.

But just as she was thinking about how her entire world revolved around him, Nadia realized the scent she was inhaling was much stronger. Muskier. Earthier.

Different from when she had smelled him while he was sweaty—this was more intense, more primal.

It made her body feel warmer. Tinglier. Like she was inhaling a drug she couldn’t get enough of.

Curious, she pulled the clothes back from her face and looked to see what it was.

And the moment she did—eyes shrinked to points and her cheeks flushed.

Thus was because on top of the pile of clothes—his shirt, his pants, his socks was his underwear!

His worn underwear!

She had been pressing the crotch area directly against her nose and inhaling his most intimate scent—his musk, his essence, everything that made him a man.

Her first instinct was to throw it away. To get rid of the evidence, the humiliation, the shame. She was smelling her son’s penis. Indirectly, yes, but still...

But she couldn’t.

The scent was too addictive.

She was going through so many emotions she couldn’t handle. She needed support. She needed comfort. She needed him.

Even if it was just his underwear.

She stuffed it back onto her face and took another deep breath.

This time, it was even more effective.

Knowing that this was the scent of his most intimate place, sent a jolt of excitement through her entire body.

Her legs clenched together. Her nipples hardened. Her underwear grew damp.

She was getting off on this.

On her son’s underwear.

She groaned in indignation, trying to push away the taboo thoughts, trying to bring everything back on course. But everything was working against her.

And she couldn’t help but get excited because of it.

"It’s all his fault." She fumed internally, her hands still clutching the underwear to her face. "He touched me. Kissed me. Did all those dirty things to me."

"That’s what broke me out of my shell—made me stop seeing him just as my son and start seeing him as a man."

Once that barrier shattered, she noticed everything else.

The love he showed her.

The tenderness in his gaze.

How he protected her fiercely—the rage he unleashed when those politicians tried to pull her down.

How he was willing to become the family’s shield, turning into a monster himself if needed.

And the kindness he showed when saving those children.

It all hit her like an arrow through the heart.

If he were doing this to any other woman, she was sure they’d fall for him instantly.

A handsome, charming, powerful man like that would be an instant seduction.

But she was his mother.

Still, she felt it too.

And she blamed him. For being too charming. For breaking her out the illusion. For making her see him as a man instead of just her son.

Without that, none of this would have happened. She’d still have a normal mother-son relationship with him.

She wouldn’t be sniffing his underwear like some kind of pervert!

She kicked her feet against the floor in a childish gesture of frustration.

But despite everything, she couldn’t pull her face away from his underwear. She kept inhaling, deeply, greedily, like she couldn’t live without it.

All while keeping one eye on the bathroom door, ready to toss it away the moment it opened.

There was no way she could let him see her like this.