My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas Chapter 11: Daddy Issues funding the Ibruprofen campaign (Cl

I just had to watch the only man I’ve ever loved kiss the psychopath who promised he would fix him.

I doubt his lips are Ibuprofen.

I know this is supposed to be my punishnt. Doesn’t an I don’t want to rip his throat out with my teeth.

And yet I can’t do anything.

He has the secret to turning Luther into an alpha.

To freeing him from being poisonous, to fixing things with his father.

He also emits pheromones that would kill five seconds after I breathe them in.

I’ve seen it work.

It’s not pretty.

It started with a twitch. Just one. His left eye jerked like it had heard a bad joke and was trying to roll itself away from the rest of his face.

Then ca the coughing—wet, hollow, and fast. He dropped to his knees with all the grace of a sack of at sliding off a hook.

Then the real show began.

His skin flushed red, veins surfacing like angry roots clawing out from beneath his flesh.

His throat bulged. Scratched at it with such frantic purpose, you’d think he was trying to unzip his own neck and crawl out of his skin. Blood welled up under his nails and sprayed across his shirt in bursts—like a cri scene painting itself in real ti.

By the ti his eyes rolled back, his tongue had swollen twice its size and hung out of his mouth like a useless, fat leech.

Foam bubbled from his lips—thick, white, and strangely cinematic.

And still, Emiliano just stood there.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Just inhaled calmly, like the air wasn’t laced with murder and irony.

The guy finally collapsed face-first into the floor, twitching like a faulty puppet.

One final gurgle, a wet squelch from his lungs, and it was lights out.

.

Done in under five seconds.

Honestly? Quicker than most printer errors. Less patience required.

And Emiliano?

He just turned and said-

"I told him not to raise his voice."

Like he’d warned the guy about double-parking, not about breathing near a biochemical landmine in human skin.

I’ve never understood what goes on in that man’s head.

We’ve known each other for over a decade, and every ti I think I’ve got him figured out, he makes my spine twist in fear.

He was smiling—gently.

Tenderly, even.

But his eyes were full of hate.

Burning.

Then again, I’m probably next in line to be looked at like that.

I screwed up.

This whole plan keeps looking worse by the second.

I had hoped it would turn out differently.

That Luther would co willingly.

That I could tell him I could fix it—fix him.

He looked at like I’d spat on his mother’s grave.

I said I loved him.

Said I wanted to help.

That I wanted him to be an alpha.

He scoffed. Got angry.

I can’t really bla him.

It was the first ti he’d seen since that pubescent kiss.

No contact until then.

I picked the wrong mont. Said the wrong words.

So I revised the plan.

Kidnap Luther.

Make him an alpha anyway.

I thought once he saw what I did for him, he’d understand.

Maybe even love back.

Maybe even thank .

But I forgot I was never in charge.

I blew it when I brought Emiliano into the equation.

I brought my phone, gave myself away when Killian called, and boom—manhunt.

Big mistake.

I asked Emiliano for help. Like asking a wolf for a bandage.

So I ended up not only in debt, but beaten and dragged into a God-knows-how-still-standing warehouse. Our city hall really needs to do sothing about all these abandoned buildings, by the way.

All to sell a story.

I don’t think Killian bought the whole "Luther was supposed to et , but I got whacked to an inch of my life and dragged here" routine, but it got him off my case.

For a while.

After I dragged myself out of that dirt hole and walked miles on my feet, I finally make it to the basent—just in ti to see Emiliano nearly kiss Luther.

So I scread.

Threw a fight.

Another major screw-up.

But what kind of scientific plan requires kissing another man’s lover?

So yeah, I doubted him.

I may have said he’s a repressed freak who can’t get laid on his own and has no idea what he’s doing.

He got mad.

Real mad.

The kind of mad that makes him stop smiling.

And you know you’re royally screwed when Emiliano stops smiling.

So he punished .

Gave a choice: break off my relationship with Luther—at least for now—or get the eunuch treatnt.

Relationships can be fixed.

Missing body parts can’t.

"I’ll make sure he’ll be your play doll by the end," he said. "If you stop being a pain, of course. You’re lucky I’m a sentintal man, Claus. At the sa ti, I hate clutter. So don’t convince you’re trash I need to get rid of."

You’d think a guy that smart could disguise a threat better.

Whatever.

That brings to today.

I’m in the observation room, behind two inches of glass, watching Luther sell himself out for a plate of breakfast.

And I’m not alone.

His father’s sitting beside .

Who do you think was funding all this?