My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas Chapter 126: Kiss Me, B-stard! ( Emiliano’s POV )

"Puppy. C’mon, we need to hurry."

Luther shifted in pain. He shouldn’t be moved so soon after his surgery, but I have no choice.

Everything must go clockwise with no spot of mistake. There is no choice, but perfection.

It’s already late as it is.

My little crush fantasy did nothing but waste precious research ti. I’d rather spend the rest of the days winning Luther’s forgiveness after my aning will be fulfilled.

"C’mon, puppy, wake up!"

Luther grunted in pain. How can he not? One of his stitches popped right off.

This won’t do.

I need to carry him.

Which ans I have to leave the tomato head behind.

I can’t carry them both, not in ti. And I can’t kill Killian without starting a national riot given how after the father stunt he pulled he is basically the country sweetheart.

Such a sha. I would have enjoyed it.

I grabbed my wife.

He was heavy in my arms, limp and still. I moved fast, careful not to let his body shift too much.

The stitches on his stomach were fresh.

One already tore.I kept him steady, cradling his back and legs as I carried him down the hallway.

The car was parked a few feet away. I opened the back door and lowered him inside, slow and steady. His head rolled slightly, but he didn’t wake up.

I laid him flat and pulled a blanket over him. I strapped him in—not tight, just enough to keep him still during the drive.

I checked the stitches one last ti. Except for the broken one—

No blood. No movent. He was breathing, but barely.

I shut the door and ran around to the driver’s seat.

The key turned. The engine started without a problem. I looked at the mirrors. No one behind us. I pulled out fast.

The road was empty. I didn’t stop. I didn’t slow down.

We had to get back before anything went wrong. The research center was far from here. Hidden. Off every map. Even if soone tried, they wouldn’t find it.

The car ate up the miles. Every turn was sharp, every bump in the road a risk. I kept checking the mirror to make sure he hadn’t moved. He stayed still.

I could finally breathe again when we arrived.

This is not the setting I wanted, but it is the least dangerous and most convenient.

I opened the car door and lifted Luther again.

He was still unconscious, still pale. The blanket slipped from his shoulder. I adjusted it quickly and held him close.

He didn’t stir.

His chest barely moved with each breath.

I moved quickly through the hallway.

The walls were cold concrete, streaked with rust and age.

From behind them ca the sound of muffled screams—high-pitched, broken, desperate.

Ogas, locked in their cells, still subjects of failed tests.

So begging.

So just howling in pain.

I couldn’t help but grunt . This wasn’t the welcoming Luther deserved.

He’d never heard a place like this one alive before. I can’t even imagine his reaction.

He thought my art display was much. Let alone this one...

He would hate this. I could already hear his voice in my head, weak and angry. He’d call a monster again. And as always, he’d be right.

I clenched my jaw and kept walking, my arms aching from Luther’s weight.

My pace didn’t slow.

I turned a corner, entered a small room at the far end. An old office—bare walls, a desk covered in files, but clean and sowhat more quiet.

There was a couch pushed against the far wall. It was narrow for two people per se, but enough for both of us.

I lowered him onto it as gently as I could, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He didn’t react. I sat beside him, then slid down, pulling him into my arms, holding him tight.

And then it hit .

Tears.

Not just a few. Real, quiet sobs that shook my chest and made it hard to breathe. I buried my face against his neck and let them co.

I hadn’t cried when my mother left in that institution as a kid. Not when the door slamd and didn’t open again. When the needle stuck in otherdozen kids before pierced my skin.

I hadn’t cried when I had to live off rats and moldy bread to survive another day.

I didn’t cry when I first cut into an oga, or the tenth, or the hundredth. When I heard their screams and ignored them. When I told myself it was for sothing bigger.

But now? With him lying still in my arms, stitched together and unaware of where he was? I couldn’t stop.

It was like sothing in cracked. He was the only thing that felt real anymore. The only thing I didn’t want to break. And I was going to break him anyway.

Because this was only the beginning.

I knew what had to be done. I’d already run the projections. The formulas weren’t stable. Every blend of his blood and pheromones failed under pressure. I needed more tests. More surgeries. More nights like this—where I brought him to the edge of death, just to drag him back again and try sothing new.

It would be endless.

Every ti he healed, I’d have to cut him again. Every ti he got strong enough to speak, to look at with fear or hatred—I’d have to sedate him, open him up, start again.

I held him tighter. My sobs quieted into a low breath.

This was the price. For a perfect society. For the future. For whatever I believed in back when I started all of this.

And maybe, if I did everything right—maybe he’d forgive .

I want to think I can rob him of that affection. Otherwise, I don’t know what to do with my feelings...

"You’re ruining my Prada shirt, dude."

His voice shuddered — soft and weak, yet still so characteristically snarkly.

"I’ll buy you another one."

"Liar."

I smiled. He wasn’t looking at . He wasn’t acknowledging outside these shallow words, but I was satisfied with this.

For now.

"Where is Tom?"

I hugged him tighter.

Look at ! Be angry at ! Yell at !

Don’t think about him!

"Probably a hospital by now."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Good."

"Why good?"

"You can’t hurt him. Or use him to make behave."

"I don’t need him for that."

My wife’s head turned, slow and shaky, until his eyes t mine. Purple—bright even in the dim light—burned into , sharp with anger. There was no confusion in them. He knew exactly where he was.

His dry lips twitched, then curled into a faint, broken smile. It wasn’t kind. It wasn’t soft.

I gulped, unable to look away. Part awe. Part guilt. And still... a sharp flicker of jealousy.

Broken, ssy, barely alive and yet—

This little thing had wrapped around his finger.

"You’re gonna need him. I will make sure to make your life a living hell. Want your little apocalypse? Great, have it and lose ."

"Is that a threat?"

"Oh, at least don’t play innocent. I see it in your eyes. And in your behavior. You care about . Not enough to stop your plans, but enough to feel bad."

"Really?"

"Really. Want a wife? Have a wife, motherf-cker! But I’m gonna make you wish for a divorce!"

"Looking forward to it, puppy!"

"Tell ."

"What do you want to know?"

"What is wrong with ? Given how I am all cut and sewn like you were playing Cinderella, I am taking that you figured it out."

I reached out and brushed my fingers gently along his cheek, careful not to press too hard. His skin was warm, but barely.

I let out a quiet chuckle, low and tired.

Even now—weak, stitched up, barely conscious—he still found a way to glare at like he is unbreakable.

"I can’t tell you."

"Secrets in our marriage already?"

I stared at him, completely thrown off— marriage?

Hah.

I keep forgetting what a funny guy my wife truly is.

"Fair. How about this? A kiss for a question. Sounds reasonable to you?"

"No avoiding the question."

"No avoidance."

"A kiss. No tongue. You kiss . My body aches and I am in a bad mood."

"Sobody is demanding today."

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his annoyance.

Why was he acting like all this is an inconvenience? Why isn’t he trashing and yelling at ?

What was my puppy’s true ga?

"Next ti I cut you open and play crochet with your guts, I’ll let you make the request! Now kiss , you b-stard!"

I let out a quiet chuckle, leaning in without thinking. Just a quick, soft peck on his lips—light, fleeting. I pulled back still smiling, heart pounding, eyes never leaving his.

"Ask away, puppy!"

"Do you love ?"

"What?"

"Do you love ?"