My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas Chapter 13: Daddy’s gonna be the president (Luther’s POV)

After getting that second sample, he left the room with a satisfied smirk.

He played .

That b-st-rd played .

I hope I had gastro-acidic, stinky breath at least. And what about my food?

I’d stopped hoping soone would co for days ago.

Did he fool ?

Yes.

Did he also crush the last flicker of hope I had left?

Also yes.

But who cares?

Where is my food?

He even took the crouton.

That mushy, pathetic crouton.

I have nothing.

Claus entered the room after a while.

Empty-handed, I might add.

"Had fun playing the policeman?"

No response.

Just that look—like a mischievous puppy that got yelled at by its owner.

The dog was probably under Emiliano’s orders not to speak.

He opened the door and gestured for to go up.

Back into the kitchen.

Sa one I’d first seen when I arrived.

The air still slled like laundry detergent. And pancakes. And coffee.

Oh God.

I didn’t care who was in the room.

My eyes locked on the plate in front of . I could barely see anything else.

I think there were strangers.

I think Emiliano was talking.

Maybe showing sothing?

Too busy stuffing my face. I can’t focus. My stomach growls in my ears. I’m about to choke, but I can’t stop.

I use my hands.

I spill orange juice down my chest.

I think I’m crying. I’m not sure.

"Well, this is not what I expected," Emiliano chuckles.

That smug, irritating voice pulls halfway back into the room.

Claus sits behind him, head down. Three buffed n in bodyguard uniforms stand near the counter. And there’s a cara.

He’s filming .

"Are you going to blackmail with that?" I ask between bites. "’Cause people will say I’m relatable and make s. And, however embarrassing that might be, it’s still publicity. Might even improve my image in Parliant, even if I lose respect."

Emiliano chuckles again.

"I just need to film an interview for our sponsor."

Sponsor?

Soone is paying for this?

Who would—

Lucrezia.

That old, wrinkly witch.

She barged into my office a few weeks ago, thinking she had the upper hand.

She’d discovered what my flower really is. Threatened to go to the police.

If she had, it wouldn’t have been just behind bars.

My entire family.

I’m an unlawful flower, after all. I should’ve been sent into confinent, sealed away from the world.

Can you imagine my father’s career if word got out?

Over.

She wanted a marriage contract with her nephew.

And forty percent of our family’s funds and voting shares.

Expensive hag.

So I pulled a plan. Made a grand reveal right in front of her—prosthetics, hallucinogens, the whole show.

All courtesy of the "charming" nephew who thought betraying his aunt would win over.

Cute b-st-rd. Still an idiot.

And now?

After buying into whatever lie I sold her, she pays this psycho to kidnap ?

Jesus, lady. Don’t you have other hobbies besides ?

Love Island might have a new episode for you, you drama-starved grandma.

I catch my breath.

I feel like throwing up.

You know when you’re young and you stuff all your clothes into the closet, and then the door bursts open and everything spills out?

That’s what my stomach feels like.

I can’t concentrate, and this smug b-st-rd keeps talking.

Jesus, does he ever stop?

Can’t he see I’m out of it?

I can’t understand a thing.

Is he explaining sothing? I think I heard him say my na. Sothing about my flower?

Who knows?

I just stare at him.

If I stare at his lips long enough, maybe it’ll remind of our kiss.

)

Motivates to throw up, you know?

"Are you listening, Luther?"

"Nope."

He smiles, but I catch that eyebrow flinch.

Oh, he’s mad.

Probably doesn’t like to repeat himself. Hah. I made him into a parrot.

I don’t listen.

I look around.

I could totally take out one or two of these monkey bodyguards.

I think.

Not now, of course—but give one or two more als.

Ugly mugs, the lot of them. I wonder if Emiliano is hiring ugly dudes as a form of community service.

Hah.

This guy?

Doing charity?

Can you imagine?

He looks neat again.

Back in the white lab coat. What a sha. Those Levi jeans really brought out the definition in his bottom.

He’s looking at . He doesn’t smile.

Am I in trouble?

Back in the white room I go, I guess.

Should I just die? Like... of starvation?

My dad would love that.

He’d totally milk the grieving father card for sympathy. Might even run for president.

People would so vote for him.

My death could bring my father his biggest achievent, huh?

Then I’d rather eat the floor marble than die and do him that favor.

Wait. Sothing’s happening.

Since when did Claus have a knife?

What’s with his face?

Wait, wait. He’s aiming at Emiliano?!

Did he just stab him?

The monkeys are jumping him.

They keep hitting.

Emiliano’s bleeding from the side?

One of them just threw over his shoulder and dumped back in the white room.

Oh God. I can still sll the blood.

What just happened? Why? What did Emiliano say to before? Is he dead?

I don’t think so. But there was so much blood.

And Claus? They were beating him to death.

He’s going to die.

What if they both die?

Who’s going to get out of this room?

Oh my God.

I’m gonna make my dad the fucking president.