My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas Chapter 160: Tomorrow ( Emiliano’s POV )

"Hahahahahaha."

No way.

There is absolutely no way.

Lucrezia cancels all Luther’s ’cris’, damaging her reputation while using all her power in the political scene.

The amount of strings she pulled to not only absolve my puppy of his father’s killing charges, his bounty that she put on his head and any doubts about the legality of his flower.

And I am left to wonder if my puppy is helping or betraying .

As I sat myself down in the office of one of my gardens, I couldn’t help but rewind the events of that day over and over again. It replayed in my mind like a broken record—

Tornting ,

Distracting , and

Killing slowly with its song.

The day I lost the leash.

No— the day I made my puppy abandon .

Another ghost of Luther held on the sofa as I was drinking myself half dead.

Why?

I ask myself pointlessly.

This should call for celebration:

Lior destroyed the public opinion about Lucrezia and made the civilians more aware of her political power,

She was destroying her own connections and bridges by asking the right people for Luther’s forgiveness,

She was about to let one of my guys be trapped in an apartnt with a very pregnant Damian, risking his pregnancy.

Not to ntion that in exactly two days a very special type of rain will fall on our country. But the sky won’t show any clouds.

Just thousands upon thousands of drones that would slowly dump my perfect bloody rain upon the citizens. And then autodestruct so no evidence is left behind.

All that a day before Lucrezia releases her new ds and my puppy cos back.

Just for the dramatic effect.

Plus, how could I not put on a show just to impress my wife and get him back?

Luther’s ghost swiftly moved his hand from my back to my neck, pressing on my Adam’s apple, suffocating .

It was probably just my anxiety choking and the sleepless night I spent finally getting to in reality, but—

Oh God, wasn’t I so thankful for these hallucinations?

"Would it be too much to hope you are coming back for ?"

His ghost never talked back no matter how much I begged or asked, but just seeing him, feeling his hands on was enough.

His face was always ironic— an eyebrow slightly arched, a smirk full of superiority and a piercing gaze.

I guess my mind couldn’t imagine how Luther would look if he were truly happy. Was my marriage so bad that I couldn’t picture my wife with a smile on his face while looking at ?

F-ck.

What am I supposed to do if Luther really partners up with Lucrezia? My mother and my wife teaming up against —

How ironic.

I can’t stop my plan and I can’t just give up on my revenge on Lucrezia. It would seem my life—

All my sacrifices and all that I have done so far to nothing.

aningless.

I can’t do that. No matter how much I love Luther, I can’t sacrifice my younger self. I can’t live with myself if I beco one of the people who betrayed him too.

Should I just go and grab Luther? Strip him of his freedom again?

Go back to our old days?

Keeping him locked up in a white room with nothing. Just my visits. Just .

Sure, the first year would be difficult on both of us, but towards the end of the second one his mind would be destroyed enough to only fixate on .

It would be nice if he could love just because he loves , but I am willing to accept any form of affection from him—

Even if it’s conditioned by my cruelty.

My skin prickles as a pair of lips—his lips—graze my neck, soft but unwavering. Not a full kiss, but enough to make my pulse jerk inside my chest. I don’t turn. I am just accepting the tornt.

His lips press again, this ti lingering longer, grazing along my skin, leaving a trail of cold that makes my eyes flutter shut for a second.

His hands are cold too, slipping over my shoulders, icy fingertips tracing the line of my collarbone. I grip the armrests tight, trying to hold onto so fragnt of control, but his touch is relentless. The way he moves—deliberate, slow—makes my skin prickle with anticipation and dread at the sa ti. His lips find my neck again, pressing softly, then retreating as if savoring the mont.

Then I feel it—his weight, the intangible weight of him—climbing onto my lap. It’s impossible to tell where the ghost ends and I begin. His hips settle, rocking gently, rhythmically, against . It’s maddening.

I can only feel him: the press of his body, the coolness of his skin, the faintest hint of a smile in his ghostly gaze.

His lips trail along my neck—an unhurried path of kisses that make my breath catch. He’s playing with , teasing , pushing to the edge.

His lips graze upward, near my jawline, then back down, never quite settling. His breath, cold and ghostly, fans across my skin, making shiver involuntarily.

His hips move again, rocking in a slow, deliberate rhythm, pressing against with a ghostly intensity. His lips keep kissing, keep grazing, never fully committing, always teasing.

The sensation is overwhelming—part comfort, part tornt. It’s like he’s trying to drown in her presence, to make forget the world outside this dark, empty office.

"F-ck, puppy. I miss you so much!..."

I felt the ghost settle himself gently, his head resting softly against my thigh.

The coolness of his presence contrasted sharply with the heat rushing through . I stayed still, muscles tense, trying to read his expression—trying to understand what he wanted or what he was waiting for.

His finger traced a slow circle on my stomach, just above the waistband of my pants.

The touch was light, almost tentative, yet deliberate.

It sent a wave through my skin, making hyper-aware of every sensation.

I could feel the faint pressure of his fingertips, the ghostly imprint lingering even as he flinched slightly.

His eyes remained locked onto mine, unblinking, as if he was trying to communicate sothing without words. I couldn’t look away, even if I wanted to. There was an unspoken challenge in his gaze, a silent question that I hesitated to answer.

My breath hitched slightly, and I clenched my fists against the tension building in my chest.

He shifted slightly, adjusting himself, but kept his head pressed against my thigh. His fingers continued their slow, circling motion, tracing patterns I couldn’t quite follow. The silence between us stretched long and heavy.

I could hear my heavy breathing filling up the room.

"You hate so much you left for dead and here I am- imagining you between my legs. F-ck, Luther, what have you done to ?"

Too late. He had disappeared already leaving behind in despair. Cursing, laughing, aching.

My hand reached for the phone on the desk.

I pressed the button for the encrypted line. It rang twice before the voice on the other end picked up.

"I changed my mind. I want it done tomorrow."

"But sir, there must be—"

"Get it done. If sothing goes wrong, I expect you to extend your neck for to guillotine."

"Yes, sir..."

"Get Luther back as well."

"What should we do about the pink guy?"

"Get him too. So leverage could help control my puppy’s barking."

I ended the call without waiting for confirmation. The phone clicked softly as I set it back in place.

The weight on my legs hadn’t shifted. His head still pressed against . I looked down. His hands had moved, now sliding up along the inside of my thighs. He moved slowly, deliberately, dragging his fingers in steady lines across the fabric.

I adjusted my position in the chair.

And just like that— his ghost was back.

His head tilted slightly, following the motion, eyes still fixed upward. I pressed both hands to the arms of the chair and exhaled once through my nose.

My phone buzzed once. A confirmation text appeared, brief and coded. The plan would proceed. No hesitations.

He leaned forward again. His lips brushed just under my jaw, then dragged slowly across the skin. One of his hands moved to my chest, fingers gripping lightly through the fabric. The other traced a line down my side, then gripped the arm of the chair.

He shifted in my lap. I didn’t stop him.

His eyes stayed locked on mine as his hips moved again — slow, smooth, controlled.

I didn’t look away.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll have the real you, not just a desperate stunt of my brain.

Tomorrow, you’ll finally talk to again. You’ll curse at once again and I just can’t wait.

Tomorrow I’ll pull you by the leash right back into my arms.