My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas
Chapter 100: I am your father ( Killian’s POV )

Chapter 100: I am your father ( Killian’s POV )

The smell of my shampoo. The touch of my bedsheets. Home.

When did I get home?

I was with Luther at the hotel. We were having a good time. I won him over!

He was freshly out of the shower. Did I packed him up got him here?

No.

The phone rang.

I left.

I left Luther. Why? Why would I leave my lover alone?

Who was the one who called me and why can’t I remember it?

I wake up staring at the ceiling, and for a few seconds, I don’t move.

My head feels heavy, like something is pressing on the inside of my skull.

It’s not sharp pain, but it’s there, constant and dull, like a background hum I can’t ignore. I close my eyes again, hoping it’ll fade, but it doesn’t.

I try to remember what happened before I ended up here.

Nothing comes.

It’s like flipping through empty pages.

I sit up slowly.

My body doesn’t hurt, which surprises me.

I expected bruises or something that explained why my brain feels like it’s in low-power mode.

All is normal, but this headache—

Why am I alone here anyway? Damian came after the grenade—

Damian.

The phone call was about Damian being in danger.

"You’re up, babe?"

His voice echoed through the room, leaving behind a piercing pain in my eardrums.

Damian stood in the doorway like nothing was wrong.

Blonde hair messy, sticking out in every direction. His blue eyes were sharp, clear, and too calm for the situation.

No hesitation, no shame.

Just there.

Watching.

The robe on him wasn’t even tied properly. It hung open down the middle, barely clinging to his shoulders.

His chest was pale, slim, and covered in marks.

Bite marks everywhere.

Along his neck, down his collarbones, across his ribs.

Some were deep, bruised purple, others fresh and red.

Whoever did it hadn’t held back.

It was unfamiliar to see Damian with another lover than me, but the sight wasn’t exactly of interest to me.

His body looked smaller like this—thin arms, narrow waist, stomach flat.

The robe shifted when he leaned on the doorframe, exposing more skin than it covered.

There were more marks lower down.

On his hips.

His thighs.

All over.

His lips were swollen.

Red, uneven, like someone had been rough with him for a long time.

There were faint scratches along his jaw and under his ear.

Nothing about him looked untouched.

But then again, even when he is not in such a state, he does not look untouched.

The robe swayed slightly as he adjusted his stance.

No rush to fix it.

No sign of embarrassment.

He didn’t care. If anything, he looked satisfied.

Relaxed in a way that didn’t match the scene or the headache pounding in my skull.

He didn’t speak. Just stood there, quiet and steady, letting me take it all in.

The belt of the robe was loose, knotted without effort.

One small tug and the whole thing would hit the floor.

From this angle, I could already see most of him anyway.

His thighs were bare, skin pale and marked like the rest.

His hair caught the light when he tilted his head slightly, a faint sheen making the strands look almost soft despite the mess. It didn’t matter.

Everything about him was loud enough without neat hair.

He shifted his weight, slow, casual, like he had all the time in the world.

No tension in his shoulders, no signs of fear or discomfort.

Just standing there in that open doorway, body on display, wearing the aftermath of something that wasn’t supposed to happen.

The smell of the room hit me then.

Faint.

Familiar.

Like skin and sweat, clinging to the air.

It made sense. It matched him.

No.

Impossible.

Damian’s eyes stayed locked on mine.

Calm. Almost smug.

Like he knew exactly what I was thinking and didn’t care.

Maybe he even wanted me to see it all—the marks, the swollen lips, the robe hanging loose like an afterthought.

He didn’t move closer.

Didn’t back away either.

Just stayed in that frame, silent, still, every detail on his body saying what his mouth didn’t.

And for the first time since waking up, my headache didn’t matter.

"Rough night?"

All I could do was joke my way out of what appeared to be reality.

Sadly, Damian wouldn’t even tease me an ounce of comfort or hope.

"You should know better. Look how you ruined me!"

Slow. Deliberate. He reached up and brushed his hair back from his face, and more of his neck came into view. More marks, darker here, like teeth had dug in hard.

Then he turned.

Just a small turn of his body, casual like he was adjusting his stance, but it was enough. His back faced me now. The robe slipped lower, sliding off one shoulder completely. That’s when I saw it.

High on his neck, just below the hairline.

Not a bite. Not a bruise. A mark.

Not random. Not casual. A bond mark.

Mine.

My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t breathe for a second.

My pulse jumped in my ears, loud and sharp. I knew that shape.

The curve, the placement. That was mine.

No.

I stumbled back a step without meaning to. My legs felt wrong, like they didn’t belong to me. My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms, but it didn’t ground me.

The air was too thin.

When?

I tried to think. Tried to piece together the timeline, but nothing made sense. I left the hotel. I left Luther. I remember the car. The warehouse. Damian standing there, untouched. Then—black. Nothing after that.

My headache throbbed harder, cutting through every thought.

Damian turned his head just enough to look at me over his shoulder.

His blue eyes were calm, steady, like he’d been waiting for this reaction.

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile.

Not wide. Not obvious.

Just enough to make my stomach drop further.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The mark said everything.

My throat locked up.

I wanted to ask him why, how, what the hell happened—but the words wouldn’t come. My mind was empty and full at the same time, spinning so hard it hurt.

This couldn’t be real.

But it was. It was right there, burned into his skin like proof of something I didn’t choose. Something I didn’t remember doing.

I backed up another step. My heel hit the edge of the bed, and I almost fell.

Damian’s smile grew a fraction, slow and controlled. He turned the rest of the way to face me, pulling the robe closed with one hand like nothing about this was strange.

But everything was wrong.

"No. No. That can’t be!"

My words came out harsh and unfiltered.

Damian’s smug expression dropped in anger.

"Are you not going to take responsibility?"

"I didn’t do that. It’s impossible. I wouldn’t!"

"Killian, remember! You started your rut, you had your way with me! You marked me! You filled me and knotted me!"

"No. That can’t be true!"

"Killian!"

Damian didn’t look away.

His eyes shifted, darker now, steady and locked on me like he had made a decision.

His steps were slow but without pause.

The sound of them against the floor was the only thing I could hear besides my own breathing.

I didn’t move.

My body felt stuck, every muscle locked even as my chest tightened harder with every inch he closed between us.

The robe swayed with his movements, showing flashes of his marked skin, the mark at his nape burned in my sight like I couldn’t unsee it.

Then he was right there.

His chest pressed against mine, warm and solid.

The contact hit harder than I expected. My heart spiked against my ribs, and I could feel his pulse too, steady, calm, like nothing about this bothered him, despite how loud and harsh his yelling was just a moment ago.

His face tilted toward mine.

I caught the faint smell of his skin, the heat rolling off him.

His breath touched my ear when he leaned in, his lips almost brushing my skin.

My fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms hard enough to sting. My throat worked like I wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

He whispered something then.

Low.

Controlled.

I felt it more than I heard it, every syllable sinking in and leaving my stomach cold. My breathing hitched without meaning to, sharp and uneven.

His arms came around me before I could react.

Tight. Firm.

His hold locked me in place without effort.

There was no space left between us.

His hands pressed flat against my back, holding me like he had no intention of letting go.

I tried to breathe slower, but my lungs weren’t working right.

Every inhale felt shorter, tighter, like the air was running out.

My head was heavy again, pounding harder with every second I stayed in his grip.

I wanted to move, to step back, to do anything, but my body didn’t listen.

My arms stayed at my sides, stiff, my nails digging deeper until my palms hurt.

Damian’s hold didn’t loosen.

If anything, it got tighter. His chin brushed my shoulder when he settled against me, his body solid and unmoving.

My chest burned, not from heat, but from the weight of everything pressing in—his arms, the silence, the mark burned into his skin that I couldn’t erase from my mind.

My breathing turned rough, shallow.

Each second dragged, heavy and sharp at the edges.

My heart wouldn’t slow down. It pounded hard enough that I wondered if he felt it through my ribs.

I stared past his shoulder, eyes unfocused, trying to make sense of anything, but there was nothing left to make sense of.

Just his arms, locked around me like steel.

Just his breath against my ear, slow and calm, nothing like mine.

And the truth sitting heavy in my chest, leaving no space to move.

Damian is carrying my child.

I’m soon to be a father.