My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas
Chapter 102: The Mask Cracked ( Tom’s POV )

Chapter 102: The Mask Cracked ( Tom’s POV )

"What do you mean? Tom? Tom, what does she mean?"

His voice shambled under the pressure of the news. Sobs crack his breathing, making the echo of his words unsteady and hurt.

The nurse couldn’t pick a worse moment.

His shoulders tense. His lips press together. His chest rises too quickly, then he moves.

Not walking—running.

Straight out the door like I’m not even here.

Well, isn’t this annoying?

Just moments ago he was melting under my mouth and now he is running as if his own life were at risk for a man who betrayed him not once, but twice.

He sold him out.

He went to his father and was adopted.

But then again— he was just running to save his brother.

I stare at the empty space where he was.

My hands still feel the shape of him. My jaw locks so hard it hurts. I follow because I can’t do anything else. My legs move on their own.

Luther’s already at the end of the hallway.

He’s fast.

His stride is long, and his shoes slam against the floor.

People yell at him to slow down.

He doesn’t.

A nurse tries to block him, but he swings past her without looking.

His breath is loud now. His fists clench and unclench as he runs.

The hallway smells like antiseptic and sweat. Phones ring from somewhere behind me.

Carts roll by.

Voices bounce off the walls.

I keep my eyes on his back, the way his shirt stretches when his arms pump forward.

Every line of him is sharp with tension.

I was kissing that body two minutes ago, and now he’s tearing through this place for someone else.

I just can’t wrap my head around it.

I thought I could endure it all. After all, I was aware of how messy his life was and the sacrifices I needed to do just to be present in his life.

And yet, that kiss, that title of "fiancée" he offered me at the front desk mere seconds ago, his weak whimpers of happiness that I am alive—

All of it made me greedy.

He turns a corner hard enough to skid. His hand slaps the wall for balance. He pushes off and keeps going.

I run too, almost hitting a stretcher as I follow.

This is all I’ve done since I’ve met Luther. Run and grasp the air behind him, hoping and praying for the day I’ll actually catch him.

My chest burns, but I don’t stop. I need to see.

He reaches the main corridor. There’s more traffic here—nurses, orderlies, visitors.

He doesn’t slow.

A doctor steps in front of him with a hand up. Luther shoves past, hard enough to knock him sideways.

Someone shouts his name.

He ignores them.

His breathing is rough now, coming in bursts. His head is low. His shoulders roll like he’s pulling himself forward by force. His hands open and close like he’s ready to fight someone.

His eyes are wet when he glances back for half a second.

Then he looks forward again and keeps running.

I want to grab him. Drag him back. Slam him against the wall and make him look at me. Make him remember what we were doing.

But I don’t. I just keep moving, fast as I can.

A jealousy fit will be the last thing that would help me progress. I’ve got to contain myself.

He hits the last door so hard that it bangs against the wall.

He’s inside before it stops swinging. I stop just short, chest heaving, throat dry.

The smell in here is stronger—disinfectant, sweat, something metallic.

I look through the gap.

Luther is at the bed.

His hands grip the rail tightly. His shoulders shake. His head is low. His back rises and falls in sharp jerks.

A nurse tries to touch him. He snaps away without looking at her.

His jaw is tight. His eyes are red. His lips move like he’s saying something, but I can’t hear it from here.

Claus is on the bed.

Tubes.

Wires.

Machines clicking.

I don’t look at him long.

I look at Luther.

Only Luther.

He’s breaking apart in front of me, and it’s for him.

But that’s ok. In the end, he’ll be mine.

My stomach turns. My fists ache from clenching.

My actions would bring Luther back into my arms in no time. So all I need to do is act. Like I did since the day I was removed from Luther’s life.

Like I did since I was born, before I met him.

I take a deep breath and stop a nurse to ask for the paperwork and an explanation.

Whether Luther saw it or not, the show must go on. Every detail, every hesitation could make or break our ending.

"Why did he flatline again? He was fine half an hour ago."

"I am sorry, Mister Hexlay, it seems like the pheromone imbalance smothers the part of his brain responsible for instinctive responses as breathing, swallowing, blinking. We are doing the best we can, but I don’t think he’s gonna— survive?"

The nurse’s shoulders dropped instantly, leaving nothing but terror and confusion on her face. Her jaw let loose a muffled "what?", before pushing me out of her way to reach Claus’s room.

As I turned to see what was going on, I couldn’t help but mimic her reaction.

Claus was ripping out his tubes, smiling, talking as Luther was just looking at him just as shocked as me and the nurse.

What the h-ll was happening?

"Are you sure you can do this, Claus? The nurses said you flatlined. You were dead!"

"Luther, I can think, I can speak, I can breathe again."

Claus’s face was nothing but pure ecstasy. His smile extended itself from ear to ear as his eyes filled with tears.

It looked like, if he smiled just an inch more, his face would rupture.

What an eerie sight!

"Claus?"

My voice is covered by the monitors keep beeping, alarms going off, nurses flooding in.

The room fills with bodies in scrubs, hands reaching, voices overlapping, commands being thrown like knives.

I stay in the doorway, stiff, trying to understand.

My chest is tight. My throat is dry. I glance at Luther.

He’s grinning now—broad, open, the kind of grin I’ve never seen on him before. His shoulders shake for a different reason now.

Relief.

He grabs my wrist suddenly and pulls me inside like he wants me closer to this.

Closer to Claus.

Oh, Luther, you never read a room if it’s not for politics.

I stumble after him, caught off guard.

He’s talking to the staff, gesturing fast, pointing at Claus like he wants everyone to see what’s happening.

His voice is louder than all the others.

Firm, certain.

His hand never lets go of me until we’re at the foot of the bed.

Then he drops it, already moving toward Claus, touching his shoulder, steadying him as he sits up straighter.

Luther’s breathing is still heavy from the run, but there’s no panic left. Just pure energy pushing out of him in every move.

I stand there, locked in place.

My eyes flick from Luther’s hands to Claus’s face.

Claus isn’t smiling anymore.

That grin he gave Luther is gone.

He looks past him, straight at me. His chest rises and falls, slow and steady, like he’s trying to get used to breathing again. His fingers twitch on the edge of the mattress. His eyes stay on mine.

Cold. Flat.

Studying me like I’m not supposed to be here.

Why?

I did nothing, but help him.

The nurses work fast.

They reattach wires, check vitals, adjust machines, talk into their headsets.

One of them tries to push Luther back, but he waves her off, staying close to Claus.

Too close.

His body leans over the bed like he belongs there. His smile doesn’t fade. He’s proud. He wants me to see this. He wants me to see

Claus alive, moving, breathing, speaking again.

I smile too. What else can I do?

These guys buzzing around my Luther are as easy to get rid of as the Black Plague.

My chest burns with something sharp, and my hands curl tight at my sides. .

Claus finally looks away from me, down at his own hands like he’s testing his fingers, flexing them slow.

His breathing is calm, controlled.

Too controlled.

The nurses keep asking him things, scribbling on charts, adjusting the machines again when they start screaming.

They look nervous.

Everyone looks nervous—except Luther. He looks like this is a miracle, like nothing else matters.

He’s holding Claus’s arm now, rubbing it like he’s trying to ground him.

His mouth moves fast. I can’t hear the words over the chaos, but I don’t need to.

He’s reassuring him. Telling him it’s okay.

That he’s safe.

Claus is shaking his head disapprovingly. Then he points at me.

At me.

"Not with him in the room, I am not!"

Hah. This little f-cker!