My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas
Chapter 119: Luther’s Pancakes ( Tom’s POV )

Chapter 119: Luther’s Pancakes ( Tom’s POV )

Pancakes.

Luther’s awful pancakes.

But why is he cooking? Is it my birthday? But why would Luther cook? He hates cooking?

How is he even up before me? He is such a sleepy head.

Does he have classes in the morning?

But—

We are out of college.

Why am I smelling Luther’s pancakes?

Just what happened to me?

I brought Luther to the first place I ever bought.

The walls were still the same color, the furniture just as bad as I remembered.

He laughed when he saw it.

Said it looked awful.

He wasn’t wrong.

It was bare, expensive, thrown together like I had no idea what I was doing.

Then the plan— the lie...

I told him the lie.

That I killed his father.

The words came out flat.

I didn’t explain.

I didn’t give him a reason or a story to hold on to. I just let it sit there between us. He stared at me, waiting for me to take it back, to tell him it wasn’t true.

I didn’t.

It was important for me to not believe me. To trust me even if he has no foundation for that trust.

It was as much for the plan as for myself. I wanted that flicker of hope that he still loves me enough to trust me.

He didn’t believe me at first.

Thankfully.

He kept shaking his head, saying nothing.

Then it broke in him.

He lunged at me, fists flying without aim or strength.

He wasn’t trying to hurt me.

He was trying to make it stop, make the truth disappear. He was crying so hard he could barely see. His punches kept coming, wild and empty, until there was nothing left in him but shaking.

And I let him.

How could I not?

He looked so beautiful crying under me.

Under me?

Wasn’t he on top of me?

Why was he crying under me? Panting?

Who is kissing him?...

Blondie?

Why? Why is Emiliano kissing Luther?

Why am I not stopping it?

Stop.

Stop.

Stop it!

"Stop!"

"Tom?"

"Luther? Luther!"

I see him.

He’s sitting close, on a chair by the bed.

Black hair falls in loose waves to his chin, framing his face.

His purple eyes catch the light and lock on mine immediately.

His shirt is loose, sleeves rolled up, and his shorts reveal lean, tense legs. He looks tired but alert, like he’s been waiting forever.

I want to say something, anything, but my voice won’t work.

My hand twitches, barely lifting off the sheet.

He notices.

His eyes soften, and for a moment, I see everything I’ve missed.

He shifts, leaning forward slightly, fingers tapping together.

The quiet between us feels heavy but familiar.

The ache inside me grows—because he’s here, because he’s real, because I still want him, even after everything.

I try again to move, to reach out.

My arm lifts a little more, a small victory.

His eyes flick to my hand, then back up, and I swear I see hope there.

"Don’t move too much."

His voice came out soft. Shattered. Full of worry and happiness.

My Luther...

"I’ll call Emiliano."

Huh?

I grabbed his hand. Too abruptly, leaving my body twitching in pain.

Just what happened to my body?

"Don’t move, you idiot! Do you have any idea how many layers of skin you lost? You’re lucky you are on morphine. You’re lucky you’re not dead!"

"What happened?..."

"You had overdosed on pheromones. It’s- it’s my fault."

"It’s not—"

"It’s not your fault, puppy! Stop blaming yourself or you’ll get worse."

Emiliano.

His long black hair swings as he moves quickly toward Luther.

His golden eyes lock onto Luther’s like a predator, completely ignoring me lying in the bed.

It’s clear he doesn’t even see me.

A sharp twist of anger and jealousy grips me. Luther hated him. Deeply.

What could have possibly changed so much for them to get so close?

He reaches out, fingers brushing Luther’s arm, and Luther doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he stays still, letting Emiliano close like he’s used to it, like he wants it.

My chest tightens, every breath harder to take.

"Stop squirming so much. I let you go out of bed since you promised you’d behave."

"He’s awake."

Luther pointed his finger at me with a tremor of happiness washing over him. His eyes were sparkling with tears.

I found the desired care I craved tinted by the presence of Blondie.

"I can see that. But that means nothing to me. I am worried about you, puppy..."

"Just check up on him already!"

Luther’s demand came harsh and fast. Nonetheless, the evil gnome smiled tenderly and closed the distance between us too.

Emiliano stood up straighter, nodded fast, and then turned to me like he just remembered I was alive.

I stayed still, confused, unsure of what was going on.

He walked over quickly, eyes scanning me like I was some project. He leaned down and grabbed my face, tilting it without asking. His fingers were cold. I wanted to flinch, but I couldn’t move much.

He stared at my skin, eyes narrowing.

"Too yellow," he muttered under his breath.

Then his thumb pulled down under my eye.

He looked at my pupils next.

One, then the other.

Then he forced my mouth open with two fingers and checked inside like he was searching for something.

I didn’t get a chance to react. I was too shocked.

He stepped back, looked at the rest of me, then yanked the sheet down in one hard motion.

I froze.

The air hit me. I was completely naked underneath.

Luther didn’t move.

Emiliano grimaced. His face twisted like he saw something gross. But that didn’t stop him. He crouched closer, looking over my body. I wanted to disappear.

He checked everything. No shame. No hesitation. I could barely breathe.

Then his hand moved lower. He inspected my groin area without saying a word.

I stared at the ceiling, heart pounding. My face burned, but I still couldn’t move.

His fingers prodded around, too clinical to be sexual but too rough to feel normal.

"Take me out for dinner first, would you, blondie?"

Emiliano’s eyes widened. His gaze shifted quickly at Luther who started laughing uncontrollably.

Now, I know I am funny. But I am not that funny.

Luther wiped an imaginary tear and said between the chuckles:

"That’s what I said to him when we first met too. Careful now, Tom, he might fall for you too!"

Emiliano scrunched his nose, pulling back like the sight of me physically hurt him.

His face twisted with clear disgust, lips tight, brows low. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but here, touching me.

Luther leaned back in the chair, hand over his face, shoulders shaking. The sound got louder, rougher, until it filled the room.

He was laughing uncontrollably.

I stared at him, stunned.

Emiliano stepped away, wiping his hand on his shorts like he’d touched something rotten. His expression didn’t change.

Still annoyed, still disgusted, like it wasn’t worth hiding.

Luther’s laughter didn’t stop. He leaned forward now, head down, trying to breathe, but every time he looked at me—or maybe Emiliano—he cracked up again.

"So, not to ruin the vibe, but can anyone explain what happened?"

Luther stopped his laughter into an abrupt gulp. Emiliano sighed, annoyed.

"We f-cked."

"Huh?"

"We f-cked."

"Who?"

"Us."

"Us who?"

"Us."

"All of us?"

"No. Half of us. Of course all of us!"

"No way. How could that even happen?"

"Are you asking anatomically speaking or do you wanna know if you bottomed?"

Luther chuckled.

Did I?

Did I bottom for the evil gnome?

"I did not bottom. Maybe you bottomed. Given how closely you just got to my junk minutes ago."

Luther’s laughter intensified.

Emiliano snapped.

He moved fast, stepping right up to the bed and leaning in until his face was just inches—no, millimeters—from mine. His breath hit my skin, warm and sharp. I could see every line in his face, every tense muscle in his jaw.

His golden eyes locked onto mine, but something was off. The color was changing, deepening. Gold turned into a burning orange, slow and steady, like heat rising behind them. It didn’t feel human. It felt like pressure.

His long black hair fell forward, strands brushing his cheeks but staying tucked behind his ears, framing his face like a curtain drawn tight.

So he thinks he could intimidate him?

I ate guys like him for breakfast all my life. I ain’t afraid of a 5’10" high school bully.

"Are you coming this close for a kiss, blondie?"

"I would rather cut my tongue off. Can you imagine how sad my wife would be about that? He is quite a fan of it."

"I’ll make sure to replace your mediocre service with an upgrade to my premium version. Luther already tried the free trial in college. "

"Really?"

"Mhm."

"Ok, that’s enough. Your flirting is freaking me out."

Luther got up and grabbed the pancakes on the table.

He pulled a chair closer to the bed, sat down, and picked up a fork. He cut a piece, scooped it up, and held it out toward my mouth, waiting.

I glanced at Emiliano. He was already staring at me, stiff, eyes wide. His orange-gold gaze dropped to the fork, then back to me.

My throat tightened.

We both swallowed hard, dry and slow.

Neither of us moved.

Luther kept smiling, patient, like this was some normal breakfast.

"Puppy?..."

"You can have a piece later. He was out for a week. He’s hungrier."

"But I worked hard to pull him from the coma. Those pancakes might put him back in it."

"He loves my pancakes. He used to eat them all the time in college."

I shrugged my shoulders guilty under Emiliano’s dumbfounded gaze.

"Lu?"

"Yes, Tom?"

"The batter is slipping from between the burned edges... did-did you intend that?"

"It’s edible.I’ve made them for you!"

"And they are great, but I’m a bit full."

"You haven’t eaten in a week!"

"I was on IVs. I feel full. Can I eat them later?"

"Emiliano will eat them then."

Emiliano’s eyes turned from that deep orange to barely yellow. Almost white.

Those pancakes were scaring him to death.

Luther raised his brow, still holding the fork with the wet, burned mush into the air.

As a threat.

Emiliano sighed, shoulders dropping as if all the fight drained out of him.

Without a word, he opened his mouth and let Luther feed him.

The fork slid in. He chewed slowly, jaw tight, face twisting just slightly as the taste hit.

He swallowed with effort, blinking hard.

His eyes didn’t leave mine.

There was no pride left in his expression—just quiet defeat.

He’d eaten it.

And now it was my turn.

But just as I was getting ready for my own death sentence morphed into Luther’s dreadful cooking skills—

Luther dropped on the floor, starting violently convulsing.

Yet Emiliano did nothing but stare in fear.