My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas
Chapter 122: Self-esteem ( Damian’s POV )

Chapter 122: Self-esteem ( Damian’s POV )

"Are you going out again?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Any cravings? Should I bring you something?"

Killian didn’t even look at me as he spoke.

His eyes stayed fixed ahead, expression blank.

The question came out flat, mechanical—like a poorly programmed voice assistant, all function and no feeling.

No emotion. No care. Just words thrown into the air as if he was ticking off a box.

There was no weight to it, no pause, no flicker of concern. Just cold, detached noise passing through his lips.

"No, thank you."

"Suit yourself."

"Killian!"

I stopped him.

I knew this conversation will end badly, but I stopped him nonetheless.

"Hm?"

"Can we talk?"

"Are we not talking already?"

"You’ve been distant. Cold. I know you were always disinterested in me, but this is ridiculous."

Killian banged his watch on the countertop. I couldn’t help but flinch, not because of the suppressed violence of the act but because of the deafening annoyance he had been experiencing for the past week.

I am aware that Killian was never warm or loving with me before. I knew that since I first met him when I was a kid. He was never affectionate, but he would treat me like a friend. He would be nice.

This Killian I don’t recognize.

This Killian is breaking my heart.

"What do you want from me, Damian? I am paying for your home, for your cravings, for extra vitamins and medicine and clothes. I am parading you in front of everyone. I am keeping my temper in check. What more do you want for me, you godd-mned greedy b-tch?"

"It’s not my fault!"

He was so close now, I felt his breath on my face—hot, sharp, angry.

His eyes gleamed with rage. That’s how they had looked since he found out. Since he found out about the baby.

But today they looked worse. Darker. Something deeper had carved itself into his face, dark circles that hadn’t been there before, like the news hadn’t just unsettled him—it had destroyed his sleep, his balance, everything.

Of course, he doesn’t stay at home. In the daytime, he is working and at night he is searching for Luther.

Desperately.

He grabbed me by the collar, yanked me forward so fast I almost stumbled.

His grip was hard, unforgiving, but I didn’t reach for his hands. I didn’t try to fight.

I just pressed one hand to my stomach. Reflex. Protection.

My fingers tightened over the small swell, barely visible, but enough to matter. Enough to make me act.

That stopped him.

He looked down, then back up. His jaw clenched.

Something passed through his face, unreadable but there.

Then he scoffed. Just a sharp, bitter sound. He let go, fast, like I’d burned him. My collar sagged, skin stinging where his knuckles had pressed.

He didn’t apologize. He didn’t back away.

Instead, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind my ear. It moved now like nothing had happened. Like none of this meant anything to him.

His lips curled up into a smile. Not a warm one. Not even a cruel one.

Just amused. As if the whole thing—the baby, me, this room—was some private joke only he understood.

"I am not this type of man. What have you done to me, Damian?..."

Then he stepped back, slowly, and didn’t say another word. I stayed still, hand on my belly, pulse thudding like a drum in my ears.

He didn’t touch me again. Didn’t need to. The damage was already done, and he knew it.

When he finally tried to leave again, I tugged on his shirt. Stopping him.

I was crying my Maybelline mascara in streams, every drop of tears costing hundreds of dollars. I remember a time when that would have mattered to me, but now?

Now I could give up even a Birkin bag just for him to look at me just once more. Not with love, but at least with the care a friend would have.

"What now?"

He was irritated. Tired. Of me. Of this baby. Of everything.

"It’s you baby, Killian... you gotta believe me..."

"Even if it was mine—"

He paused.

"I never loved you, Damian. If I would have known this is who you really are, I would have never slept with you."

"How can you say that?"

"The same way you did this to me. Without mercy."

"Killian!"

Killian turned his head slowly, eyes locking on me with the same intensity that hadn’t wavered in days.

He didn’t blink. He just watched—like he was trying to read something in my face, something I hadn’t said.

His gaze didn’t soften. It stayed sharp, steady, like a blade held still.

"What were you doing that day in that abandoned warehouse?"

I gulped.

I didn’t expect that question.

"I—"

"You were just trying to rip me from Luther, weren’t you?"

"Luther, Luther, Luther! This is all I hear from you! What does he have and I don’t?"

The sound of my voice came out thin, broken, more breath than words. I tried to hold it back, but the pressure in my chest gave way.

Tears slipped down without warning, and I turned my face, ashamed, but couldn’t stop shaking.

"You like more bulky omegas? I can put on muscles. I can dye my hair black. I can wear purple contacts. I can cosplay him, wear his skin every day for the rest of my life!Would you love me then?"

"No."

His voice came out unimpressed. Cold. Unaffected by my tears.

"Why? Because he smells different?"

"Because he is a good person."

Killian didn’t flinch when he said it. His voice was steady, eyes empty, and there wasn’t even the hint of hesitation. He seemed sincere—calm, certain.

I wished he was yelling. Screaming at me.

Maybe this wouldn’t have hurt so much then.

"And I am not?"

"What do you want me to say, Damian? That you are? You babytrapped me with a child that is not even mine!"

"I was left pregnant by you!"

"You forced me into a rut that I have no recollection of. You keep saying that that baby is mine like it would make any difference."

"Why won’t you just love me?"

"Because you were nothing more than a convenience for me."

"And I can’t be that anymore?"

Killian scoffed, sharp and low, the sound laced with disgust. His eyes narrowed as he looked at me, like the sight of my tears meant absolutely nothing.

"Just how low can you strike? Have some self-esteem, would you?"

"Why should I?..."

"What?"

His voice stuttered, surprised and horrified at my question.

"Why should I have self-esteem or self-respect? I was dragged in this house by your aunt. I was used by her, I was used by you. Passed around. Deemed worthless. So why should I start having self-respect now?"

My legs wobbled beneath me.

The room tilted for a second, and I reached out blindly, but there was nothing to hold onto. My body felt light, unsteady, like it wasn’t mine anymore.

Before I could fall, Killian’s hands were on me.

Firm. Careful. Cold.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t hesitate.

Just caught me, one arm steady around my back, the other gripping my arm.

His touch wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t cruel either.

Just efficient. Detached. Absent from what was happening.

Probably thinking about Luther.

He guided me to the sofa and sat me down, making sure I didn’t collapse. Then he left the room.

I stared at the floor, unable to lift my head. My breath came uneven. I wiped at my face, but more tears kept coming.

When he returned, he draped a blanket over me.

It was soft. Familiar. Mine.

He must’ve taken it from the bedroom. He didn’t tuck it in, just laid it over me like a duty. Then he set a glass of water on the table beside me.

Still no words.

Not even a glance.

He stood there for a moment, arms crossed. Watching. Distant. Like he’d done what was necessary—and nothing more.

"Stop crying. You’re only gonna make it worse."

"Scared that the baby will suffer and your aunt is gonna get mad and take your precious money away?"

Killian grunted.

I knew I struck a nerve, but I didn’t regret my words.

"Get some rest, Damian."

"Are you going to search for Luther again?"

Killian gave a single nod.

Small. Final.

Then he turned and walked out without a word, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

I stayed frozen for a moment, the blanket still warm on my skin, the silence pressing in. My hand trembled as I reached for my phone on the table.

The screen lit up.

I scrolled through my contacts, hesitating only once before pressing the name.

The call started ringing. I held the phone to my ear, my fingers curling tight around it. My heart pounded. I didn’t know what I’d say—only that I had to.

"Hi, Tom, how are you?"