My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas
Chapter 61: Horse Race Bet ( Emiliano’s POV)

Chapter 61: Horse Race Bet ( Emiliano’s POV)

After the dinner disaster, I had to wear gloves around Luther.

Not only metaphorically.

Damian’s moving in with us didn’t help our already damaged relationship at all. It made it worse.

So between Damian’s endless boxes of designer clothes and shoes and my wife’s lethargic state, I didn’t even have a chance to experiment at first.

I had to ask for weeds from my garden to come since my usual guys gave Luther PTSD. And so I wasted two good days of business to make sure the Louis Vuittons of Damian didn’t get wrinkles and my wife didn’t try to jump out of the window.

Again.

So I had an excuse, a reason I messed up the first step of my beautiful plan.

Two and each has their own name and their own problem: Luther with his indifference and Damian with his constant, pointless and unstoppable yapping.

How could a respected underground surgeon—creator of the chemical gender switch, the first toxic omega-blocker—mess up a vein so badly it just gave out under pressure?

Luther didn’t even flinch. But I did.

I mean, who wouldn’t, when blood strong enough to melt metal casually sprays across your face without so much as a warning or a pair of goggles?

I hurried up to wash it off in a frantic panic. To say it burnt would be an understatement.

I could feel my flesh disintegrating, slowly melting down my face. The pain was unbearable.

And yet—

When I reached the mirror, staring back at me, my face was in perfect condition. Maybe some enlarged pores, sure, but no thawing skin or burned holes in my face.

The only conclusions I got were-

I need to do a pore strap soon.

And if infused with the alpha pheromones, that alpha won’t be affected by the blood although he would feel the same pain as if he were.

I got back at my wife and stopped his bleeding. Sadly, it will leave a small scar, yet he doesn’t seem unaffected.

His skin is cold and his eyes are glossy. His doll demeanor is perfect for what I need as a subject for my experiment—

But it’s bothering me much more than it should.

As the failure of today wasn’t enough, I had to leave the night to attend an auction. Seems like Luther’s father wants to test my patience, calling a bunch of rich nepo babies and old b-st-rds to bid for my wife.

There was a strange lump in my chest as I was leaving the house. All too calm, all too peaceful with Luther sleeping curled up on my living room couch and Damian taking over the guest rooms with his snoring.

They should be fine while I am gone, right? I have a full security system that keeps me updated on every move.

If the leaf of the tree outside knocks on my window, I will know. If the tap lets a drip of water fall, I will know.

So why all this uneasiness?

It hovers over me like a bad omen and I can’t just shake it off.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t notice when the limousine entered the Prime Minister’s grounds.

I fixed my wig and my contacts in the rearview mirror, trying my best to hide my features. I even took the extra step and bought platform shoes to make sure nobody would recognize me after my height.

Blonde hair didn’t suit me. The curls framed my face weirdly, making it too soft for my liking- too omega-like.

The contacts were supposed to replace my glasses, but they couldn’t do that without tearing up my eyes.

I looked like a deer in the headlights. A very tall deer, but a deer nonetheless.

I had no elaborate plan. Sit, watch, take notes.

No fights, no dramatic reveals and clearly no emotional implication.

I fidget with the decision of presenting myself as a waiter or as a VIP. The privilege of wandering off wherever was for sure tempting me to choose the servant option.

I didn’t worry about being picked apart from them since my stature was not frail enough for the pigs to feel powerful enough to dominate me.

And if I were to be chosen by a sicko, I could simply use my pheromones to put them to sleep. I doubt I would be selected enough times to raise suspicions.

Yet, a major downside hovered over the decision, forcing me to choose the latter.

Showing up as a VIP, it was risky. All VIPs had their own business card to switch with each other and to offer the waiters they would like to pull aside for their own enjoyment.

Another risk was the attention of the other VIPs. You were bound to be ripped apart, piece by piece-

Teared muscle string by muscle string-

In an agonising discussion about how you came to be like them.

Especially if you weren’t born into wealth.

To my delight, the solution for evading such volatile small-talk that could explode in my face was rather uncomplicated-

Say you got your money from a crypto investment.

The old aristocracy of our city didn’t respect such a fast gain, without the need for strings or connections. The older ones didn’t even understand how that worked.

And those who did, call it lazy work.

Nonetheless, even if the crypto investors were not exactly praised or respected in this closet community, they were still invited to events and recognized.

Money talks no matter their birthplace.

I took a deep breath before leaving the limousine. A fraction of doubt. A fragment of temptation to just kill every one of these rotten scums inside.

I let my palms break free from the clutching of my nails. The stress made me dig them so deeply into it, small trails of blood risked dripping not only on my over-expensive suit, but the car seats as well.

Such emotional outbursts should be repressed. I’ve come here to attend business and to learn where Luther stands in the rotten plan of his father.

As soon as I walked out of the vehicle, a strong fragrance of roses and pricey alcohol.

As if, without them, the stench of the decaying morality inside would overflow the streets announcing to everybody -

Their leaders are nothing but filthy, disgusting ghouls.

As I walked in, the eyes of what felt like an infinite number of statues followed alongside with the curious gaze of the guests.

Everything was placed in such a way, you would be watched and judged no matter the corner you dug yourself into to hide.

Was it a metaphor to remind them that-

Even in such a private event that gave them the freedom to act as animalistically as they like-

Will they never escape the judging stares of society?

Or was it simply to expand their ego, designed in such a way that they would feel admired and looked at no matter their revolting behavior?

Could be either one or it could be both. In the big picture, it didn’t really matter.

I had much more critical issues to deal with than the Prime Minister’s pagan statues.

Luther, mainly.

Secondly, the drunk idiot who just poured his champagne all over my Stuart Hughes Diamond Edition suit, the impact almost snatching my wig down.

He, instead of apologizing, started to frantically laugh, gathering a large crowd’s attention in the process.

Exactly what I needed.

"Oh, man, you smell like a distillery!"

I knew the fool who was so proudly displaying his new too white veneers over his alcohol infused mistake. Caleb Plutus, heir to the most important bank of our country.

A drug addict with no morality or intelligence.

"Who are you anyway?"

He asked, stumbling over his words. Who wouldn’t stutter in his place?

Large, dilated pupils. Dry lips and probably a dry mouth. Shivering, dizziness, loss of time and place.

One of the richest heirs was high as a kite. On one of the drugs I’ve developed.

The green punctures of his neck were betraying his usage.

I smiled politely, trying to dilute the public that was itching for a fight. I extended my arm for a handshake, trying my best to keep my composure.

That mission was deemed to be more impossible than a movie with Tom Cruise since the man-kite decided to blow raspberries into the air rather than to shake my hand.

The shocking gesture was handled by another man, coming to what seems to be my rescue.

"Enough now, Caleb, your father won’t have a good time hearing about this."

His tone was friendly enough not to turn the scene into a war set, yet threatening enough for the grown-man teenager to shake my hand.

The stranger patted his head softly in a parental act so odd to see, it made a few guests chuckle awkwardly. It could have been a praise for the idiot or just a hopeless attempt to comb his split hair that gave him a Rick Sanchez type of hairstyle.

"I heard they brought that Merlot you like so much. 1970s edition.", he continued.

Caleb’s eyes dilated themselves to the point that the blue of his iris was barely visible, covered by the enlarged pupil. He sure was excited about that wine-

Starting to run, barely making his feet not knit together to result in a shameful fall.

The stranger switched his attention to me. With a genuine smile, he grabbed my hand and shook it eagerly.

"My name is Tom. Nice to meet you! I want to apologize for Caleb’s behavior."

"You’re his babysitter?"

A sour remark, I am aware. Yet, I was so overstimulated by this event and its guests, I didn’t realize the thought materialized into a sentence anyone could hear.

Nonetheless, Tom handled it with grace, laughing it off. His reaction caused the crowd to chuckle too.

This man has the aristocracy in the palm of his hand. He was dangerous.

"Nah, just trying to keep the party going and this dude tends to pick fights. He wanted to be a wrestler when he was young, you know?"

The public erupted into laughter. Even though I don’t find this guy funny, he sure presents himself as likable.

So how is it that I don’t know who he is when he holds so much power?

"Are you gonna keep the mystery going or are you gonna tell me your name too?"

Oh, he’s good.

He tilted his head waiting for a response. This Tom was a player of the game. He knew how to put me on his chessboard with just a sentence and now, based on my answer, he’ll assign my position just like he did with any of the other guests.

I can’t afford to make mistakes. Not against this guy.

"Elliot. I’m into cryptocurrency and all that jazz."

"Elliot? Cute name for a cute face."

Another man dropped his hand over my shoulder, leaning his weight on me. I recognized him-

Mark Begnifello. The tycoon of the oil industry in our country.

No matter which type of fuel your car worked on, he was the provider for it.

"Careful there, Lio. This guy is a beta. Alpha or omega, he still gets them underneath the sheets no matter the gender."

"Now, now, Mark, don’t reveal my ulterior motives like that. You’re making me look cheap."

"You? Cheap?"

Mark started to laugh so soundly, I could swear a few of the lighter statues from the garden shake. The public joined him immediately.

The only ones not laughing were me and Tom. He just gazed at me, smiling friendly.

"Given how everyone is laughing, I might think you could afford me."

The flirting line I launched, although awkward, amplified the public laughter even more.

Surprised at my move on the chessboard, Tom raised his brow amused.

"I might afford to buy you dinner."

His response made the crowd go livid. Some of these supposed classy gentlemen started to whistle like we were displaying a horse race and the one they bet just took off.

"Why? Are you gonna make me wine and dash?"

"Depends. Are you a fast runner?"

"Want to test?"

I could see some of the guys faking fainting on other guys while the others were going wild. Is this a kindergarten? Are you watching Love Island? Control yourselves-

Tom, on the verge of laughing himself, scratched the back of his neck.

"Sorry, Lio. I have my eyes on the big prize tonight. We are at an auction after all."

A light disapproving "boo" ignited into the crowd. An amused voice echoed through the garden:

"Leave some for us too, Tom, you greedy b-st-rd!"

Tom shrugged amused.

"What can I do? I am such a lover boy."

And just like that, the crowd dispersed into laughter and good vibes, leaving just me, Tom and Mark still in place.

"Poor Lio", Mark said tapping my shoulder, "don’t take it personally. He talks big, but he’s harmless."

"Are you gonna destroy my big bad boy image I worked so hard on just like that, Mark? I’ll go cry in a corner. See you guys later!"

He took off waving nonchalantly. Mark gave me a sideways squeeze and left as well.

I took a moment to regain control over what had just happened.

I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath. I exhaled loudly and dabbed my wet shirt with my handkerchief.

Half hours into the event and I am exhausted.

But I found something interesting-

Tom.

Why would a beta be interested in my wife? And how come he controls an alpha-dominated aristocracy with such ease?

This guy is sure gonna increase my migraines, that is for sure.