My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas
Chapter 72: Back to his owner ( Emiliano’s POV )

Chapter 72: Back to his owner ( Emiliano’s POV )

As Luther’s hospitalization ended, one question hovered over the quiet in his room as he was packing to go home.

All we could hear was the shifting of the clothes as Luther dressed up and an IV dropping slowly somewhere in the lobby, outside the room.

I left him a casual outfit on the bed: Levi’s jeans, a polo shirt and some white sneakers. I am glad he accepted it.

My puppy liked his new leash.

That was a good sign. I- I can’t exactly do anything if he decides to go with Killian, Tom or Claus.

At least not at this moment with all the glares from the hospital pinning us down.

We were spread around the exit while Luther was getting ready:

Tom was leaning on the door frame, looking at my wife with nothing but dreamy eyes.

Killian was leaning on the wall with his arms crossed, biting his lips once in a while in an anxious combo with a yearning, scared gaze.

Claus was sitting on a chair with the saddest puppy look he could perform.

He was the least likely to go home with Luther. My wife didn’t take his adoption into his family.

With the chair ready to aim at Claus’s head, Luther lost all reason when his new step-brother entered the room:

"Have you gone completely mad?"

"Lu", Claus mumbled with tearful eyes." I had a plan!"

"What? Follow my father’s orders thinking he’ll let his sons test drive each other once in a while?!"

Claus looked taken aback by my pup’s theory. I guess when said out loud like that, even he could hear how stupid and immoral it sounded.

"Are you an actual idiot?", Luther continued to yell." Last week you were snoring all over my shirt apologizing for provoking my kidnapping and now what? You replaced me as an heir and you even sold me out at the wish of my father?"

"I would have saved you!"

Claus’s voice broke under the sobs. The pathetic rivers of tears he was shedding, made me, Tom and Killian share a look.

Only Luther wasn’t amused at this melodramatic performance. He was boiling with rage and disappointment.

"How? You tried to save me in the past too when nobody asked you to! So tell me, what was your great plan, Claus?"

"I was gonna run away with you in Fiji."

Chuckles filled the room. We couldn’t help it. Tom was somewhat more reserved in his laughter while Killian covered our giggles with such a laugh that it shook his whole body from the core.

Luther wasn’t amused. He was annoyed and now the Akna heir became the new target.

While he was holding his stomach to not laugh his ribs off, I moved from behind him just in time.

Luther threw the chair, hitting the man in the head, across his face, causing him to fall on the floor bewildered at what happened.

The gash on his temple was ugly—deep, jagged, and wet with blood that had already matted into his hairline. A sharp crescent of torn flesh split open just above the cheekbone, where the corner of the chair had cracked into him. The skin hadn’t just broken; it had peeled, slightly, unevenly—like something torn too fast.

Blood streamed down in slow, syrupy trails, soaking into the collar of his shirt. Some had clotted at the edges already, thick and dark, while fresh rivulets still leaked from the center, pulsing faintly in time with his heartbeat. The wound looked angry—red, swollen, and raw. There was no neat line to it, no clean cut—just a brutal, ragged tear that screamed of force and blunt violence.

Killian frowned slightly, trying to hide his pain so it wouldn’t make Luther feel bad about it.

"Do I look like a stand-up comedian to you? Then let me offer you a d-mn sit!"

Poor Killian needed 5 stitches on his right temple. He was still pouting about that even now.

"What is going to happen now?", asked Luther.

He looked truly beautiful in his new outfit. Every curve and muscle of his body was slightly hugged by the clothes I chose.

The polo shirt, crisp but soft-looking, hugged his frame in that exact right way: close enough to follow the line of his shoulders and chest, but without pulling or clinging. The sleeves stopped just shy of his elbows, showing forearms that didn’t seem posed, just... present—a quiet kind of confidence.

The Levi jeans had that rare, elusive fit: structured, but easy. Not too tight, not too loose—just enough room to move like he meant it. They followed the natural shape of him without shouting about it, the denim worn-in at the right places, as though time itself had sculpted them for his legs.

And the white sneakers—clean, simple, grounding the whole look—made the rest feel even more intentional. Not flashy, not trying to impress. Just well-made, well-worn, and undeniably his.

His pretty face was not swollen anymore, even though he still had a bit of a bruise on the left eye.

Tom answered first.

"You should go somewhere- a hotel or even my house if you want to. Nonetheless, somewhere secluded so the media can’t reach you."

"Oh."

"You also can’t go home. As your lawyer, I’d advise you not to get too close to anything of your father’s for the moment. Be careful with the expenses too. They are going to try arguing you killed him for wider access to money."

"So I am homeless and penniless. Great!"

The words came out fractured—snagged on breath, raw around the edges. It wasn’t a whisper, not quite, but it lacked the spine of a proper voice. Like something that had been cracked down the middle and only half-mended. Each syllable stumbled, pushed forward by sheer need rather than strength.

"You have quite a few men in the room who can provide for you for the time being, Lu. Just pick one. You can change your mind later too."

Tom’s tone was calm and calculated, but I could see that snake-satisfied glimmer in his eyes.

"Got it. So you have a room for me at yours then?"

Did my wife just say he’ll go with Tom?

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you, Lu."

We just sat in silence for a moment.

The silence did not arrive gently—it slammed into the room like a door shut too hard. Even the air seemed to pause, thick and unmoving, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

No one spoke. Not out of confusion, but because there was nothing left to say. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above, their static hum now deafening in the absence of sound.

Outside the window, a tree branch tapped softly against the glass, rhythmic and indifferent.

You could hear one heartbeat fastly accelerating in the wave of dopamine and serotonin caused by Luther’s words while two hearts broke so loudly, you could hear them shatter.

Not mine. Mine remained steady and calm.

This was my fault. When you offer too much freedom to a puppy, it will start pulling on the leash. I should have not expected such a deep obedience after just two months.

But it’s ok. We have the rest of our lives to teach you to obey, dear pup.

At the end of the day, no matter those confusing emotions, Luther is mine to own.

I’ve taken him. I’ve paid for him.

This is just a reminder not to let him on the loose since he forgot he already had an owner.

I cleared my voice the moment Luther was about to take a step out of the room.

"I’ve been thinking about redecorating my basement. Maybe an eagle-like taxidermy right in the middle? What do you think? I think Damian will look pretty enough there. I’ve got quite an experience since Lior, you know?"

Silence took over the hospital room. Claus and Tom looked at each other confused as Luther’s tears dropped on the ground.

But I knew what I said. Luther knew too.

And from the impact of Killian’s punch, he didn’t forget either.

The scent of antiseptic—sharp, chemical, almost metallic—clung to the air like static. Nurses moved briskly, their shoes squeaking against the polished linoleum, their clipped tones muffled behind surgical masks.

It took a bit too much time for them to burst in to pull Killian’s rage off of me, but it didn’t matter. I’ve already won.

Luther extended his arm, helping me to get up.

I gladly accepted it and pulled him in a tight hug. My dear, stupid puppy, you’re mine, didn’t you learn that already?

Not breaking the hug, not accepting it, Luther just stood there, crying loudly in my arms.

I am sorry, pup. You pushed me to do this, but it’s ok. I forgive you.

"Tom, darling, as you can see, Luther changed his mind. He is going back to our home. He is going back to his husband!"

Killian’s screams echoed hauntingly from the lobby. They have probably sedated his already, yet he still had the energy to yell?

Impressive.

I should thank him. Because of him, because he offered Damian up to me so mindlessly, I got my wife back.

I should send him a fruit basket since I am truly truly grateful.