My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas
Chapter 77: House training and illegals ( Tom’s POV )

Chapter 77: House training and illegals ( Tom’s POV )

"They got nothing on me! This is ridiculous!"

"I know, I know, but we need to prepare either way."

"They got the security footage, how are they still going to accuse me? How about my mother? Are they even looking for her?"

"Wow, getting your own mother under the bus like that? Brrr, that’s cold."

Damian sat on the couch reading the calories on the ice-cream box. He’s been doing this for about ten minutes now. He either doesn’t know how to read or he likes it melt.

Like a freak.

Luther rolled his eyes, still shuffling the papers spread all over the table.

"I say exterminate all lawyers. Get rid of the problem at the root. Let’s start with him!"

He nodded his head in my direction. Thankfully, Lu didn’t find it funny at all.

He didn’t say a word, but his eyes did all the work. Sharp, unblinking, locked onto the other man like a loaded gun with the safety off. There was no anger on his face—just focus. Cold, precise, dangerous. The kind of look that made your spine stiffen without knowing why. He didn’t need to raise his voice. That stare said it all: one more word, and you’ll regret it.

Emiliano shrugged his shoulders, trying to play unbothered.

It was an eerie experience to see a man who had that awful d-mned display of taxidermy just three levels below be so —

Obeying of someone.

He might actually be in love with Lu.

That complicates things.

"I just can’t believe they just threw me away from the Parliament and then put a lawsuit on me for my father’s death! Building their case on an Instagram live, for Christ’s sake!"

"If he goes to jail, do I go home or I’ll replace him?", asked Damian, waving his clean ice-cream spoon in the air.

"You’re nothing but a weed.", Emiliano answered angrily.

"Well, yeah, but I’m pretty."

"How is that even relevant?"

"I don’t know. You’re the scientist, aren’t you? Figure it out!"

"Guys, can we please concentrate on this?"

My intervention set a pouting Damian back on the ice-cream calories matter.

"How long until the court meeting? We need to get through the public statements too. I won’t let those b-st-rds steal my job too!"

Luther’s voice shook, just enough to notice—but not from fear. From fury. From something raw and cracked open beneath the surface. He was trying to keep it steady, forcing each word out like it didn’t matter, like he wasn’t bleeding somewhere behind his ribs. But it showed—in the sharp edges, the clipped syllables, the way his throat caught on certain words like they hurt to say. It wasn’t just rage. It was betrayal, burning through his voice like a fuse he was barely holding onto.

I squeezed his hands reassuringly.

The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by the evil gnome.

He raised a single brow—slow, deliberate, unimpressed. The expression alone made me feel like I’d just failed some unspoken test. His golden eyes gleamed behind a pair of thin-rimmed glasses, calm and unreadable, but with a flicker of quiet judgment that settled uncomfortably under my skin. He didn’t rush. He didn’t speak. He just looked at me like I was a mild inconvenience—something noisy and vaguely pathetic.

Then, without ceremony, he reached for the spray bottle on the nearby counter. Plain plastic. Half-full. The kind you’d use for plants... or pets.

He lifted it with a practiced, almost lazy movement, aimed it squarely at me, and pressed the trigger.

A soft pfft of mist hit my face.

I flinched.

There was no aggression in his movements, just cold, casual control—as if this was a routine correction, nothing personal. He sprayed again, twice, in quick succession. Short bursts. Not enough to drench, just enough to humiliate.

And somehow, that was worse.

The water beaded on my cheek, slid down my neck. I blinked through it, stunned more by the gesture than the sting. He watched me the whole time—expression unchanged, brow still faintly lifted, like he was waiting to see if I’d come to my senses or keep embarrassing myself.

"What in the world are you doing?", I yelled.

"The second emotional pet of my pup is testing his boundaries. Gotta train him well!"

Luther grabbed the spray bottle and sprayed Emiliano too.

"I will end up in jail! I lost my job! Can we concentrate?"

The atmosphere changed.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t wipe it away.

But his eyes—those strange, golden eyes—changed.

The calm vanished, drained clean in an instant. What replaced it wasn’t anger, not exactly. It was quieter than that. He stared ahead, unmoving, the water still clinging to his skin, his glasses fogging slightly at the edges. His expression remained composed, but something beneath it cracked open—cold, slow, and dangerous.

The brow that once arched with effortless disdain was now low, flat, unreadable. His jaw tightened just slightly.

Lu caught on as soon as the shift happened.

Maybe that is why he walked up to him.

He approached slowly, without hesitation, as if the charged silence meant nothing to him.

Emiliano didn’t move. He just watched, golden eyes still narrowed, unreadable, dangerous in that stillness. The mist clung to his skin, his glasses lightly fogged, a strand of long hair plastered to his cheek.

Then Lu reached out—gently, deliberately—and lifted the hem of his own shirt.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask.

He simply leaned in and wiped the moisture from the other man’s face, slow and careful, dabbing the droplets from his cheek, then up along the bridge of his nose. His touch was light, almost reverent. He took his time cleaning the fogged lenses, thumb brushing briefly over the frame before lifting them to dry the underside. Not hurried. Not afraid.

Then he smoothed the other man’s hair, fingertips threading softly through the strands, tucking them back into place behind one ear.

He was moving in such a mundane, loving way, my heart couldn’t help but shrink in pain.

And through it all, the ex-blondie didn’t move.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

The sharp edge in his gaze faltered—not softened, exactly, but stunned. Like he’d been struck, but softly. He stood frozen in the aftermath, unsure of what to do with the warmth left behind.

"Please."

That’s the plea Luther whispered.

It was enough to make Emiliano nod and put the spray bottle away.

"So, Tom, how do we build our case?"

I lingered my gaze just a minute more on the wet hem of his shirt, before wiping my own wet skin.

I was smart enough to understand that Luther’s gesture was damage control for a man who could taxidermy all of us, but I was still hurt by it.

By the fact that Emiliano was dried off so lovingly, while drops of water still wavered on my face.

Nonetheless, the war wasn’t over and I was playing the long game.

"They will try to discredit the security footage by saying you used your pheromones indirectly.", I said, concentrating on the real issue.

"But how could I?"

"There are methods. Combined with enough estrogen, the pheromones infused in a piece of clothing can keep their intensity and effectiveness by 80%."

"They just can’t throw information like that in court!", argued Luther.

"That is not even the main thing they will attack. They will try to pin it on your toxicity and ask for clinical tests."

"F-ck!", Emiliano whispered under his breath.

"No. I have the right to refuse!", Luther argued agitated.

He kept shifting his weight from foot to foot, fingers tapping against his thigh in a restless rhythm. His eyes darted around the room, never settling, and every few seconds he adjusted his collar like it was suddenly too tight. The tension sat in his shoulders, coiled and twitchy, like his whole body was waiting for something to go wrong.

I sighed helplessly.

"If you refuse, they will center their case on this."

"But if they do the test, you know what they will find out!", Luther yelled, cracking under the pressure.

"What will they find out?" asked Damian quietly.

Emiliano responded in the same whispery tone, as the whole statement was too dangerous to speak out loud—

Because indeed it was.

"Luther is an illegal."

"My God...", the frail omega managed to mumble.

"What now?" Luther asked, defeated." If I don’t do the tests, I get arrested for murdering my own father even if they have no proof. If I do, they will find out I’m an illegal so all my family wealth will be confiscated and shared by all the rich hyenas at the top and I’ll spend the rest of my life isolated on an island."

"I can stage your death.", Emiliano proposed casually. "I’ll make it really believable."

"But then, I’ll be bound to never show my face in public again. What about my job?"

"I’ll take responsibility for you. I’m your husband after all".

He gave a slow, effortless shrug, shoulders lifting just enough to show he didn’t care—or wanted to look like he didn’t. His expression stayed blank, almost bored, golden eyes glinting behind his glasses as if the whole thing was beneath him.

The reality was that the situation offered the perfect excuse for Emiliano to lock down Luther for good. Shackle him and call it doing him a favor.

"Stop with the whole marriage thing! This is serious-"

"We could arrange for Akna Pharmaceuticals to do the testing.", I proposed.

"Everyone knows how in love Killian is with this bulky twink.", said Damian sourly.

"How about another pharmaceutical renamed company?", asked Emiliano disinterestedly.

"Who would lie for me and risk losing their prestige? Their licence? Who would risk prison for me?"

Lu’s lips were pressed tight, trembling at the corners, like the words he wasn’t saying were stacked too high in his throat. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, blinking too often—not enough to stop the tears, just to delay them. His jaw clenched, then unclenched, breath catching in short, uneven pulls.

"Mine.", said Emiliano, smiling. "Didn’t I mention it to you, guys? I own Caelion Pharma?"

A heavy silence pressed the room before Luther blinked it away, yelling loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear:

"You own the second-most-well-known pharmaceutical company in our country and you mention it now?"

Emiliano tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curling into a slow, amused smirk. Behind his glasses, his golden eyes glinted with a mix of curiosity and something sharper, like he was enjoying a joke no one else had caught.

"My, my, dear wifey, I didn’t know you were such a gold digger!"