My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas
Chapter 99: Kiss of Death ( Luther’s POV )

Chapter 99: Kiss of Death ( Luther’s POV )

"I am here to pick up a body."

"Oh. I am sorry for your loss, sir. May I ask for the name of the deceased and your relationship with him?"

"Tom Hexley. I am— I am his fiancée."

"One second."

The nurse took her sweet time searching into the hospital files. Just how many bodies do they have in the morgue?

As the seconds passed by, the nurse’s brow kept getting higher and higher until it was millimeters away from touching her forehead.

Either she is having a stroke or I have mistaken the hospital. No matter which one is true, she is clearly exaggerating her expressions.

"Sir?"

"Yes."

My tone had an ounce too much of annoyance in it. Her brow officially touched her forehead.

"Are you sure you’re Mister Tom Hexlay is your fiancée?"

"Why the sudden suspicion? And why does it take so much? I am just trying to see my late lover."

"Luther?"

I froze when I saw him.

My brain didn’t catch up right away.

Tom.

Standing at the other end of the hall like nothing had happened. Like he wasn’t supposed to be dead.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe.

My grip tightened on the edge of the chair until my fingers hurt.

I blinked once.

Twice.

Still there.

Still him.

Limping toward me on crutches, like it was just another day.

My stomach dropped. It didn’t feel real.

It couldn’t be real.

My chest was locked up so tight I thought I might pass out.

He looked... fine. Well, not fine—he was moving slow, careful, and his ankle was wrapped in thick bandages—but he was here.

Alive.

His hair was still the same wild red, sticking out like he’d fought with a pillow and lost. His teal eyes found mine, bright and sharp as ever, and something in them softened.

He looked... happy.

Actually happy to see me.

A little amused, too, like I was the weird one here.

Relief showed clear on his face, plain as day, like he’d been waiting for this.

Meanwhile, I sat there like I’d seen a ghost.

He kept coming, steady and unhurried, and every step made my heart pound harder.

My brain scrambled for an explanation.

Dream?

Hallucination?

I pinched my arm, hard, leaving an instant bruise behind.

The sting made me wince.

Still here. Still him.

Killian lied.

I don’t know if I should feel angry or relieved.

Something broke loose in my chest.

My whole body moved before I even thought about it.

I shoved myself up from the front desk so fast my shoes scraped loudly against the floor.

My legs felt shaky, but I didn’t care.

I closed the distance quick, faster than I should’ve, the tiles cold and unsteady under my feet.

Tom’s eyes widened right before I crashed into him.

I wrapped my arms around him and held on like my life depended on it.

My face pressed against his shoulder, and the smell of antiseptic and clean sheets hit me.

He was solid. Warm. Real.

The crutches went clattering to the floor when I slammed into him.

He let out a sharp grunt as his balance wobbled.

For a second, I felt him tilt backward, and panic shot through me.

His bad leg buckled hard, and I almost took him down with me.

His arm shot out, grabbing the railing on the wall just in time to stop the fall.

His breath was uneven, and I realized how much weight I’d thrown at him without thinking.

I didn’t let go.

Couldn’t.

My arms locked tight around him, and the tears hit so fast I couldn’t stop them.

My throat burned, my chest ached, and everything I’d been holding in—fear, anger, the crushing emptiness of thinking he was gone—poured out all at once.

My whole body shook.

He didn’t push me off.

He just stood there, breathing hard, holding onto the wall with one hand and me with the other.

Then I felt it—his chest moving with a short laugh.

A soft, amused chuckle, right there while I was falling apart on him.

Like this whole thing was funny.

"Don’t laugh at me. I’ll step on your bad leg!"

He started to chuckle even louder.

I didn’t care.

Couldn’t.

The sobs kept ripping out of me, ugly and loud, soaking into the thin hospital shirt stretched across his shoulder.

My nose ran, my face burned, but none of it mattered.

He was here.

Alive.

My fists bunched up in the back of his gown, and I squeezed tighter like he might vanish if I let go.

Tom shifted his weight, steadying himself, leaning against the wall for support.

His fingers curled into my shirt, anchoring me there even as his bad leg trembled under the strain.

I felt it in the way his body held tense, but he didn’t complain.

Didn’t move.

Just let me hang on, his breath warm against the side of my head, the faint sound of another laugh slipping out like he couldn’t help it.

I cried until my lungs hurt.

Until my voice broke and all that came out were shaky gasps.

The hospital faded into nothing—the bright lights, the distant beeping, the smell of disinfectant—because none of it mattered anymore.

The only thing that mattered was that Tom wasn’t dead.

He was here, holding me up even when he could barely stand on his own.

And I wasn’t letting go. Not for anything.

"Sir, this is a hospital, not the inside of a hotel room. Either take it out in your private room’s bathroom or compose yourself!"

Tom apologized for both of us and practically dragged me to his room. Despite tightening his jaw from the pain of his throbbing ankle, he couldn’t stop smiling as I was bawling my eyes out.

We stopped at the door to his private room. Tom pushed it open with his shoulder and guided me inside.

The soft click of it closing behind us shut out the noise from the hallway.

The room smelled faintly of disinfectant and something clean, like fresh sheets.

Sunlight spilled through the half-open blinds, cutting across the floor.

I expected him to drop onto the bed right away, but he didn’t.

Instead, he moved me backward until my shoulders brushed the wall near the door.

His crutches clattered down next to the chair.

His fingers brushed my wrist and then slid away, only to come back, trailing up my arm slowly like he was memorizing the shape of it.

His body leaned in close without touching, heat radiating from him.

My pulse jumped so hard it hurt.

I couldn’t seem to breathe right, chest rising fast as his teal eyes locked on mine.

The same look from before, sharp and alive, but now it burned with something heavier.

He tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking from my eyes down to my mouth, then back up again.

His breath grazed my lips, warm, steady, and then he closed the distance.

Minty.

And— rain?

But outside was sunny, how come the —

A kiss.

The first one was quick—barely there—just the press of his mouth against mine.

My stomach clenched so hard it felt like a punch.

I froze for half a second, every nerve in my body firing at once.

Then he pulled back, just enough for air, and looked straight at me.

The corners of his mouth curved, faint, amused, but his eyes were darker now, and it hit me in the gut like a drop.

I gulped.

He didn’t give me time to think.

His hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers curling tight, and he leaned in again.

This time wasn’t soft. His mouth caught mine with force that stole the air from my lungs.

My hands grabbed at him without thinking, fists knotting in the thin fabric of his gown.

The kiss deepened fast, pulling everything out of me until there was nothing but the press of his lips and the sharp taste of his breath.

My body shuddered hard when his tongue slid against mine.

Heat crawled up my neck, flooding every inch of me until I could barely stand.

My knees felt weak, and my grip on him turned desperate.

His thumb dragged slowly across the side of my jaw, rough and controlled, while the rest of his hand held my head in place like he wasn’t letting me go.

His body pinned me lightly to the wall, not with weight—he couldn’t risk that with his bad leg—but with sheer intent.

Every second stretched tight as he took his time, unhurried but firm, like he was making sure I felt every move he made.

My breath broke into short, shaky pulls when he finally eased back a little, only to close in again and kiss me deeper.

My spine pressed hard against the wall, and the chill of it barely registered under the heat building everywhere else.

His fingers slid down from my neck to my waist, slow and steady, dragging against the thin cotton of the hospital shirt I still wore.

The touch burned even through the fabric.

My skin prickled like it was on fire where his hand rested, and the tremor running through me turned into a full-body shiver.

My head tilted without thinking, giving him more, needing more, until my lips felt raw and swollen from how hard we’d been moving against each other.

The sound of his breathing changed, rougher now, every exhale brushing my face in hot bursts.

His chest pressed against mine, solid and warm, and every time he shifted his weight, I felt the strain in his muscles.

His ankle was bad, but he didn’t let it stop him—he just held me tighter, pinning me in place so I wouldn’t slip or pull back.

When his hand finally gripped my hip, fingers sinking in just enough to make me gasp against his mouth, I lost whatever control I’d been hanging onto.

My whole body trembled, a hard, helpless tremor that left my legs weak and my heart pounding like it was going to crack open.

He broke the kiss then, just far enough to breathe, but his forehead stayed against mine, his eyes locked on me.

They were sharp, burning teal, and they didn’t waver.

Half amused, half something else—something heavy and raw that made my stomach flip.

My own breath came hard and uneven, lips tingling, body still shaking like I’d been thrown into something I wasn’t ready for and never wanted to stop.

He didn’t move back.

His grip stayed firm on me, his weight leaning close enough that the wall dug into my spine.

The silence was thick, only broken by the sound of us breathing.

The smell of him—warm skin, faint antiseptic, something that was just him—filled my head until I couldn’t think straight.

And then his mouth brushed mine again, softer this time, just a slow drag of lips that sent another tremor racing through me.

"Tom."

"I’m celebrating our engagement, Lu. You said you were mine, after all."

"Stop that. I just said it to let me get your corpse."

"My corpse?"

"Killian told me you were dead..."

I could hear my voice breaking. Since college, I never could truly conceal my emotions in front of Tom.

I must look so pathetic right now.

"Weird. Does he usually talk to ghosts on the phone?"

He was chuckling. Very funny.

While I was grieving him, he has been kicking his feet and twirling his hair on a phone call with Killian?

His smirk is starting to annoy me the more the effect of relief alleviates.

"You’re an a—hole. You could have called me!"

"But then, you wouldn’t have kissed me like that, would you? My dear fiancée."

Tom pulled back just enough to let me catch my breath, then leaned in and pressed another quick peck to my lips.

I pouted, the tiniest crease forming between my brows, like I was pretending to be annoyed but couldn’t hide how good it felt.

He caught the look and chuckled softly, a low, satisfied giggle that warmed the space between us.

His eyes sparkled with that same mix of amusement and something deeper, and for a moment, everything else faded away—just us, the quiet room, and that simple, perfect little kiss.

"Mister Haxlay?"

A nurse knocked on the door. Tom held me in place.

"Yes?"

"Mister Claus had flatlined again."