Chapter 186: Help You

Benjamin didn’t faint.

To my surprise, he stayed standing, though his hand clutched his chest as if his heart might burst. His face was red with rage and fear.

“You’re insane!” he shouted at Lewis. “All Harper did was slap Riley, and you cut off his finger!”

Lewis didn’t even look up at first. He calmly wiped the blood from the cleaver with a white towel, slow and precise.

“Benjamin,” he said evenly, “you’re wrong on two counts.”

The room fell silent again.

“First,” he continued, “I’m not stopping at one finger. I plan to take all five. One at a time. That way, he has enough time to feel fear before each one.”

Harper let out a broken sob.

“Second,” Lewis went on, finally lifting his eyes, “he only loses a hand. My mate was slapped in the face.”

The words landed heavier than the cleaver had.

For a second, no one understood what he meant.

Were they really hearing this correctly?

Was he saying a slap to my face was worse than losing fingers?

But Lewis’s expression did not change.

He wasn’t joking.

He wasn’t exaggerating.

In his world, the scale was simple.

I was his mate.

Anything done to me tipped the balance.

I remembered how he had sent me upstairs earlier, not wanting me to witness this. Not wanting me to see blood. He protected me from violence even when he was the one delivering it.

Unlike others who had watched me suffer and stayed silent, Lewis answered every insult with action.

Immediate. Absolute.

Harper lay trembling on the floor, pale and shaking. The delay before the next strike was worse than the pain itself. He kept begging, his voice cracking.

Lewis stepped closer.

“Mr. Wilcher,” he said calmly, “does it hurt?”

Harper nodded frantically.

“When you raised your hand and struck Riley,” Lewis continued, “did you consider that she would feel pain too?”

Benjamin couldn’t take it anymore.

“It was just a slap!” he roared. “You’re cutting off his fingers! How is that equal?”

Lewis slowly turned his head toward him.

That small movement made the air shift.

“Oh?” Lewis asked softly. “So you believe a slap doesn’t hurt?”

My stomach tightened.

I knew that tone.

He hadn’t planned to deal with Benjamin. But Benjamin had just placed himself in the center of the storm.

Lewis looked at Theo.

“Why don’t you demonstrate,” he said casually, “how much a slap can hurt?”

Theo stepped forward without hesitation.

“Yes, Mr. Lewis.”

Theo was built like a wall broad shoulders, thick arms, controlled power. I had seen him move before. His strength was not for show.

Benjamin’s confidence faltered instantly.

He took a step back.

“W–wait ”

Too late.

The sound of the slap cracked through the room like a gunshot.

Benjamin’s head snapped to the side. He staggered, barely staying upright.

Silence followed.

Then Lewis spoke again, his voice still calm.

“Did that hurt?”

Benjamin didn’t answer.

A red mark bloomed across his face, already swelling.

Lewis leaned back slightly in his wheelchair, composed as ever.

“You see,” he said, almost conversationally, “pain is relative. But to me, her pain weighs more.”

His gaze flicked upward toward the staircase.

Toward me.

Even from a distance, I felt it.

That invisible pull.

That instinct that told me I belonged under his protection.

Not because I was weak.

But because I was his.

The room was thick with fear now. No one dared speak.

Lewis set the towel aside.

“As her Alpha,” he said quietly, “if I don’t respond when she is harmed, what message does that send to the rest of the pack?”

No one answered.

For years, Benjamin had ruled this house by age and loudness.

He believed seniority meant dominance.

But tonight, he had run into a real Alpha.

“What are you doing? Lewis, you can’t ”

Slap.

Theo’s arm cut through the air in a wide, brutal arc. The sound cracked against the walls like thunder.

Even I flinched.

For a second, I honestly thought Benjamin might collapse into dust on the spot.

But what surprised me most

Was the satisfaction blooming in my chest.

This was the same man who had controlled Lena her whole life. The same man who decided her worth with a wave of his hand.

Now he was the one trembling.

Blood streamed from Benjamin’s nose, dripping down his chin.

“Dad!” Vere shouted, rushing forward.

Lewis didn’t even raise his voice.

He simply looked at Vere.

“Would you like to feel it too?”

Just that.

Nothing louder. Nothing dramatic.

But the temperature in the room dropped instantly.

Vere froze mid-step. His courage vanished. He retreated like prey realizing it had wandered too close to a predator.

He went back to being what he truly was

A coward.

Lewis’s gaze returned to Benjamin.

“Well?” he asked calmly. “Do you understand now that a slap hurts?”

Benjamin said nothing.

He couldn’t.

That single strike had nearly taken the breath out of him. And deep down, he knew if he resisted again, Lewis wouldn’t hesitate.

When dealing with someone like Benjamin, words never worked.

Only consequences did.

After that slap, he stood there quietly, subdued like a child who had finally been disciplined.

Then

The front door opened.

The sound echoed through the bloody silence.

Grant stepped inside.

He stopped dead.

The living room was chaos. Water from the broken tank still spread across the floor. Blood stained the tiles. Harper lay shaking. Linette was pale and shaking. Benjamin’s face was swollen. Theo stood still, steady as a wall.

And in the center of it all

Lewis sat calmly in his wheelchair, a knife resting loosely in his hand.

“What is going on here?” Grant demanded.

His voice carried authority, but even that authority wavered.

Vere and Rubie rushed toward him like drowning people grabbing a rope.

“Grant! Thank God you’re here! Lewis cut off Harper’s finger!”

“He hit Dad too! Dad almost died!”

“We came for a simple family dinner and he turned it into a bloodbath!”

“He’s acting like a tyrant!”

They spoke over each other, desperate, dramatic.

Grant’s eyes turned toward Lewis.

“Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?”

The air shifted again.

I could feel it even from the stairs.

Lewis calmly tossed the bloodied towel aside. His expression didn’t change. Not guilt. Not anger. Not panic.

Just control.

He met Grant’s eyes steadily.

“Grant,” he said coolly, “as you can see, I’m simply helping you discipline your pack.”

The word hung there.

Pack.

Not family.

Not guests.

Pack.

Because that’s what this really was.

A hierarchy.

A challenge.

A line crossed.

Lewis continued, voice calm but heavy with dominance.

“They laid hands on my mate. In your territory. Under your roof.”

Silence swallowed the room.

Even Grant didn’t interrupt.

“If you cannot maintain order,” Lewis added softly, “then I will.”

He didn’t need to raise his voice.

He didn’t need to stand.

Power radiated from him anyway.

In that moment, it became clear to everyone

Lewis was not asking for approval.

He was declaring authority.

And watching Grant stand there, caught between blood and pride, I realized something important.

Respect.

And a warning to anyone who ever thought I was unprotected.

No one touches an Alpha’s mate and expects peace afterward.

Not in this life.

Not in this pack.

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