Mated To The Crippled Alpha-Chapter 147: Family Of Leeches

In the past, Grant only crossed paths with the Wilchers once a year, usually during holidays. To him, they were nothing more than distant faces tied together by greed. He never bothered to look closer.

Over the years, his attention drifted elsewhere. He failed to notice how my mom was treated. He didn’t see the quiet endurance. The swallowed pain.

Today, I tore away the illusion of "family" right in front of him.

And once the truth was exposed, there was no way he could pretend everything was fine.

The anger in Grant’s eyes rose fast.

Josy saw it immediately and changed his tone at once. "This is shameful," he snapped at Raya. "Go inside and change right now."

When she returned in her own clothes, Grant didn’t hesitate.

"Leave," he said flatly.

Raya froze, clearly unwilling to go.

Grant’s gaze swept over the Wilchers, cold and final. "You’re disturbing my wife’s rest. All of you out."

For years, he had tolerated them only because of my mom. He despised people who lived with their hands stretched out, and his patience had always been thin. They simply never realized how close it was to snapping.

The Wilchers never expected everything to collapse after just a few words from me.

Desperation crept into Benjamin’s eyes as he turned toward my mom. "Lena, say something. We’re family. No matter what happens, the bond doesn’t disappear."

My mom didn’t move.

Lately, the sickness had drained her completely. Maybe after all these years, her trust in them had finally worn away.

From beginning to end, she stayed curled on the couch, silent and distant.

When Benjamin finally addressed her directly, she answered calmly, without emotion.

"You can all leave," she said. "Riley will take care of me."

Benjamin’s face tightened. "Fine. You’re the real family. We’re nothing," he muttered, trying to guilt her as he always did.

I knew that move well.

For twenty years, whenever things didn’t go his way, he used pressure. If that failed, he dragged Granny into it. Emotional leverage. Ruthless and effective.

It had worked on my mom before.

But not this time.

He didn’t understand what truly mattered to her anymore.

As the Wilchers left, Lewis’s people quietly reached out to Granny. If they could pull her out of that suffocating house, my mom would finally be free free to break away without fear.

Benjamin had no idea that by the time he returned home, everything he relied on would already be gone.

Once the house fell silent, Grant finally noticed something was wrong.

Lena didn’t look well.

"Are you feeling sick?" he asked, worry flickering across his face.

My mom bent forward slightly, too weak to answer. The discomfort was written all over her body.

Grant wasn’t heartless. He just never learned how to show care.

He reached out and pressed his hand to her forehead. "Was it this bad when you were carrying Riley?"

She didn’t respond.

When she first found out she was pregnant years ago, she had thought about accepting her fate. About trying to live properly with Grant. About letting go of herself and letting go of Nicholas.

But just as she made that decision, she learned that Monica was pregnant too.

That was the moment her hope shattered.

She had looked at Grant with empty eyes and pushed him toward Monica instead.

How could he understand her pain?

Only now did he realize that for twenty years, he had been too busy fighting, too busy proving himself, to ever truly see her as a woman who could break.

The maid nearby finally spoke, her voice careful but firm.

"Pregnancy is very hard on women. In the early months, the sickness can be so severe that even blood is vomited. Later on, sleep becomes almost impossible. Mrs. Ashbourne hasn’t been keeping anything down not even water."

She paused, then continued quietly.

"Normally, I wouldn’t interfere. But pregnant women need peace. Mrs. Ashbourne hasn’t had that. Her family has shown no care at all. They’ve only disturbed her rest."

The room fell silent.

Guilt and regret were written all over Grant’s face.

"I’m sorry," he said softly. "Darling. Let me take you upstairs to rest."

He bent down and tried to lift my mom, but she reached up and pressed her hand against his chest.

"Don’t," she murmured weakly. "The baby is still here."

"You shouldn’t move too much," he said anxiously. "You might feel sick again."

This time, she didn’t stop him.

He carried her upstairs, holding her carefully, like he was afraid she might break.

I watched them disappear, letting out a slow breath.

If only he had understood earlier.

If only he had learned how to listen.

But life doesn’t give second chances for regret. We can’t go back. We can only move forward.

Later that night, when I returned to the room, Lewis had already washed up. He sat on the bed, a book resting loosely in his hands.

I changed into my pajamas and stepped closer.

He closed the book and lifted the edge of the blanket slightly, the meaning clear.

This felt different from last night.

Last night had been blurred by wine and exhaustion.

Tonight, I was fully awake.

I hesitated, then sat at the edge of the bed, slipping off my slippers before slowly moving closer.

Noticing my pause, he asked gently, "Would you like the lights off?"

I understood what that meant.

"Yes," I whispered.

The room dimmed, and darkness wrapped around us.

Although this life with Lewis was still new, we had known each other for years. I understood him. Trusted him. And my feelings for him had grown quietly, steadily.

I was shy but I wasn’t afraid.

Lewis had always treated me with care, never crossing a line without my consent.

I lay still beneath the covers, my heart racing in the dark. Nervousness fluttered inside me, mixed with a soft anticipation.

"Darling," he murmured.

Just that word made my chest tighten.

"Do you want to?" he asked calmly, not moving, giving me space.

Heat rushed to my face, unseen in the dark.

I whispered back, "What about... you?"

"I do," he answered simply.

I knew what he was doing.

He wanted me to choose.

Slowly, I moved closer, drawn by the warmth of him.

"Hold me," he said softly, guiding me without pressure.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my head against his chest. Through the thin fabric, I could hear his heartbeat steady, strong. Before long, mine matched its rhythm.

His breath brushed my ear, low and teasing. "Don’t you want to touch me?"

"Elena," he added gently, "I’m your mate. You don’t have to be shy."

My hands trembled as I traced the shape beneath his clothes, cautious and curious. His warmth grounded me.

The feel of him was solid and reassuring. Real.

I found myself relaxing, surprised by how natural it felt.

"Not as frightening as you imagined?" he asked quietly. "I won’t hurt you."

I hummed softly in response.

To me, his presence still felt powerful something that inspired both awe and safety.

When my fingers brushed a sensitive spot, he let out a low breath.

Startled, I pulled back at once. "Carl... did I hurt you?"

He caught his breath, voice deep but calm.

"No," he murmured. "Don’t stop. Just... keep going."