Hurt Me Like You Mean It [BL]-Chapter 16: I won’t punish you, I’ll punish them.

Chapter 16: Chapter 16: I won’t punish you, I’ll punish them.
He swallowed, turning his head slightly.
"What... what happens if I do?" he asked quietly.
He wasn’t sure why he asked.
Maybe he already regretted it.
Maybe some part of him knew he shouldn’t push further.
Ansel leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other with the slow, unbothered grace of a man who never needed to raise his voice to be feared.
"If you let someone else touch what I’m currently using," Ansel said softly, "I won’t punish you."
Lance blinked, confused for half a second.
Ansel tapped the desk, one finger at the time.
A slightly smile on his face, but the expression on his face sent chills to Lance’s spine.
"I’ll punish them."
"I’ll make sure they understand exactly what they put their hands on. And I promise you, Lance..."
He waved his finger slightly, like he was sending a warning sign to Lance.
"...they will regret it far more than you ever could."
Lance gulped, he had asked a simple question and Ansel had given him a simple answer.
But if he go against Ansel’s wishing he won’t be the only one at a disadvantage.
"Be smart.." Ansel said calmly. "And go home."
"Y-yes, Sir.." he whispered.
Only then did Ansel look away, dismissing him without another glance.
Lance slipped out of the office, pulse racing for all the wrong and confusing reasons.
Lance took the elevator back down to the underground parking lot where Benjamin was already waiting beside the cayenne.
The moment the doors slid open, the tension in his shoulders loosened, finally, space to breathe without Ansel’s gaze on him.
Benjamin smiled at him when he saw him, opening the car door and he said with the same smile "Ready to go home?"
Lance nodded, he was more than ready to go home.
Without Ansel’s eyes on him, he finally felt like he could breathe again. Lance finally pulled out his phone.
The screen lighting up in a flood of notifications.
There were several missed calls from his mother—eight, actually—which was never a good sign. Her messages came in long, frantic strings, one after another like she was typing without breathing.
Where did you get that money??
Pick up your phone.
Please tell me you didn’t do something stupid.
Lance answer me!
I settled the debt. Don’t worry anymore.
I’m at your house. Where are you?
He didn’t even finish scrolling when he felt his heartbeat jump.
She was at his house?!
Right now? No that was nearly an hour ago since last sent a message.
"Oh shit..." Lance muttered under his breath.
He didn’t reply. He couldn’t even think straight long enough to form a text.
Henry had messaged too, something about being at the airport, boarding soon, sending a selfie with his luggage but Lance barely skimmed it. He couldn’t deal with Henry right now.
He stared harder at his mother’s last message, feeling his chest tighten.
She must have panicked herself sick.
And now she was sitting in his living room, probably pacing, worrying, maybe already imagining the worst possible scenarios.
Lance pressed the back of his phone to his forehead.
He needed to get home. Fast.
But—He blinked.
He didn’t have groceries. Not a single thing in the fridge unless the last can of beer counted as food. He had cleaned some things out two days ago but hadn’t restocked yet.
And if his mother was over?
Yeah. Showing up with an empty kitchen would just be adding fuel to fire.
Lance sighed, slumping back into the seat as Benjamin closed the door.
"Benjamin," he said, voice low, still processing everything. "Before we head home... we need to stop by the grocery store. My mum’s at the house."
Benjamin shifted in the driver seat and glanced at him through the rear-view mirror.
"No problem, I’ll get you there in a bit.."
Benjamin pulled the Cayenne smoothly into the parking lot of the nearest grocery store.
The moment the car stopped, Lance unbuckled and hurried out, nearly jogging toward the automatic doors.
He didn’t bother pretending to be calm, his mum was in his apartment and he had nothing at home except can beer and a pack of protein bars he’d been avoiding for three weeks.
Inside, the cool air hit him immediately. The store was bright, clean, and thankfully not crowded. Lance spotted the first available employee, a warm-faced woman in her forties with her hair in a neat bun and a name tag that read Tina.
He rushed toward her.
"Hi— sorry," he said quickly, slightly breathless. "My mum is at home. I don’t have any groceries. I don’t even have time to think about what to buy. Do you... maybe have a list or something?"
Tina blinked once. Then she smiled like he had just asked her to do her favorite hobby.
"Oh, baby, say no more," she said, already taking his basket from him and hooking it over her arm. "If your mama is at home and you trying to look responsible, I got you."
Lance exhaled, relieved.
Tina placed one hand on her hip and looked him up and down with the evaluating precision of someone who had raised four kids and survived every single one of them.
"First things first," she said, steering him toward the produce section. "You need breakfast food. Not that instant-noodle nonsense. Real food."
Lance nodded immediately. "Yes, ma’am."
"That’s right," she said, pleased. "So we’re starting with eggs, whole milk, some bread that doesn’t taste like cardboard, and fruit so your mama doesn’t think you live like a stray cat."
She tossed items into the basket with practiced ease.
Then she grabbed a second basket.
"You’ll need dinner options too. Something you can cook quickly but still look like you tried. Chicken breast, rice, vegetables, something green so she can brag to her friends that her son takes care of himself."
Lance followed her like an obedient puppy as she zipped from aisle to aisle.
She added seasonings, butter, cereal, pasta, sauce, juice, snacks, and even a bouquet of inexpensive flowers.
"For the table," she said. "Mamas love flowers. They forgive faster when there are flowers."
Lance swallowed. "You’re a lifesaver. Auntie."
"Oh, I know," Tina said proudly. "And we’re not even done. You need cleaning supplies too. Moms can smell dust. It’s like a superpower."
She loaded paper towels, disinfectant wipes, dish soap, laundry detergent, and a multipurpose cleaner.
By the time they reached the checkout, Lance had two full baskets and a clearer head.