Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

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When I woke up, the first thing that hit me was Lorenzo’s voice.

Not his face, not the gala and not even the fact that I had spent the whole night downing champagne to the point of making some regrettable choices.

Just his voice.

’Because somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking of you as temporary.’

I stared at the ceiling, the soft gray light peeking in through the closed curtains transformed the familiar molding into something distant and slightly judgmental, almost like the room had eavesdropped on our conversation on the balcony and decided to hold me accountable for every emotional mess that followed.

For a few seconds, I didn’t budge, mostly because my head felt like someone decided to take a freaking hammer to the inside of my skull and hadn’t quite finished the job.

The dull, rhythmic thumping behind my eyes made even the thought of getting up seem like an act of bravery.

The curtains were still closed, wrapping the bedroom in a dull light that should’ve felt calming, but instead, it made everything seem oddly unreal.

The sheets felt warm around me, and I caught a scent of Lorenzo still lingering on the pillow next to mine, that clean, dark Alpha fragrance that had become uncomfortably familiar over the last few months.

That didn’t help. Waking up in Lorenzo’s bed was not beneficial. The warmth from where he had slept still clung to the fabric, and every slow breath I took pulled that scent deeper into my lungs.

I squeezed my eyes shut and almost instantly remembered the balcony.

The chilly night air, the city lights sparkling below us and my drunken bravado.

My even more foolish demand for a divorce.

And Lorenzo standing there with that annoyingly calm expression, saying the one thing I hadn’t been ready to hear.

My chest tightened...those words felt heavier in the stillness of the morning than they had on the balcony, like being sober in daylight made their weight feel more real.

”Why now?” I whispered.

The words barely escaped my throat, fading into the room without an answer, leaving only the faint rustle of the sheets as I shifted.

I rolled onto my side and pulled the blanket tighter around me, curling up like I could somehow make my body smaller than the chaos in my head.

The lavish fabric settled softly over my shoulders, but the lingering scent of him on the pillow complicated my attempt to find comfort.

”Why are you doing this now?”

But there was no answer.

Of course not, Lorenzo wasn’t even here.

The room wasn’t going to suddenly get the emotional smarts needed to explain Lorenzo Castelli to me.

The soft gray light continued filtering through the curtains with total indifference, and the quiet of the big bedroom didn’t provide any helpful explanations for the tightness in my chest.

Unfortunately, my mind had apparently decided it was the perfect moment to come up with its own answer.

And that answer hurt.

Because Lorenzo wasn’t the only one who had changed.

I had.

Or more accurately, I had given it a shot at one point.

I spent months telling myself I had never really cared about him.

That whatever strange warmth had started to form in me during the first months of our marriage was just loneliness, gratitude, or some unfortunate result of being stuck in a mansion with a very attractive man.

I labeled it as temporary, I called it foolishness, I dismissed it as anything but what it truly was.

Because I had already fallen for him once.

And Lorenzo made sure I knew exactly where I stood.

The memory hit me so suddenly that my eyes stung. The soft sting rose unexpectedly, sharper than my hangover and far harder to ignore.

I covered my face with both hands. The cool sensation of my palms against my skin offered no real protection from the sudden clarity of that memory.

You see this was around six months ago, back when our marriage still felt like a complex business arrangement and I was stubbornly trying to decide whether to endure it quietly or escape through a window.

The careful distance I had kept in those early weeks had felt safer then, before the subtle moments of observation turned into something riskier.

Frederick had been the one to tell me Lorenzo’s birthday during one of our conversations.

I was sitting with him in one of the smaller lounges, listening to him complain about his son’s refusal to celebrate anything with cake when he casually mentioned the date.

The soft afternoon light of that day came back to me, along with the quiet clinking of teacups and the way Frederick always spoke about his son with a mix of exasperation and pride.

I had looked up from my tea. ”Lorenzo doesn’t celebrate his own birthday?”

Frederick laughed, that warm sound filled the small room with the kind of easy affection he consistently managed to convey, even when discussing the difficult aspects of his family.

”That boy hasn’t had a proper birthday celebration since he was young.”

”Why?”

”Because he’s Lorenzo.”

That was Frederick’s answer for everything, the simple remark carried years of unspoken understanding, and at that moment, I accepted it without pushing for more.

”Wow...thanks a lot, sir. That answers everything.” I rolled my eyes, but the information stuck with me.

I had never celebrated my birthday too, so I figured that was something about us that we had in common.

I told myself it meant nothing, I had no plans, I wasn’t interested, I definitely wasn’t falling for my husband.

But, that I was merely being considerate.

That was all.

Except by then, I had started to notice little things about Lorenzo.

The way he took his coffee, the books stacked beside his desk.

The fact that he detested overly sweet desserts but loved dark chocolate.

How he quieted down when he was tired.

The way he stood by the windows late at night, thinking no one was watching.

The impression he gave of being completely in control when everyone else around him was losing theirs, how well he treated me whether or not it was all an act.

Falling for a man who wanted nothing from me except on what we agreed on.

But me being myself, broke the first rule of our marriage within the first few weeks of marriage no matter how much I tried to hide how I felt.

How my Omega instincts were drawn to him.

I had begun to look forward to seeing him...that should have been my first red flag.

Instead, I baked a cake...an actual cake, from scratch. I still can’t believe it.

Me.

Alex Sinclair!

I willingly spent several hours in the kitchen measuring ingredients for a man who had once looked at me like I was just a nuisance in a contract even as the servants and chefs begged me to leave it to them.

The memory of flour dust on the counter and the focused concentration of following a recipe came back with annoying clarity, along with that glimmer of hope that had accompanied every careful measurement.

And somehow, the cake turned out great.

Not just edible...it was rather good for my first time in the kitchen.

I stood there afterward, covered in flour and frosting on my fingers, feeling absurdly proud of myself.

That soft satisfaction echoed with a tinge of hope I had let myself feel, and that warmth only made the later rejection sting more.

I even bought him a gift...nothing extravagant, just a watch that I managed to afford. Nothing too expensive that would make it seem like I was trying to buy his affection.

It took me days to pick it out.

I remember holding the wrapped box that morning, feeling nervous.

Actually nervous.

I stood in front of the mirror twice, changing my shirt three times because apparently, giving your fake ass husband a birthday gift required a fashion strategy.

The silliness of those careful preparations twisted something in my chest, and that nervous energy felt almost alien now.

I laughed at myself, then I thought about staying not forever, of course.

But maybe longer than the contract.

Maybe, that dangerous little word started sneaking into my thoughts more often.

Maybe I could stay if Lorenzo wanted me to.

Maybe I could actually build a life here even with the dangerous, scary people here.

Maybe I could travel with him, see places I’d only seen in photos, wake up somewhere new and ridiculous and luxurious.

Maybe one day this mansion wouldn’t feel like a prison.

Maybe it could become home.

The thought scared me, but it also made me happy...and therein lay the problem.

I had been happy.

For a little while, I had dared to dream about a future.

Then I took the cake and the gift to Lorenzo.

I remember standing outside his study and I remember the silly little smile on my face.

I remember knocking and how he looked up, then I extended the gift with a nervous smile.

”Happy birthday, Dracula!”

His expression barely shifted. ”What’s that?”

”A birthday present.”

He glanced at the box, then back at me...there was no anger, no disgust and no cruelty.

Just that same cold, unreadable calm he wore to remind me that our arrangement was strictly business. The quiet distance in his eyes fell over the moment like a curtain, and that memory still resonates with the weight of the rejection that followed.

”I don’t celebrate my birthday.” he said.

”I know.”

”Then why are you doing this?”

I swallowed hard. ”Because you’ve never had anyone do this for you.”

Same as me...

Something in his expression shifted, but I didn’t get it then. The brief flicker of something deeper passed too quickly for me to grasp, and only in hindsight did it feel like a missed opportunity.

I smiled awkwardly and gestured to the cake. ”I...I made that too.”