Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

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There are times in life when you’re faced with a tough decision, and then there are moments when it feels like whoever’s calling the shots has it out for you. I was definitely in one of those moments.

So there I was, sprawled on the carpet in my family’s sitting room, right? Fixated on the intricate design beneath my fingertips while the so called parents chatted about my future as if I weren’t even in the room.

It seemed oddly calm, in a way. Not emotionally peaceful or anything...my cheek was throbbing, my lip was split, and every breath was a reminder that my father’s foot had recently made a rather unfortunate connection with my ribs.

But mentally? I’d hit that strange point of exhaustion where things got so absurd my brain just gave up trying to make sense of it all.

Apparently, I was on the path to marrying a mafia Don. Just wonderful.

Just my dream of joining a loving, wholesome family.

My father cleared his throat. "Get up."

With great effort, I pushed myself upright, my side protested vigorously, sending a sharp ache into my ribs.

I had to press my hand against the sofa arm for some balance.

He noticed, of course; his expression didn’t change. That was just one of his many talents...he could hurt you and then look at you like you were the one causing the hassle by reacting.

"You will meet Lorenzo Castelli in three days."

I blinked. "Three days?"

"Yes."

That soon?!

I wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand and glanced at the smear of blood on my fingers.

"Is that enough time to prepare my funeral?"

His jaw tightened. I realized pretty quickly that sarcasm wasn’t going to help my case, but it was the only strategy I had left.

"You’re going with your stepmother," he went on. "And you will apologize for your brain-dead behavior at the gala, and you will make a good impression."

I stared. "You want me to make a good impression on a Alpha who most likely hates me?"

"Yes."

I gaped at him, "How the heck am I supposed to pull that off?!"

My stepmother, Lydia, shot me a disgusted look. "Don’t test your father."

"I’m not." I turned to her. "I’m just trying to wrap my head around the situation. Clearly, I’m failing."

My father’s nostrils flared. "You will be polite. You will be respectful. And you will act like a proper Omega for once in your damn life!"

And there it was. The phrase I’d heard my whole life: a proper Omega.

Apparently, that meant being quiet, beautiful, obedient, and preferably devoid of independent thought.

I had somehow disappointed everyone just by being myself.

"If he doesn’t like you," my father pressed on, "you’ll marry Mr. Harrison."

My stomach dropped. I looked at him in disbelief. "Ew, that old bank dude?!"

"Of course."

I felt a wave of nausea. "You can’t be serious!"

"He showed interest at the gala."

"He’s old with grey hair!"

My father just stared at me, and I stared right back.

"Lots of successful men have grey hair," Lydia chimed in coldly.

"Sure, and I’m betting he earned every one of them waiting for an Omega young enough to be his grandchild...to fall into his lap."

"Alex."

I sighed. "Sorry." I really wasn’t.

God, I hated these people...

My father stepped closer. "Mr. Harrison thinks he can handle you."

My stomach twisted again. "Handle me?"

"He said you’re spoiled and rebellious, but that you can be tamed."

Me? Rebellious? Of course, thumbs up on that one.

But spoiled? I don’t know about that one.

If beating and isolating your kids till they reach adulthood counts as spoiling them nowadays then...he’s spot on.

For a moment I was at a loss for words. Then I imagined myself standing beside that man, smiling politely while trying to exude pheromones because apparently, my body was now some sort of bargaining chip.

I almost gagged. "That’s comforting."

My father frowned. "If you don’t succeed with Lorenzo Castelli, you’ll go to Mr. Harrison or thrown out of my household. Do you understand?"

I glanced between him and Lydia. There it was...my two options.

Option A: marry a cold, murderous, calculating mafia heir who had every reason to despise me after I insulted him in front of his bodyguards.

Option B: marry a middle-aged bank manager who apparently found pleasure in taming young, rebellious Omegas.

Truly, the best choices ever.

I swallowed. "I understand."

"Good."

He turned away from me almost immediately, signaling that the conversation was over.

But then I heard Blair’s soft sob...everything shifted.

My father moved over to her. His tone softened. "Don’t cry, sweetheart."

I watched, bewildered. I could still feel the sting from his hand against my face, yet there he was, gently wiping tears from Blair’s cheeks like she was some fragile porcelain doll.

"I was so scared, Dad."

"I know, I’m sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for."

I almost laughed.

I’d been thrown across the room and got my ass beat less than ten minutes ago, and now my sister was the one being comforted...Incredible.

Lydia wrapped an arm around Blair. "You don’t need to worry about the Castellis anymore."

Blair looked up. "What if he hurts Alex?"

I fought the urge to snort, just look at her acting like she gave a shit about me.

My father answered right away. "He won’t."

She sniffed. "But what if he does?"

"Then that’ll be his problem."

Well...damn.

I stared at them, realizing the truth. My future had become the family’s solution to their problem.

My father finally turned to me. "Go upstairs."

I didn’t argue, I knew it was pointless. I just walked toward the door. Behind me, I heard Blair whisper something to Lydia, and they shared a laugh. I didn’t bother looking back.

The staircase felt twice as long as usual. Each step sent pain through my ribs, and by the time I reached the second floor, I was carefully controlling my breathing to hide the discomfort.

The hallway was quiet. The mansion always looked stunning. That was one of the most frustrating things about it...everything was marble, expensive art, carved wood, crystal chandeliers, and huge windows overlooking impeccably kept gardens.

It looked like a dream but felt like a trap.

I entered my bedroom and shut the door behind me. A moment later, I heard the click of the lock from the outside.

"Of course." I leaned my forehead against the door. "Wouldn’t want me escaping before my arranged marriage."

Eventually, I crossed the room and headed to the bathroom. The mirror revealed an unpleasant surprise. My left cheek was already darkening into a bruise, and my lower lip had a split, leaving a thin trail of dried blood.

I touched it gingerly.

"Lovely." I turned my head one way.

I ran cold water over a cloth and pressed it against my cheek.

The sting made me wince. I had become oddly skilled at examining injuries without visibly reacting...another skill that wouldn’t make it onto any job résumé.

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