Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

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Three weeks...that’s all it took to transform my life from being the illegitimate child of a family, disappointment, stuck-in-my-bedroom-like-a-Disney- princess-omega to legally married to a mafia Don.

Guess subtlety really isn’t life’s strong suit.

Those three weeks between Lorenzo’s proposal and the wedding flew by in such a blur that I sometimes wondered if I actually lived through them or if it was all just some extended fever dream brought on by stress, pricey champagne, and too many people asking me whether I preferred ivory or pearl.

I did not give a flying fuck about either, by the way.

There were fittings...so many fittings.

Suit fittings, shoe fittings, shirt fitting, fittings for things I didn’t even know required adjustments.

At one point, a guy spent twenty minutes adjusting my sleeve cuff while another stood behind him, looking as serious as a surgeon in the middle of an operation.

I stared at them both.

"It’s just a cuff," I finally said.

The tailor looked mildly offended. "It’s your cuff, sir."

Apparently, that made all the difference.

Flowers were everywhere, white roses, cream roses, pale green blooms whose names I never learned, and enough arrangements to make me wonder if Lorenzo was secretly planning on burying half the city instead of just marrying me.

There were menus to approve, guest lists to go over, seating arrangements to squabble about, and security meetings where men with earpieces calmly discussed exits and emergency routes while I sat there, wondering if anyone had even considered that the biggest threat to the wedding might just be me indulging in too much cake.

My father became unbearable.

Not that he was ever particularly pleasant, but suddenly I was his offspring.

Not his bastard, not his mistake, not the son he wished he had left as just a stain on the sheets. I was his son.

His clever son, I almost checked the family tree to make sure we were talking about the same person.

Lydia was equally enthusiastic, although her affection seemed strictly proportional to the amount of Castelli money flowing into the house.

She stopped criticizing my clothes and simply changed her critique, which I guess was progress of a sort.

Blair, meanwhile, took up an odd new hobby. She stared at me like she was mentally calculating all the ways a person could die at a wedding without ruining the photographs.

I found it oddly comforting. At least someone was being honest.

Then one morning, I woke up and realized it was my wedding day.

I stared at the ceiling for what felt like forever.

Then I pulled the blanket over my head. "Nooo, I don’t wanna!"

Sadly, my wedding wasn’t going to cancel itself.

By the time the ceremony started, I had been dressed, undressed, redressed, adjusted, brushed, polished, and sprayed with some fancy-smelling stuff so many times that I was beginning to think the real purpose of marriage was to turn humans into decorative furniture.

My suit was stunning, that was the annoying part. It was white, though not the bright, blinding white I’d feared...but bright enough to elaborate on the fact that I was a virgin Omega to everyone.

Never then "unsullied" by anyone before.

Gross...

The fabric was soft and pricey enough that I could have probably sold off one sleeve and funded my escape.

The cut was elegant without being too fussy, fitting snugly at my waist and shoulders, with subtle details around the collar and cuffs specifically selected for an Omega groom.

I looked in the mirror. I could barely recognize myself. My dark hair had been meticulously styled, although I’d already managed to mess up part of it by running my fingers through it too often.

Someone had pinned a small silver accessory near my collar, and a thin chain disappeared beneath my shirt. For once, I didn’t look like someone who’d spent twenty-five years locked away in a massive house.

I looked like I belonged in a room full of beautiful people. Which was unfortunate because I knew better.

"You look lovely," Lydia said from behind me.

I glanced at her reflection. "Whatever."

Her mouth tightened. "Could you please try to behave today?"

"I’ve been behaving for God knows how long. I think everyone deserves a day off."

She shot me a warning look, I gave her a sweet smile. She looked like she regretted not marrying someone who could’ve produced a less troublesome stepson. Fair enough.

The doors opened, music started playing. And suddenly, there was nowhere left to run.

I stepped forward. The aisle felt like it stretched on for six miles. I’d walked down that corridor before, but never had it felt so much like a public execution.

Hundreds of people were seated on either side, dressed in black, white, jewel tones, and more designer clothes than you’d see at a fashion show.

Some clearly belonged to high society, while others looked like they could make a body disappear before dessert. The distinction between the two was surprisingly hard to tell.

The air was thick with perfume, pheromones, flowers, expensive cologne, and the undeniable presence of Alphas who’d spent their lives being obeyed. My stomach knotted up.

Then I spotted him. Dracu– I mean my dear husband Lorenzo stood at the altar, and sadly, the guy looked criminally good.

He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, the dark fabric highlighting the sharp angles of his shoulders and the light contrast of his long silver-white hair.

His emerald eyes found mine instantly. No surprise there, no uncertainty either. Just that same calm, unreadable intensity that had followed me from the gala to the restaurant and, now, apparently, all the way to the altar.

He looked at home there. I felt like I was marching toward the biggest mistake of my life for some reason.

Was this what they called foreshadowing?

Seventy million. I repeated silently. Focus on the money, Alexander.

When I finally reached him, Lorenzo extended his hand. I placed mine in his.

His fingers closed around mine with a controlled gentleness that made several people in the audience visibly soften. I almost laughed.

If only they knew, ha!

"Caro," he murmured, barely moving his lips.

I looked at him. "Don’t even..."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Smile."

"I am smiling."

"You look terrified."

"Well, I am also terrified."

His eyes flickered with amusement. "Then pretend better."

I wanted to explain that if he was going to be my temporary husband, he should at least offer some constructive criticism.

Instead, I grinned wider.

The ceremony began, the vows were short.

Thank goodness. I had been worried we’d have to recite some long historical epic about eternal devotion, and honestly, I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth for that to do so for a man I barely knew.

When the officiant asked if I accepted Lorenzo Castelli as my husband, I glanced at the man standing beside me. He looked back and here was something odd about his expression at that moment, something softer than his usual calculated mask.

For half a second, I forgot the contract, forgot the money, forgot the family and forgot everything.

Then my brain helpfully reminded me that I was marrying a mafia Don for my freedom.

"Yes," I said. My voice sounded steadier than I felt.

Lorenzo answered moments later. "I do."

And just like that, I was married. The crowd cheered. Someone cried, Richard looked like he’d hit the jackpot... I wondered if I should remind him that, technically, I had too.

The reception was even more over the top.

There were enough flowers to make me suspect someone had dumped an entire botanical garden into the ballroom, and the wedding cake had so many tiers that I briefly considered hiding inside it if the marriage got too inconvenient.

Lorenzo stayed by my side throughout the evening. He was flawless, he smiled when people approached us. He lightly placed a hand against my back.

He introduced me as his husband. He called me tesoro mio, caro, my love enough times that I began to wonder if he’d forgotten my actual name.

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"Caro" : Dear

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