Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

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Alright! Let’s blast through this shit, shall we?

If someone had told me on my wedding day that I’d end up feeling more at home in a mafia mansion rather than my childhood home, I would’ve laughed in disbelief.

And then I probably would’ve asked if they had anything stronger than champagne, because clearly, they must’ve been out of their minds.

The first few weeks after the wedding were a whirlwind of lavish rooms, hushed halls, and security guards who seemed to appear out of nowhere if I even considered getting too close to a locked door.

I was dousing myself in so much scent blocker that I began to wonder if I had inadvertently married into some sort of pharmaceutical company.

Every morning, I’d spray myself until I smelled like nothing at all. It was kind of impressive.

After a lifetime of being told how valuable and desirable my Omega scent was, one of the many reasons my father treated me like a walking investment opportunity...

I was now in a house where I had to make sure no one could detect my scent unless I gave them express permission to do so.

Didn’t want any of the dangerous Alphas here getting any gross ideas being exposed to my scent.

The Castelli estate was so vast that it made you question the need for all those hallways.

There were entire wings I hadn’t even explored yet, rooms untouched for weeks, and enough seating arrangements to host a small royal family along with their emotional support accountants.

My bedroom was at one end of the upper floor, while Lorenzo’s was at the opposite end.

The distance felt comforting, but also slightly insulting.

I was technically married to the guy, yet I could go days without seeing him unless we had a public event lined up.

Ironically, that suited me just fine. And it seemed Lorenzo felt the same way.

Our marriage was really just a business deal. No romance, no unnecessary touchy-feely moments, no dramatic declarations under the stars.

Mostly, it was about breakfast...separately by the way.

Lunch? Usually separately too.

Dinner? Definitely separately.

And we communicated through servants with messages that felt like exchanges between two CEOs who accidentally ended up being roommates.

"Mr. Castelli says dinner will be served at eight." A maid would come in to my room and say.

"Tell Mr. Castelli I’ve already eaten." I would respond to the maid, while reading a book as I lounged on my bed.

That was the depth of our intimacy.

Yet, strangely enough, I was happier than I’d been in years.

For the first time, no one was hovering over me, dictating how much I could eat, sleep, wear, talk.

That alone felt like a reason to fucking celebrate.

I discovered that the Castelli kitchen could whip up food that didn’t taste like punishment, and I became quite fond of it.

The first time I asked the chef for a second serving of dessert, he looked at me like I’d just requested to buy the place.

Then he smiled. "Of course, Mr. Castelli."

I nearly cried...not just from the cake, but mostly from the cake.

I even started keeping track of the days. I had a little calendar hidden in one of my books where I marked off each passing week.

Not because I was unhappy, at least that’s what I told myself. It just seemed practical. The deal had an expiration date.

Frederick would eventually pass, Lorenzo would claim his inheritance, and I’d walk away with enough money to vanish somewhere warm, buy a tiny apartment, eat whatever I pleased, and spend the rest of my days reading without anyone telling me I was gaining weight.

That was the plan, having a plan was comforting. It gave the illusion that I was in charge of my future.

So, I counted. One month, two months, three. I kept it up.

By the third month, I had surprisingly mastered the art of pretending to be Lorenzo’s devoted spouse.

We’d been to several formal events by then, and I figured out how closely I needed to stand next to him, how often to smile, and when to look at him like he was the one who invented the moon itself.

Lorenzo, of course, was an expert at it. He could walk into a packed ballroom where people probably quaked in their shoes at his presence, rest his hand casually on my back, and suddenly everyone was gazing at us like we were the greatest love story of all time.

An Alpha from a wealthy, shady family so cold-hearted that he was thought to be a psychopath of some sort who met an innocent Omega and fell in love...and his icy heart was then melted for such a beautiful Omega that he cherished beyond anything and then the Evil Alpha married him and blah, blah, blah...

Meanwhile, the last conversation we’d had before stepping into the room was about whether I preferred sparkling or still water.

At one charity gala, the cameras started flashing the moment we walked in.

Lorenzo’s gloved fingers brushed against my waist as I smiled sweetly.

He looked down at me with that intimate expression that made a bunch of elderly women near the entrance swoon.

I wanted to give a standing ovation. The performance deserved an Oscar.

"Smile," he whispered, though his lips didn’t move.

"I am smiling."

"You look constipated, Alex."

My smile widened. "You’re a real romantic."

"I try."

I almost laughed. Then he leaned closer, his expensive scent cutting through the blocker I had applied earlier. Cold, clean, and deep.

There was something about Lorenzo’s scent that just never fully disappeared under the artificial mask of the blocker.

Most of the time it was subtle, but when he got close enough, I picked up on it right away...I never did get used to his unique scent.

My body reacted even quicker. I hated that... I absolutely hated it. So I smiled wider, the cameras went wild.

Perfect newlyweds, what a lovely facade.

Not everything about life in the Castelli household was terrifying, which confused me at first. I had anticipated that Lorenzo would be cruel to everyone just because he was him.

The rumors about him were enough to make even grown Alphas lower their voices when they mentioned his name.

But I slowly came to realize he wasn’t deliberately cruel; he was just terrifyingly efficient. And there is a difference.

I learned this one afternoon when I stumbled across a senior man sexually harassing a servant.

The servant was a dark-skinned Beta named Leon, one of the few people in the estate who had warmed up to me enough to speak without looking like I might explode.

The older man had Leon cornered against the wall, his voice low and threatening. Leon looked visibly uncomfortable.

I didn’t think; I just stepped forward.

"Is there a problem here?"

Both men turned. The older man immediately straightened. "M...Mr. Castelli, this is a private matter."

"Wonderful," I said. "Then you can have your private matter somewhere else."

He stared at me, and I stared right back. I had no clue what I was doing, but fortunately, my arrogance had got me through worse situations.

Eventually, the man mumbled something under his breath and walked away.

Leon stayed against the wall, looking after him.

"Thank you, Sir." he said quietly.

He looked shocked that I had helped him, perhaps he never expected a man of my position would ever help someone in his.

I shrugged. "Don’t thank me. I just think what he was doing was downright disgusting."

That’s how our friendship began.

Leon started sharing little bits of information and gossip about the household with me, which was useful since the estate had more secrets than doors.

He told me which corridors were usually empty, which staff members had been with the family for years, which rooms were Frederick’s, and which guards had zero sense of humor.

In return, I offered him my terrible jokes. It was a fair trade.

Frederick was another unexpected element.

When I first met him properly, he was already in a wheelchair, his once-muscular frame noticeably frail beneath his designer clothes.

His health had declined rapidly, but his mind was still as sharp as ever.

He started asking for me.

At first, I thought he wanted to chat about Lorenzo.

But no, he was more interested in books, travel, history, food, and what I would do if I could go anywhere in the world when he found out that was what I was most passionate in.

Nobody had ever asked me that...at least not genuinely, so I shared my answer.

"I’d go somewhere nobody knows me."

Frederick smiled faintly. "Why, son?"

"Because it sounds peaceful."

He chuckled softly. "I get that."

Some days, I’d sit with him at his special spot in front of the large lake behind the estate for hours simply because he wanted me to.

He spun stories about Lorenzo’s childhood, many of which I’m sure Lorenzo would’ve preferred to keep classified.

I learned that Lorenzo had been unnervingly serious even as a child.

While his brothers squabbled over toys, Lorenzo was busy organizing them by size.

I found that entirely believable.

One afternoon, Frederick looked at me thoughtfully. "I’d like to have some grandchildren before I die."

I nearly choked on my tea, that’s too bad.

Me getting pregnant for Lorenzo was NEVER happening!

He chuckled. "I hope you and Lorenzo have been busy making some."

I flushed heavily to the point I was sure I looked like a freaking cherry tomato,

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