Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

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I took off running like the floors were trying to swallow me whole, shoes slipping on the glossy marble, my pants barely hanging on, and my shirt slipping off one shoulder as if it had given up on me just like my dignity and life as a whole.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, each portrait on the walls judging the wet stain cooling in my underwear and the leftover slickness making every step feel like a new embarrassment.

I didn’t dare look back.

I couldn’t. Mateo’s confused voice and Lorenzo’s calm reply faded behind me, and all I could think about was getting a solid door and a lock between me and the study where my body had just staged a full-blown rebellion.

As soon as I reached my room, I flung the door open, slammed it shut, and locked it so hard that the bolt rattled in its frame.

Then I just stood there, breathing heavily and staring blankly at the wall. My heart was racing so fast, I could practically feel it in my throat.

For eleven months, I’d convinced myself this was a simple arrangement: a temporary marriage, seventy million dollars, Frederick dies, then divorce, and ultimately, my freedom.

It was the cleanest plan I’d ever had...which probably made the universe take it as a freaking personal challenge.

I let out a laugh. It felt wrong, a thin, breathless sound devoid of any humor.

"Of course this would happen," I muttered, running my hands through my hair. "Just perfect, fuck my life!"

I had spent nearly a year viewing Lorenzo Castelli as just another attractive but intimidating hurdle between me and my future.

Apparently, he had other ideas and wanted to become a permanent roadblock. Fantastic.

Just fantastic!

I grabbed the nearest decorative cushion and threw it across the room.

It hit a chair and landed harmlessly on the carpet, but that wasn’t enough. So, I grabbed the chair and sent it toppling over with a satisfying crash.

"There!" I pointed at it. "Much better!"

Though honestly, it wasn’t. But I wasn’t done yet.

Next, a lamp went down. Then another cushion. Then a vase I never liked, which smashed against the wall, sending tiny porcelain shards skittering everywhere.

I yanked the blanket off my bed and hurled it after the pieces, then followed that up with two pillows and, in a moment of sheer stupidity, one of the books I had been reading.

It landed on the mattress, and I glared at it. "Traitor."

I snatched it up and threw it at the wall anyway. "Man of your word, my ass!"

By the time I finally stopped, my room looked like a wealthy tornado had ripped through it.

One curtain hung askew, a drawer was half-open and abandoned, and broken glass sparkled across the carpet, catching the dim light from the lone lamp that somehow survived my outburst.

Standing amidst the chaos, my chest heaving, all trace of anger vanished. No shouting. No clever retorts to make myself feel better...just sheer exhaustion.

I sank down onto the edge of the bed, my hands trembling as I looked at them. Then I laughed again, but this time, my eyes burned.

"Congratulations, Alex," I said, my voice small in the vast room. "You’ve managed to escape from one prison only to go straight to another."

I bowed my head, and the memory of the study flooded back...the expression on Lorenzo’s face, his voice, the torn documents.

The realization that the agreement I had staked my entire future on could just be tossed aside because he decided to change his mind hit me hard.

I had been so naïve!

I had trusted him...not completely, of course. I wasn’t totally out of my mind.

But enough to think that when the time came, he would follow through.

Enough to think money meant freedom. Enough to think I could walk away from the Castelli estate with my life intact. Now, I wasn’t even sure I could step outside my bedroom.

The self-loathing settled heavily in my gut, thick and sour.

I replayed every second...the grind of his hips, the pressure of his thigh, the way his fingers found the wettest spot through fabric and then underneath, and each replay made my face burn hotter.

I hated him.

I hated my stupid body even more for betraying me and craving release from him.

My eyes drifted to the floor, where I spotted the little calendar I had hidden beneath a stack of books.

It had fallen open, and the months of tiny marks stared back at me. Days crossed off, weeks counted, a personal countdown to a freedom that had already come and seemingly left without me.

I picked it up and traced my thumb over the final date. I had once visualized sunlight on that day. A small apartment somewhere far away. A passport, a suitcase. No one knowing my name. No one controlling my life.

I collapsed onto the ruined bed, then slid off it entirely until I was sitting on the floor surrounded by shards of glass and torn silk.

The scent of him still clung to my skin, and now permanently mixed with the memory of his hand wrapped around my cock, stroking slowly while I spat out insults that turned into broken sounds.

Every time I shut my eyes I saw the calm satisfaction on his face, the way he called me tesoro and adorable while my body betrayed me in the most mortifying ways.

Slick and hard, with me pushing into his fist even as my mouth screamed hatred. I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes until colors burst behind my lids, but the images wouldn’t go away.

‎

Sleep didn’t come, not really.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, while daybreak slowly crept across the room, listening to the house settling around me.

Every creak echoed louder than it should have, every distant footstep made me tense.

At one point, I heard someone stop outside my door and knock softly.

"Mr. Sinclair?"

I didn’t respond, then another knock followed. "Sir, we brought your breakfast."

I continued to stare at the ceiling. "Take it and fuck off."

A pause. "Sir?"

"I said take it away and fuck off!"

"We...we were instructed that you should eat."

"Then Lorenzo can eat it."

Silence hung in the air, I turned onto my side. The other side of the door fell silent and the footsteps disappeared soon after.

For the next several hours, the siege continued. Breakfast morphed into brunch, then into lunch, every few hours, someone would knock with another tray and another polite request.

Each time, I told them where they could shove it.

Eventually, a knock sounded different...softer, more tentative. "Alex, sir?"

I recognized Leon’s voice immediately. I stared at the door. "Go away."

"It’s me, Leon."

"I know."

"I brought breakfast."

"It’s nearly noon."

"Then...uh, technically, I brought a very late breakfast."

Despite myself, I closed my eyes.

Leon was one of the few people in this house who managed to stay relentlessly innocent and pure even while surrounded by enough criminals to make a prison warden uneasy.

I hate to admit this, but he was pretty much the only friend I had ever made in my life.

"Alex," he said gently, "please open the door."

"No."

‎"Alex? Please. You need to eat. For fertility, remember? Omegas should not starve themselves! The doctors always say—"

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt then stopped listening. Of course, Leon still believed the official story. Sweet, loyal, utterly clueless Leon.

I stayed silent until he softened and started talking about grieving Frederick, how quiet the house felt without the old man’s sharp remarks, and something about that genuine sadness made me sigh and drag myself up.

"Go away, Leon!"

"Okay, I’ll sit outside if you don’t open the door till you do."

"Fine, then. Get a mattress so you’d be more comfortable out there."

"...I brought pancakes."

I opened my eyes, that was low. Using my weakness against me.

"How many?" I asked, glaring at the door.

There was a brief pause. "Six."

"Six pancakes?"

"And eggs with bacon."

I sat up. "You people are trying to manipulate me with food."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir."

"You absolutely do."

A small laugh came from the hallway. I stared at the door for a few more seconds before finally getting up and unlocking it.

Leon stood there with a large breakfast tray, his expression shifting when he took in the state of the room.

He looked around, then at me, then at the broken lamp before returning his gaze to me. "Wow."

"Don’t."

"I wasn’t going to say anything."

"You were thinking something."

"I was thinking the lamp probably deserved better."

I shot him a glare, and he wisely stepped inside.

The smell of the food was mouthwatering. I sat down at the small table near the window while Leon carefully set the dishes before me.

Leon took one look at the wrecked room, and his glasses fogged up even more. "Oh! Oh dear."

He glanced around again. "Did you do all this?"

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