Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

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"No."

He raised an eyebrow, Leon pressed his lips together, clearly fighting back laughter.

I pointed at him. "Don’t."

"I’m not."

"You are."

"I really’m not."

He began picking up broken pieces from the carpet, and I watched him for a moment. "You don’t have to clean that."

"I know."

"Then why are you?"

"Because if I leave it, you’ll step on it and get hurt."

I looked down and realized he wasn’t wrong.

I picked up a fork, and after a moment of silence, Leon quietly said, "The staff said they heard you and Lorenzo argue last night."

I paused. "Of course they did."

"They couldn’t hear what you two were arguing about though, but they’re worried."

"That’s unfortunate."

"They mentioned you’ve never really argued before."

I stabbed a piece of pancake with my fork. "We don’t talk enough to argue."

Leon offered a faint smile. "But still, people think you look like a nice couple."

I almost choked. "People need better hobbies."

"I’m serious."

"So am I."

He folded the blanket that had been thrown to the floor. "You two always seemed happy together when others were watching."

I stayed silent, and after a beat, he asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Alex."

"I’m fine."

He studied my face, and I hated when people did that. "I’m just tired."

Leon nodded slowly but didn’t seem convinced. He also didn’t push, that’s probably why I appreciated him.

I took another bite of pancake. Then, as casually as I could manage, I asked, "Leon, dear?"

"Yes, sir?"

"What’s the least guarded part of the estate?"

He paused folding the blanket. I gave him an innocent smile. "What?"

"You asked where the estate is least guarded."

"I was curious."

"About security? Why?"

"Yes." He looked confused, and I sighed. "I’m plotting ways to escape."

Leon stared at me, and I waited for his reaction.

He smiled. "You really shouldn’t joke about that. That’s confidential information, even us regular staff don’t know."

I looked him dead in the eye. "I’m not joking."

But he had already turned away to tidy up the room again. "Make sure you eat, okay?"

I just stared at him. This guy was hopeless. "Sure."

He picked up an empty glass from the bedside table. "And don’t skip lunch."

"You’re all obsessed with feeding me."

"It’s important."

"Why?"

He seemed genuinely taken aback by the question. "For your well-being."

I stared at him, and he beamed back. "That’s what the older staff always says."

I slowly lowered my fork. "I hate this place."

Leon chuckled, then left.

I lingered in the aftermath of his departure for a while. The pancakes were fantastic, probably the most infuriating part of all this.

By evening, I had barely stepped out of my room. The staff continued bringing food, and I eventually accepted it, mostly because starving felt like a needlessly dramatic stance to take.

The room remained dim. I didn’t bother fixing anything; I didn’t even care to straighten the crooked curtain or replace the broken lamp.

The wreckage felt fitting, matching my mood. More importantly, it served as a reminder that something had gone terribly wrong.

I sat on the edge of the bed, knees pulled up, just gazing at the locked door. I needed a way out...

And I needed it now.

I glanced toward the window, then the door, then the ceiling. Ideas for escape began to take shape in my mind, not fantasies this time, but actual plans. Dangerous ones.

I had no clue if any of them would actually work, but I’d learned something crucial in the last twenty-four hours: desperation breeds creativity.

And I was becoming increasingly desperate.

{Lorenzo Castelli}

The dining room had never felt this vast. Lorenzo sat alone at the head of the long table, untouched food growing cold before him, while the massive chandelier cast a dim light over the polished surface.

The food in front of him was excellent...perfectly seared meat, wine that cost more than some people earned in a month, and he hadn’t touched any of it.

His control, painstakingly refined into something cold and absolute, had cracked last night in the study, and the aftershocks still rolled through him.

‎

Usually, he enjoyed the silence. Tonight, it grated on his nerves. He stared at his plate, not really seeing it. His mind kept going back to the study, the look on Alex’s face, his anger, his fear. The way Lorenzo had lost control. That stung the most.

He knew he had messed up.

Pure emotion had overridden every careful calculation the moment Alex had thrown those divorce papers at him.

Something raw and possessive had surged up so fast it left no room for the measured responses he preferred.

He had pinned Alex to the wall, ignored every protest, kissed and stroked him until Alex’s body betrayed every furious word spilling from his mouth, and the intensity of his own reaction unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

He wasn’t a fan of the version of himself that had done that...the one who had sensed the mix of fear and arousal in Alex’s scent and felt only dark satisfaction.

Alex still wanting to leave had dragged something dangerous out of him, something he had never wanted to experience again after years of keeping attachments under tight control.

‎

He had built his life around control, over his temper, instincts, and emotions.

From a young age, he learned that hesitating could cost lives, anger could be a weapon, and attachment could be turned against him.

Yet one sentence from Alex had been enough to shatter all that discipline.

"I want the divorce."

And the thought of Alex leaving to some random country like he always talked about, where he might end up meet some new Alpha.

Lorenzo shut his eyes, surprised by how those words had affected him.

He’d never expected to react by destroying the agreement they’d made; worse still, he had crossed a line Alex hadn’t invited him to cross.

The memory of Alex pushing him away lingered painfully, along with the slap.

Lorenzo absently touched his cheek. He deserved it, even if it was uncomfortable to admit.

He had scared Alex, and that realization weighed heavily on him.

For years, people had feared him, and he had never cared. Fear was useful, it encouraged obedience and kept enemies in check.

But Alex’s fear felt different. It didn’t empower Lorenzo; it made him feel ashamed.

He glanced at the empty chair across from him, Alex’s seat. The thought of Alex sitting there, eating and complaining about the food but still inhaling it ad asking for seconds, seemed oddly better than this oppressive silence.

A soft knock broke his train of thought. An older maid stepped in cautiously.

"Sir?"

Lorenzo looked up. "What is it?"

She hesitated. "Mr. Sinclair has refused to come see you again."

Lorenzo sighed. "What did he say?"

The maid’s face flushed slightly. "Sir? Uh...he was rather...very disrespectful with his words...um, I’m not s–sure if I can’t say such to you."

"What did he say?"

The maid went pale, hesitated, glanced at the closed doors as if hoping for rescue, then reluctantly repeated the message word for word.

She looked as if she’d rather walk on hot coals. "He said... he said, ’Take your dinner and fuck yourself with it.’"

An awkward silence settled in. Lorenzo stared at her, then a quiet laugh escaped his lips...brief, low, and almost incredulous. The maid looked taken aback.

Lorenzo leaned back in his chair. "Of course he did."

Only Alex would have the audacity to say that.

She seemed relieved that she wouldn’t be punished for delivering the message. "Should I prepare another tray for you sir?"

"No," he replied, pushing his plate away. "I’ll handle it."

The maid blinked. "Sir?"

Lorenzo stood, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. His expression returned to its usual calm. "He’s angry with me."

"Yes, sir."

"I think I’ve earned that."

The maid remained silent as he left the dining room. The estate was quiet. His footsteps echoed down the corridor as he headed to Alex’s wing.

He could have ordered the door opened, could have sent guards to remove the lock, could have demanded Alex come downstairs.

In the past, he would have thought that was the easiest option. But tonight? Tonight, he didn’t want to.

Alex had made one thing painfully clear: if Lorenzo wanted him to stay, he needed to give him a reason...not a command, not a threat, not another contract.

A reason.

He arrived at Alex’s door and stopped. The light beneath it flickered. Lorenzo stood there for several seconds, looking at the polished wood.

Behind that door was the man who had unwittingly become important to him, a man who insulted him, argued with him, made him laugh, made him lose control, and now, apparently, wanted to run away.

Lorenzo lifted his hand. For a moment, he simply stood there.

Finally, he knocked, Since the Omega refused to come to him, Lorenzo would go to him himself.

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