Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

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Over the past eleven months, I’ve learned one thing about Lorenzo Castelli: he has this uncanny knack for making completely ridiculous decisions seem like totally normal household choices. For instance, when he decided I should sleep in his bedroom after I tried to sneak out at midnight, he insisted that it wasn’t imprisonment—it was marriage. That’s how he put it. I called it psychological warfare, but with nice furniture.

Right now, I was perched on the edge of his bed, still in the black hoodie and pants I had on during my less-than-successful escape. Meanwhile, Lorenzo was moving around the room like a man whose evening was unfolding just as he had planned. He slipped off his coat and tossed it onto a chair, loosened his shirt cuffs, and started undoing the buttons without even noticing that I was watching him like he was some kind of dangerous creature.

Unfortunately, he was a very attractive dangerous creature, which was just my luck. His white-blond hair was a bit tousled from our little adventure outside, and the faint chill of the night still clung to him. He’d loosened his shirt enough to show off the strong lines of his neck and a hint of his collarbone, and the warm light from the bedside lamps softened the sharp angles of his face.

I quickly averted my gaze. Nope, not happening. I had already faced enough embarrassment tonight, I wasn’t about to let myself get distracted by the face of my captor.

"You’re staring," Lorenzo said.

"I was looking at the wall."

His lips curved into a smirk. "You’re tired."

"I had a rough evening."

"I’d imagine with you falling off a fence."

I shot him a glare. He looked way too pleased with himself. Then he reached out for the bedside phone.

"Send someone in."

My entire body went tense. "Why?"

"I need someone to bring you clothes."

I gave him a bewildered look. "You’re calling a maid?"

"Yes. Because you’re covered in dirt."

I looked down at myself. My trousers had grass stains, there was dirt smudged on one sleeve, and a small leaf was stubbornly stuck to my hoodie.

I flicked it off. "I look fine."

Lorenzo’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he spoke into the phone.

"Bring a change of clothes for Alex." A pause. "And something comfortable." He hung up.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "What does ’comfortable’ mean exactly?"

"Clothes."

"That’s not really reassuring."

"You’re getting paranoid."

"I married a mafia Don who keeps thwarting my escape attempts. I think paranoia is a healthy response."

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door. A maid walked in, holding a neatly folded pile of clothes. She glanced at me, then at Lorenzo, and finally at the dirt all over me.

Her expression stayed neutral, but I could tell she was struggling not to crack a smile.

She probably thought the both of us where getting ready to fuck or something.

After all, our pretend love making was the only reason why we’d ever be together alone in a bedroom in the middle of the night.

I really hated everyone right then.

She set the clothes on a nearby chair.

"Thank you," Lorenzo said, and she dipped her head slightly before leaving.

I stared at the folded garments, then back at Lorenzo.

He lifted an eyebrow. "What?"

"You aren’t going to drug me, are you?"

"No."

"Poison me?"

"No."

"Do anything weird while I’m changing?"

‎"Nothing perverted is going to happen tonight, Alex. You can stop looking at me like I’m about to grow a second head."

I narrowed my eyes. "You promise?"

"I promise."

I grabbed the clothes.

"Good." I marched toward the bathroom but stopped at the door. "And don’t touch my backpack."

Lorenzo glanced at where my bag was. "I already confiscated it."

I hated him. I stepped into the bathroom and locked the door. Only then did I let out the breath I’d been holding.

Leaning against the door, I took in the huge marble bathroom around me. It was bigger than my own bedroom back at the Sinclair estate.

There was a massive bathtub, a walk-in shower, fancy stone counters, and expensive toiletries arranged so neatly they looked like they were placed there by someone with a ruler.

Enough mirrors were around to make me wonder if I’d somehow wandered into the afterlife of the super rich.

I looked at my reflection. My hair was a mess, my face flushed from the cold, dirt smudged on my cheek, and I just looked tired.

And underneath all that, there was something else I didn’t want to admit to myself: fear. I had tried to convince myself I was furious, and I was, but beneath the anger lurked the awful truth that I had been totally outmaneuvered.

Lorenzo had known. He had known all along. He’d let me think I had a fighting chance.

I changed into the clothes he’d sent, folded my dirty stuff into a pile, and hesitated for a moment before opening the bathroom door.

Lorenzo was seated in an armchair by the window, scrolling through something on his phone. He glanced up, his gaze sweeping over me briefly before returning to the screen. I hated that I noticed how well the clothes fit me. Of course they did.

Everything in his life probably fit perfectly.

I approached the bed cautiously. "This is still insane.

"I’ll take the floor. Or the couch. Or the bathtub. Hell, the rug looks perfectly serviceable."

‎

‎Every suggestion was shut down without him raising his voice, the refusals delivered in that same calm register that somehow made them feel final.

‎

‎"No."

‎

‎"The floor is fine."

‎

‎"No."

‎

‎"I can sleep sitting in the chair."

Something flickered in his expression for just a moment before it vanished. "Get into bed, Alex."

I crossed my arms. "You’re very bossy."

"And you’re very difficult."

"Thank you."

"That wasn’t a compliment."

"I choose to take it as one."

Climbing onto the bed felt like a prisoner approaching his cell. Then I scooted as far away from him as I could. There was enough mattress space between us for at least one more person...maybe even two.

I pulled the blanket up to my chin and turned my back to him. "There."

Lorenzo studied me. "Comfortable?"

"No."

I muttered something rude under my breath. He switched off the lamp, and the room was swallowed in darkness.

Suddenly, everything felt different. During the day, I’d felt safe with the distance between us, with people moving through the house. But now, with the darkness surrounding us, it was just him and me.

I was acutely aware of every sound, the rustle of his clothes, the slight movement of the mattress as he shifted, his breathing, the soft hum of the heating system.

The distant sounds of the estate seemed muted, as if the whole place had settled in for the night, leaving just the two of us alone in the dark.

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