Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

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My brain stopped functioning for approximately two seconds. The residual warmth of his thumb still lingered at the corner of my mouth, and the quiet, satisfied sound he made afterward only made the entire moment feel ten times more intentional.

"Did you just—?!"

"Eat whipped cream?"

"You know exactly what, you pervert!"

His mouth curved, slow and deliberate, the kind of private amusement that always made me feel like I had already lost whatever game we were playing.

"I only did what a devoted Alpha would do, mio cuore."

The endearment landed softer than it had any right to, wrapping around the ordinary morning light and turning it into something far more dangerous. I stared at him. Then I slowly turned back to my breakfast, attacking the nearest pastry with more force than necessary while my pulse refused to settle. I decided I hated mornings. They were clearly conspiring against me, and Lorenzo was apparently the ringleader.

Later, I escaped to one of the quieter corridors of the estate, hoping to regain some dignity before the day could find another way to humiliate me. The polished floors and high windows felt too open after the intimate disaster of breakfast, and every soft footstep seemed to echo the memory of his thumb against my mouth. That was when I ran into Leon.

He was carrying folded linens and wearing the same cheerful expression he always wore whenever he was about to say something that would ruin my day. The cheerful part was the problem. Leon’s cheerfulness usually meant someone had been talking, and in this house "someone" almost always meant the entire staff.

"Good morning, sir."

"Morning."

He smiled, a little too brightly. I narrowed my eyes.

"Why are you smiling like that?"

Leon blinked innocently.

"Like what?"

"Like you’ve just received excellent news."

He hesitated, then his smile widened until it threatened to split his face.

"Oh." That one syllable contained enough suspicion to make me nervous. "What?"

"I’m just happy."

"About what?"

"Things seem better between you and the master."

I nearly walked into the wall. The corridor suddenly felt narrower, the air thicker with the faint residual scent of Lorenzo that still clung to my clothes from the night before.

"What things?"

Leon looked genuinely confused by my confusion.

"You two finally slept in the same room all through the night! Everyone’s whispering about it."

My head went blank. The staff. Of course the staff knew. Of course the entire estate had already turned one forced night of shared sheets into a romantic reconciliation.

"That doesn’t mean anything."

"Of course."

"And don’t say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you’re congratulating me."

Leon lowered his voice conspiratorially, glancing both ways down the empty corridor as if the paintings themselves might be listening.

"The staff were worried about you both."

I stared at him.

"We were fine."

"You barely spoke before."

"We still barely speak."

"But you slept together."

I covered my face with both hands, the heat of pure mortification rising so fast I was certain he could see it.

"Leon."

"Yes, sir?"

"Please stop."

He looked delighted, the kind of delighted that belonged on someone who had just watched their favorite soap opera reach a long-awaited episode.

"I’m glad you two made up."

"We did not make up."

"But—"

"We did not."

He frowned. For perhaps three seconds. Then his face brightened again, the previous concern vanishing like it had never existed.

"Well, even if you haven’t made up completely, this is progress."

I sighed so deeply that I suspected my ancestors felt it. The sound echoed faintly in the high corridor, carrying every ounce of dramatic suffering I could pour into it.

Leon adjusted the linens in his arms, still smiling as if he had not just single-handedly destroyed the last shreds of my privacy.

"Communication is important in marriage, you know."

"I communicate perfectly."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"What do you usually say to the master?"

I thought about it, the memory of every pointed "fuck off" and every calm refusal rising unbidden.

"Fuck off."

Leon tried not to laugh, the effort making his shoulders shake.

"And what does he say?"

"Usually, no."

Leon nodded thoughtfully, as if this exchange represented some profound marital insight.

"Perhaps you need more communication."

"I need a new life."

He smiled, entirely undeterred.

"And if this keeps up... soon enough, perhaps you’ll have children."

I stopped walking. He continued walking for two steps before realizing I was no longer beside him. When he turned around, I was staring at him in absolute horror, the word "children" still ringing in my ears like a particularly cruel joke.

"Children?!"

He smiled, completely missing the way my soul had just attempted to exit my body.

"Yes, sir. With your Alpha? Starting a family together?"

"Leon."

"Sir?"

"Please never say that shit to me again."

He laughed, the sound bright and completely unbothered by my existential crisis. I walked away before he could offer me parenting advice, my face still burning and my mind already inventing creative ways to ban the entire concept of children from every conversation in the estate.

I spent the afternoon walking around the gardens, trying to convince myself that nothing had changed.

By evening, I found myself sitting beneath an old tree near the lake with a book open in my lap. I wasn’t reading. I was staring at the same paragraph for ten minutes, the words blurring into meaninglessness while the lake reflected the fading light in long, quiet ripples.

"Pathetic," I muttered.

"You’ve said that three times."

I nearly dropped the book. Lorenzo stood several feet away, hands in his coat pockets, the dark fabric of his coat open just enough to show the crisp white of his shirt beneath. The evening air carried his scent toward me immediately—stronger out here without walls to dilute it, cold and clean and impossible to ignore.

"Do you make a habit of sneaking up on people?"

"I wasn’t sneaking."

I closed the book with more force than necessary, using the motion to hide the way my pulse had jumped.

"What the hell do you want?"

He looked at me for a moment, the emerald of his eyes catching the last of the light and turning it softer than it had any right to be.

"Nothing."

That answer was so unexpected that I frowned.

"Then why are you here?"

"I was looking for you."

"That’s contradictory."

"Perhaps."

He came closer, stopping a comfortable distance away that somehow still felt too close. The quiet intensity of his gaze made the space between us feel smaller with every second.

"I wanted to remind you that you’re still sleeping in my room, so I had the servants move your things this afternoon."

I stared at him. The calm delivery only made the statement land harder.

"That is not a reminder. That’s a threat."

"It’s a fact."

"It’s a terrible fact."

He smiled faintly, the expression soft enough to feel almost gentle and sharp enough to cut straight through every defense I tried to raise.

"And yet you slept better."

I immediately looked away, focusing on the lake as if the water might offer an escape route.

"I did not."

"You did."

"I had an unusually successful night of unconsciousness."

"That’s another way of saying you slept well."

"No."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm in the cooling evening air. I hated that sound, mostly because I was beginning to like hearing it. That was unacceptable. The quiet amusement in it wrapped around me almost as effectively as his arm had that morning, and the way he watched my reaction made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing.

I stood, tucked my book beneath my arm, and walked past him with as much dignity as I could salvage. The faint brush of his coat against my sleeve as I passed sent a ridiculous spark of awareness up my arm.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Alex."

I took several steps before he spoke again, the words soft enough that I almost pretended not to hear them.

"I slept better too."

I stopped. For some reason, that sentence followed me all the way back to the house, settling under my skin with the same quiet persistence as his scent.

The evening air suddenly felt warmer than it should have, and the path back through the gardens seemed longer with every step.

I touched my lips absentmindedly, the place where his thumb had brushed away the cream still carrying a phantom warmth I refused to acknowledge.

Then I caught myself and immediately dropped my hand.

"What am I doing?"

I looked at my reflection, the glass offering no mercy and no answers.

"You are not falling for him, you will not fall for him." My reflection offered no opinion. "Absolutely not."

I pointed accusingly at myself.

"This is temporary."

That sounded better. Temporary.

The memory of his voice saying "mio cuore" and the deliberate way he had tasted the cream from his thumb rose unbidden, and I shoved both thoughts aside with more force than necessary.

I turned toward the bed and stopped. For the first time, I realized I would have to sleep in Lorenzo’s room again tonight. My stomach twisted. Not with fear exactly.

Something much more inconvenient. The large bed waited in the low light, the sheets already turned down, and the faint residual scent of him that clung to the pillows made the entire space feel claimed.

I groaned and dropped my forehead against the door.

"This is going to be a very long marriage."

And somewhere deep inside me, a small, traitorous part of my brain whispered that perhaps that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. I immediately threatened to fire that part of my brain. There would be NO emotional development in this household!

I, Alexander Sinclair...will not fall for Lorenzo Castelli even if it kills me!

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