Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

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The words landed with the same tired weight they always carried, and the champagne made it easier to refuse the usual silence.

"You’ve always been great at making me feel like a disappointment," I muttered.

Father jaw tightened. The familiar muscle jumped once before he controlled it again.

"Don’t start that nonsense now."

"I didn’t start anything."

"You’re acting like an ungrateful spoiled brat!"

Something inside me cracked. Years of careful silence, of measured words, and swallowing those sharp replies bubbled up all at once.

The champagne had loosened the usual restraints, and the words came out sharper and more honest than they had in years.

"Maybe because I’ve spent my whole life being treated like one so I know nothing else."

Silence hung between us. Father looked momentarily stunned, then anger returned, darkening his eyes.

The brief flash of surprise vanished beneath the more familiar expression of controlled fury.

Before he could respond, Lorenzo had returned and stepped between us. He didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t need to.

His presence changed the atmosphere, the cold, clean weight of his scent cutting through the tension.

The quiet authority in the way he moved made the surrounding conversations falter for half a second before resuming at a lower volume.

"Mr. Sinclair."

Father immediately straightened, almost instinctively.

The shift in posture was automatic, the same deference he showed to anyone who held real power.

"Mr. Castelli, I...I must apologize on my son’s behalf. Alex has had too much to drink."

"I can see that." Lorenzo’s voice remained polite, then his gaze shifted to Father’s hand on my arm. That quiet authority in a single look made the air feel heavier.

The emerald of his eyes remained calm, but the weight behind the look left no room for argument. "Take your hand off him now."

Father did, immediately...my skin has suddenly burned him. I stared at Lorenzo, who turned to me, the emerald of his eyes softening in a way that felt more dangerous than anger.

The quiet shift from cold authority to something softer made the space between us feel suddenly more intimate than the crowded ballroom should have allowed.

"Come."

"I can walk."

He placed his hand against my back anyway, the steady pressure guiding me with quiet assurance.

I should have pushed him away. Instead, I leaned into him for a moment, my balance suddenly lacking. The solid warmth of his body against my side felt too steady, too safe.

I straightened up. The brief lean had lasted only a second, but the residual heat of him lingered along my side like a quiet claim I had not given permission for.

"I...uh meant to do that."

"Sure you did."

That annoyed me enough to make me laugh, softer than before.

Lorenzo guided me through a side door and onto a quiet balcony overlooking the city. The cool air hit my face sharply, refreshing after the oppressive heat of the ballroom. I breathed in deeply.

Much better. Until Lorenzo took off his jacket and placed it over my shoulders.

The heavy fabric settled around me, still warm from his body, and his scent enveloped me, stronger, closer, impossible to escape.

The residual heat of him clung to the lining, and the cold, clean notes of his scent rose immediately, wrapping around me more thoroughly than the fabric itself.

I looked at him. "I...uh...I don’t need this."

"But you’re shivering."

"I’m angry."

"Anger doesn’t cause shivering."

"Mine does."

He ignored that. I pulled the jacket tighter around myself. It smelled like him.

The quiet intimacy of wearing his jacket in the cool night air made the earlier confrontation feel suddenly distant, replaced by something far more complicated.

I stared out through the railing at the lights below, the city sprawling in indifferent glitter.

The glittering sprawl of the city offered no answers, only the quiet reminder that the night was still far from over.

"You don’t have to keep pretending, you know." I said, the alcoymaking my mouth speak words before I could even think about them.

Lorenzo was silent. The quiet stretched between us, filled only by the distant murmur of the gala and the soft night wind.

"About what?" he questioned.

"Us."

His jaw tightened a little, the only visible crack in his usual calm. I turned toward him, the champagne giving me the courage to speak more openly.

The cool night air sharpened the edges of the words, making them feel more honest than the carefully measured ones I usually chose.

"The perfect husband act. The hand-holding, the smiles, the way you look at me like I’m the most important person in the room."

"You think it’s an act?"

I laughed bitterly, catching something raw in my chest. The bitter edge of the laugh caught on something I had not intended to reveal.

"Isn’t it?" I asked, "You said it yourself back then. It all means nothing to you."

He didn’t answer right away. The silence hurt more than I anticipated. I swallowed, the cool night air suddenly feeling sharper.

The absence of an immediate denial settled heavier than any argument could have managed.

"Am I just supposed to believe you fell for me all of a sudden?" I scoffed. "You don’t love me and you know it."

His expression shifted. Just slightly. The quiet intensity in his eyes deepened, that calm certainty more unsettling than any raised voice.

The soft change in his expression made the refusal feel more final than any raised voice ever could have.

"Is that what you think?"

I laughed again, though there wasn’t much humor left. The champagne had softened the edges, but the conversation remained painfully clear.

The quiet honesty in his admission left little room for the usual sarcasm.

"Of course. There’s no way you love me." I said, looking away sadly. "You’ve seen the way my own family treats me, haven’t you? No one is capable of loving me."

His gaze remained on mine, the emerald of his eyes holding me in place more effectively than any physical restraint.

"That’s not true." He said.

"But it is, I’m nothing more than a possession of yours."

"Alex–"

"I’m better off alone," I whispered cutting him off. "You should know that much."

The steady intensity of that look made the cool night air feel warmer, and the quiet claim in it settled deeper than any physical hold.

"Then why won’t you let me go?"

"Because somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking of you as temporary." he replied.

The alcohol suddenly felt a lot less amusing. I stared at him.

He reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair from my forehead, the touch light but enough to feel like another claim.

The warmth of his fingers lingered against my skin for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

The gentle brush of his fingertips sent a quiet shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cool night air, and the way his eyes followed the path of his own hand made the simple gesture feel far more intimate than it should have.

No one has ever touched me that tenderly before...

Don’t fall for it, Alex.

Don’t fall for it, Alex.

For crying out loud! Don’t fall for it Alex!!!

"You can hate me in the morning," he said quietly. "But, you’re staying where I can see you and be with you."

I looked away. For some reason, my eyes started to burn. I blamed the champagne, obviously. It was always the champagne.

The night air felt colder against the growing heat in my face, and the jacket around my shoulders felt heavier with everything he’d just said.

The quiet finality in his voice left little room for argument, and the residual warmth of his touch still lingered against my forehead like a brand I could not quite ignore.

The ride home was nearly silent. I sat next to him in the back seat, still wearing his jacket. The city lights flashed by outside the window in long streaks of gold and white. My head was starting to throb.

My stomach felt uncomfortably warm. My thoughts were worse. I hated that he had stood between me and father. I hated that he had protected me. I hated that some small, traitorous part of me had felt safer the moment he did it.

The solid line of his shoulder was close enough that I could have leaned against it if I allowed myself that weakness.

The quiet sounds of the car and the steady presence beside me made the earlier confrontation feel both distant and far too close.

Lorenzo glanced toward me. "Headache?"

"Hmm."

"Drink some water."

He handed me a bottle anyway. I took it. Our fingers brushed, the brief contact sending a spark of awareness up my arm that the champagne didn’t dull.

Neither of us spoke.

After a moment, he looked forward again.

The quiet brush of his fingers against mine lingered longer in my mind than the actual contact had lasted, and the residual warmth of it made the cool plastic of the bottle feel suddenly more noticeable.

"Sleep when we get home."

I stared out the window, the dark reflection of the car interior overlaying the moving lights outside.

The shifting reflections made his profile appear and disappear with every passing streetlight, a quiet reminder that the conversation on the balcony had not ended simply because we had left the gala behind.

"You don’t get to tell me what to do." I snapped.

"Are you sure about that, Alex?"

I rolled my eyes and I took another drink of water and pulled his jacket closer, the warmth of his body still clinging to the fabric.

The residual heat of him and the quiet certainty of his presence made the earlier defiance feel thinner than it had on the balcony. The worst part wasn’t that my attempt to provoke him had failed.

The worst part was that I had spent the entire evening trying to prove Lorenzo didn’t care about me, only to realize that some part of me wasn’t entirely sure I wanted that to be true.

And that was a much bigger problem than the alcohol. Because temporary marriages were supposed to end.

They weren’t supposed to feel... real.

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