Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

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There was silence, I remember how my fingers tightened around the edge of the box.

The soft pressure of the wrapping paper against my skin suddenly felt heavy, and the residual hope I had carried into the study began to fade under the weight of that quiet pause.

"I know you don’t like sweet things, b–but I thought maybe we could—"

"Alex." His voice stopped me, he didn’t raise it...he didn’t have to. "Don’t forget why you’re here."

That was it, just those six words. Six words that managed to squash every hopeful thought I’d had.

Don’t forget why you’re here.

I stood there feeling utterly ridiculous.

Of course, that was the answer. I wasn’t his mate in the way I had secretly started to imagine like a fucking idiot.

I was just a convenient solution to a family problem and nothing more, I forced a smile because I didn’t know what else to say or do.

"Right...yes." My voice sounded painfully normal. "Of course."

He turned back to his work. "Shut the door when you leave."

And I walked out, shutting the door just like he asked.

I went to my room, closed the door, and stared at that ridiculous cake for nearly an hour.

The soft afternoon light filtered through the windows as I sat there, and the heavy silence of the closed door felt weightier than any argument could ever manage.

Then I tossed the gift into a drawer and I gave out the cake to Leon and the rest of the servants because I didn’t even have the appetite for cake of all things.

That’s when I knew that I had gotten my heart broken for the first time in my life.

Not a great feeling... hundred percent do not recommend.

After that, I stopped letting myself think about staying, I stopped dreaming about traveling the world with him.

Stopped wondering what waking up next to him would feel like without a contract looming over us.

I went back to counting days.

I suppressed my feelings and went back to plotting my escape.

Back to reminding myself that the only thing waiting for me at the end of this marriage was freedom and money.

And now, here was Lorenzo on a balcony telling me I wasn’t temporary.

I opened my eyes.

A tear rolled down my cheek. The warmth of it felt different than the hangover tears from the day before, and its quiet honesty made my carefully constructed walls feel thinner than they had just moments ago.

"You’re an idiot," I muttered at myself.

My voice cracked...I wiped my face angrily. The sharp motion did nothing to erase the lingering warmth of the tear or the quieter ache that lay beneath it.

"You are such a goddamn idiot."

I hated that I had cared.

I hated that a part of me wished I had never heard those words that day.

Most of all, I hated the tiny part of me that wondered what might have happened if Lorenzo had just eaten the cake.

The soft image of that alternate version of that morning, Lorenzo accepting the gift, the two of us sharing something as ordinary as cake...rose unbidden, making the actual memory feel sharper in contrast.

But obviously that didn’t happen, so now all of a sudden he wanted me?!

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.

I quickly wiped my face again. The residue of my quiet breakdown vanished beneath the hurried motion, and I forced my expression back into something resembling my usual controlled indifference.

"Come in." I said.

The door opened, Lorenzo stepped inside.

Of course, he was already dressed.

Some people wake up looking like they’ve weathered a storm.

Lorenzo woke up as if he was the one who orchestrated the storm.

The soft morning light highlighted the sharp lines of his face and the slightly disheveled state of his light hair in a way that felt unfair, and the calm demeanor he brought with him only made the contrast with my disarray more apparent.

His hair had that slight tousle, making him look annoyingly good. He glanced at me, and his expression shifted almost imperceptibly.

The quiet change in his eyes suggested he noticed the redness around mine and was already calculating the best way to address it.

"You look terrible." he said.

I stared at him. The measured delivery of the observation landed with the same calm certainty he brought to everything else, and the faint amusement creeping in at the corners of his mouth made this simple exchange feel more complex than just a morning greeting.

"Good morning to you too."

His mouth quirked. That slight movement indicated he was genuinely enjoying the chance to start the day with the same dry banter that had quietly become our most consistent form of communication.

"I meant you’re hungover."

"You could have just said that."

"You knew what I meant."

"I was hoping you’d developed some manners overnight."

"Sadly, no."

I nearly smiled but turned away before he could see it.

Lorenzo caught on regardless. The quiet recognition in his gaze turned that near-smile into something more significant than the aborted expression itself, and the lingering warmth in that moment felt longer than I would’ve liked.

He approached the bed, now my own mind was helping him out. The warmth of the shared space rose between us with every step he took closer, and the quiet intimacy of the morning deepened the confusion swirling in my thoughts.

Lorenzo picked up the glass of water sitting on the bedside table and handed it to me.

The simple act reflected the calm competence he brought to every practical task, and the cool glass felt like the first genuine act of kindness of the morning.

"Drink."

I accepted it, the cool touch of the water against my fingers provided a welcomed distraction from the quiet intensity of his presence.

"Bossy." I muttered.

His eyebrow lifted, what single motion carried more commentary than most people manage with whole sentences, and the glimmer of amusement in his eyes deepened the sense that he was greatly enjoying this exchange.

I slowly set down the glass. The cool surface still held the remnants of the cold water, and the intensity of his gaze made the simple action feel more deliberate.

He studied me for another moment and then reached toward the bedside lamp, dimming it further. The soft reduction in light provided immediate comfort, and the nagging ache in my head subsided just enough for clearer thought.

The relief was instantaneous.

I hadn’t realized just how much the light hurt.

Lorenzo noticed.

Of course he did. The quiet attention he paid to every small reaction made that simple adjustment feel more intimate than it ought to have been.

"Feeling better, caro?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He moved toward the door, his measured steps carrying him across the quiet room with the same controlled ease he brought to every departure, and I felt his presence linger, even as he put distance between us.

"I’ll have breakfast sent up."

"I’m not hungry."

He cast a glance back at me. The soft morning light caught the residual intensity in his eyes as he took in my expression with the same careful attention he had given the lamp earlier.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he continued to study my face. "You’re uncharacteristically quiet, are you feeling sick?"

"No."

"You look pale."

"I’m hungover."

"Are you sure you don’t have a fever along with it?"

Before I could respond, his hand lifted toward my forehead.

The soft approach of his fingers made the space between us feel charged, and the morning air thickened with the possibility of contact.

I swatted it away harder than necessary. The sound of it echoed sharply in the still morning air, resonating with more impact than the situation warranted, and the lingering heat from that brief near-contact hung in the air longer than the actual touch.

"What?" Lorenzo blinked. The fleeting look of surprise was so brief it almost vanished before I could fully register it, quickly replaced by that familiar calm amusement.

I fixed him with a glare.

"What, do you think I can’t stay quiet long enough to be sick?"

His lips curled into a smirk. "Yes, actually."

I narrowed my eyes. "Do you enjoy this?"

"Immensely."

"You’re a bad Alpha." I glared at him, "And you don’t even look sorry."

He chuckled and tilted his head to the side, "I’ll make more of an effort then. Since my Omega is unsatisfied with me."

His gaze lingered on me. That quiet intensity settled deeper than any of our earlier banter, and the weight of it made the morning light feel warmer than it had just moments before.

"Maybe after breakfast."

I hated that I felt like laughing. The remnants of that near-laugh bubbled in my chest, stubbornly resisting every instinct to suppress it, and the easy chemistry of our exchange made it all the more challenging.

Instead, I took another sip of water and muttered, "It doesn’t matter if you do, I still want to leave you."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." he leaned in even closer, his lips not even up to a few inches away from mine. "You know you want me."

That reply should’ve irked me.

Instead, it left a hollow ache in my chest.

Because there had been a time when those words would have served as confirmation.

Now they somehow sounded like tolerance.

And I had no idea what to do with that. The shifting significance of those three familiar words felt heavier than my hangover, and the quiet light continued filtering in through the curtains.

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