Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

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I felt myself tense up. The way his hand crept closer made me acutely aware of how close we were sitting, and the gentle morning light highlighted the careful movement of his fingers as they approached my face.

Each inch he moved felt like the air thickened between us.

His fingers suddenly glided through my bangs, brushing the long strands away from my forehead.

The touch was so gentle that I momentarily forgot to breathe.

The soft and gentle feel of his fingertips against my forehead sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with my lingering hangover, and the warmth of that contact lingered longer than the touch itself.

I could feel my heart race under the light pressure, and for a wild second, I wondered if he could sense it.

He didn’t pull back and he didn’t pressure me. He simply tucked my hair aside and let his fingers linger near my temple. His touch was cooler than I expected.

My heart was pounding. The quiet beat felt surprisingly loud in the soft morning stillness, and knowing he was watching my reaction made the brief contact feel way more meaningful than just moving my hair.

I stayed completely still, torn between wanting to lean away and the more dangerous urge to stay right where I was.

"Why do you keep your bangs so long?" he asked quietly.

I gulped. The sound felt deafening in the silence of the room. "What kind of question is that?"

His gaze remained fixed on my face. The intensity of his look was different from the earlier joking; the softness in his expression made the morning light feel a bit warmer than before.

His emerald eyes didn’t carry their usual distance; they were open, steady, and too honest for the walls I liked to keep between us.

"Because you’re hiding how devastatingly beautiful you are."

Everything inside me froze. I stared at him. He said it so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the planet. Like it was something I should have no trouble believing.

My cheeks burned, the heat of disbelief and something more complicated bubbled beneath my skin, and the soft morning air felt insufficient against the weight of the moment.

A dozen sarcastic comebacks came to mind but died on my tongue, leaving me with the disconcerting awareness of his calm, steady gaze still locked on me.

I looked away. "I’m...I’m not beautiful."

Lorenzo’s fingers lingered for just a second before he pulled them back.

The warmth remained against my temple longer than the actual touch, and the way he withdrew felt more calculated than accidental.

The absence of that warmth felt oddly colder than the morning air should have been.

"I’m ugly," I muttered. "That’s what everyone says."

His expression shifted. Something darker flickered in his eyes. The change carried more weight than any earlier laughter, and the soft morning light suddenly felt serious.

His usual calm facade cracked just enough to reveal something sharper and more protective.

"Who told you that?"

I shrugged. It felt like a small gesture under his intense gaze.

"People."

"Who?"

Lydia, Father, Blair, the servants when they compared me to Blair not knowing I was eavesdropping, the list goes on.

"It doesn’t matter." I said.

"It matters to me."

I met his gaze. And that was where the problem lay, he meant it. At least he looked like he meant it.

The raw honesty in his eyes felt heavier than any excuses I usually made, and the morning silence around us filled with everything unsaid from the balcony and that birthday that never was.

The years of indifference I’d built around other people’s opinions felt less sturdy, and the distance I preferred felt shakier than it had just moments ago.

I pushed my hair forward again, covering my face.

The strands fell back into place just like they always did hiding my face protect me from judgemental eyes and people seeing bruises left by my father,

The warmth from his earlier touch still lingered beneath them.

My bangs settled back like an old defense, and I told myself the slight tremor in my fingers was just a remnant of my hangover.

"Stop lying to me."

"I’m not."

"You are." I swallowed hard.

The words from months ago clashed with what had happened last night.

Don’t forget why you’re here.

I stopped thinking of you as temporary.

How could I reconcile those two different sides of him?

I couldn’t. Maybe that’s why my chest hurt so much. Because part of me wanted to believe him.

And another part was still outside his study with a birthday cake in my hands, feeling like a fool.

I pulled the blanket tighter around me. The soft material offered the same protection it had before, but his lingering scent made distancing myself even more complicated.

The expensive sheets felt less like a barrier and more like a reminder of how thoroughly this space, everything in it began to feel claimed.

"Don’t do this to me." I whispered weakly.

Lorenzo’s demeanor softened. That shift carried more genuine care than the earlier teasing, and the intensity hung in the morning air between us, making it feel more intimate.

The sharp edges of his composure softened into something quieter and far riskier for the protective walls I liked to maintain.

"Do what?"

"Look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like..."

I couldn’t finish that thought. Like I mattered.

Lorenzo didn’t push. He just stayed there. For once, there were no words.

And that silence felt heavier than any carefully chosen phrase could have expressed, with the morning light filtering through the dim curtains, indifferent to the unspoken complexities swirling between us.

That quiet moment allowed memories of cake and balcony confessions to coexist without resolution.

Later, when he left to handle whatever dangerous business rich psychopaths got up to before breakfast, I found myself in front of the bathroom mirror.

The morning light reflected off the glass, turning my expression into something I didn’t want to analyze too closely, and the heat from our earlier chat still lingered beneath my skin.

The big mirror didn’t offer an escape from the intensity still lodged in my chest, and the scent of him that lingered in the room made that private space feel less private.

My hair was still falling over my face. I stared at my reflection. Then, slowly, I pushed my bangs back.

Just enough to see what he saw. My forehead, my grey eyes, the shape of my face that I usually hid behind my hair without even thinking.

I stared. For a moment, I thought maybe he was right. Then I quickly shoved my bangs forward again.

"Nope."

Absolutely not.

And I wasn’t falling for that. I wasn’t falling for him. I’d already made that mistake once, not again.

But my heart was still racing. And deep down, buried under anger, fear, and a stubborn determination to escape, a traitorous thought whispered the one thing I didn’t want to face.

What if he meant it this time?

I closed my eyes and hated myself for hoping he did and wasn’t just trying to manipulate me into staying with him.

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