Please Divorce Me, Alpha! {BL}

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One thing I’d learned about Sinclair family gatherings is that no one invited me out of a genuine desire for my company.

I was more of an ornament, occasionally a bargaining tool, and on some ambitious nights, I felt like a piece of merchandise.

That’s the only reason I could think of for why my dad brought me to one of the city’s swankiest charity galas after locking me up in my room for six days straight.

Apparently, I was allowed out of my little jail cell when rich people were around. How generous of him.

Father of the year, you guys!

The Bellmont Grand ballroom looked like someone gave a billionaire a free pass to a crystal factory and told him to make it as lavish as possible.

Huge chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, flooding the room with warm light that bounced off polished marble floors and tables dressed in pristine white linens.

Meanwhile, waiters glided through the crowd, expertly balancing champagne flutes on silver trays as if they were born to do it. All around me were expensive suits, flashy jewelry, and people who looked like they had never checked a price tag in their lives.

You could almost smell the money itself, buried under layers of scent-blocking perfume, cologne, champagne, and flowers, along with the clashing scents of Alphas, Betas and Omegas mingling in the air.

Alpha dominance permeated the space, some subtle enough to overlook and others so strong it almost made me choke. The Omegas had clearly gone all out with scent boosters, making the room smell like a ridiculously overpriced flower shop with an attitude.

I stood by one of the giant pillars at the ballroom’s edge, nursing a glass of sparkling water and hoping I could fake an illness soon enough without anyone calling a doctor.

I’d already been there for twenty-three minutes, and trust me, I was counting.

To be honest, I’d rather be at a rave or something.

Not that I’d ever gone there before, but it seemed less of a fucking snooze fest than whatever this was...

My dad was somewhere in the room’s center, chatting with a group of businessmen. My stepmother hovered beside him while Blair floated around in a pale blue gown, flashing smiles like she had invented joy herself.

And then there was me, dressed in a sleek black suit that was clearly chosen to make me look slimmer.

The belt was uncomfortably tight, but I had thought better of loosening it after my dad’s last lecture about my weight.

So I left it as it was. There are worse things than discomfort, like being weighed in front of your stepmother.

I glanced at the dessert table and quickly looked away. Dangerous territory...cake.

Not just any cake, but one of those massive, multi-layered creations slathered in glossy chocolate frosting and garnished with delicate gold flakes, edible, presumably.

Though, with the crowd tonight, they could have been real gold and no one would blink.

I stared at it for a moment longer, my stomach growling. Looking around, I noticed no one was watching. My dad was still deep in conversation, Blair was laughing at something a man said, and my stepmother had her back turned.

The waiter at the dessert table was preoccupied serving champagne.

This was my chance!

For the past week, I’d been fed just enough to stay alive, and my father had already warned me to watch how much I ate tonight because I needed to "maintain my figure."

As if my figure was now a family asset. I had no idea what they planned to do with it, probably sell it to some Alpha.

I set down my glass and approached the dessert table, trying to walk with the casual confidence of someone who was definitely not about to commit a pastry-related crime.

I grabbed a plate...just one slice. Wait, that wasn’t enough.

I added another...glancing over my shoulder, I still had cover. I covered the slices with a napkin, picked up the plate, and began to make my getaway.

I had a plan, you see.

There was a small lounge at the end of one of the side corridors, usually frequented by staff and guests seeking a quiet place to make calls.

I had stumbled upon it earlier while trying to escape an elderly Beta who had lectured me on the stock market for ten solid minutes, despite my desperate attempts to look like I was on the brink of death.

I was ready to sit there, eat my cake, experience about six minutes of what I’d like to call an orgasmic-level bliss, and then return to the ballroom pretending I hadn’t just committed a dietary crime against my father.

I was halfway down the corridor when fate decided that even cake was too much to ask for. I rounded a corner too quickly and collided with a wall or at least that’s how it felt.

The guy I slammed into was tall enough that my forehead pretty much hit his chest, and the impact sent me reeling backward and landing (ungracefully) on my ass.

My plate flew from my hand. The cake followed. In that horrible, slow-motion moment, I watched my precious slice of chocolate cake sail through the air.

It landed frosting-side down on the marble floor.

I just stared at it. I think a piece of my soul floated away. For several seconds, I forgot I’d fallen, forgot my suit was probably smeared with frosting, and forgot I was standing in front of a stranger.

I was fixated on the cake. "My cake!"

My beautiful cake!

Dead.

On the floor...

After all we’d been through together.

I was this close to shedding absolute tears.

Slowly, I looked up. The man standing before me was...well, annoyingly attractive.

Long whitish-blond hair was pulled back from his face, though several rebellious strands had escaped around his temples.

His eyes were a striking shade of green that practically glowed even in the ballroom’s warm light.

Honestly, it wasn’t fair how good-looking he was. Not just handsome, beautiful. Sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, pale skin, and an expression so cold it could put the whole hotel in a deep freeze.

His black suit fit him like a glove. Of course it did. People like him probably woke up looking ready for a fashion show.

Two guys flanked him, both in black suits. One was even wearing sunglasses. Inside, at night.

In a five star hotel corridor. I blinked at them, then back at the handsome guy I’d run into.

The bodyguard shot me a look of pure disgust. "Are you fucking blind?!"

I slowly got to my feet, brushed a smear of frosting from my sleeve, and then glared at the ruined cake.

Something inside me snapped.

"No, dipshit." The bodyguard frowned. I pointed at the tall man beside him. "Are you?"

The silence was deafening...the bodyguard’s expression hardened. "The fuck? Do you know who the hell you’re talking to?!"

I glanced at the white-haired man. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t apologized, and didn’t seem bothered by the fact that I’d just crashed into him. He was just watching me.

I looked back at the bodyguard. "Apparently someone whose employees don’t understand basic manners."

The bodyguard stepped closer. "Watch your mouth, you little shit!"

I held my ground, then looked at the sunglasses. "Actually, you might want to pay attention to where you’re walking."

His jaw tightened. I gestured toward his face. "And maybe take those off."

His hand instinctively moved toward the sunglasses. I smiled sweetly. "Is that a new trend? Wearing sunglasses indoors so no one sees the rudeness and ugliness all at once?"

The corridor went completely silent. Even I realized, deep down, that I might have crossed a line or maybe dug my own damn grave. But then I looked down, the cake was still lying there, and I had lost it.

There are limits, after all.

The white-haired man finally moved, glancing briefly at the ruined dessert before his gaze returned to me. Not a single word escaped his lips, which somehow irritated me even more.

"I’m talking to you." One of his eyebrows arched. "You could at least teach your dumb as fuck staff to apologize when they knock people over."

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