THE DISGRACED HUSBAND IS A HIDDEN PRINCE

Chapter One: The Humiliation

Alexander Petrov’s POV

“It smells like a dead rat in here. I wonder why this place suddenly reeks of that.” Vivian said, holding her nose as soon as Alexander walked in.

“But it smells just fine—” Marcus, her husband wanted to say, but the moment he set his eyes on Alexander, his nose scrunched up and his facial expression suddenly turned sour. Alexander halted his steps, his hand tightening around the wine glass he was holding. Fury thrummed through him.

“You’re right, the stench is actually powerful,” Marcus added, his voice thickened with scorn. Everyone in the grand ballroom had quietened down; the charity gala seemed to have been put on hold by Alexander’s entrance.

“Did you perhaps purchase that suit—or rather stole it from a mentally deranged man? Because there’s really no way in hell you’d put that on to a family’s occasion.” Vivian continued.

Alexander stared down at his suit. Threadbare at the cuff, creased at the sleeve. He had seen it when he was putting it on. The suit had ‘cheap’ written all over it, but there was barely anything he could do. It was the only one that went in line with the theme for the year.

His grip tightened on the wine glass. The stem cracked.

Wine spilled across his hand, dark red against his skin. He stared at the broken stem, genuine confusion flickering across his face. He hadn’t meant to do that. The ballroom went silent for a heartbeat.

Vivian stepped back, her eyes wide for just a second before she laughed. “Even the cheap glassware can’t handle you, Alexander. How embarrassing.”

Laughter rippled around the room again, but Alexander caught the flicker of unease in Vivian’s eyes. She had seen it too—the way the glass shattered without warning.

His eyes traveled to Isabella, his wife, who stood at a corner with one of her cousins who had a large mocking smile displayed on her face. As always, she didn’t step in or try to get her family to stop mocking him.

A muscle ticked in Alexander’s jaw. His expression went flat, way too flat as humor engulfed the ballroom.

The polished marble, the chandeliers, and the sharp tension in the air—he knew every detail too well. Three years of this damn gala and the insults never changed, only the faces delivering them did.

Old-money aristocrats of the Summers family gathered each year to reinforce their social hierarchy at the annual gala. It was a total show of power and money, and as much as he wanted to not show up each year, he still had to.

“Do you even know the funniest part about this? It’s that if we list up to a hundred families below us, Alexander’s family wouldn’t be part of it. I’ve never seen this level of poverty before.” Marcus laughed alongside Vivian and a few other people.

Vivian turned to Isabella, a warm smile donning her face. “Isabella dear, what did your husband buy for you on your birthday last week?” She asked.

“Buy? You didn’t even say ‘get’. It’s only someone who has money that’ll purchase something. If he actually buys something for her, then it’d be from Isabella’s money.” Marcus responded, eliciting more rounds of laughter from the people.

Vivian walked over to Alexander, maintaining a reasonable distance between them. “Tell me Alexander, how does it feel knowing you’ll never give my niece the life she deserves?”

Marcus chuckled. “She could still fix that though. Viktor Romanov is ready to marry her.”

Alexander saw Isabella shift in the corner of his eyes, her expression unreadable. Her face was calm and distant, too controlled for someone whose husband is being torn apart by her family members. He didn’t know if that hurt more than the insults. She had never once stood up for him.

His lips thinned in a straight line as Marcus mentioned that name. If only they knew that Viktor Romanov was his uncle’s chief financial officer who had been sent to infiltrate aristocratic circles that hold influence over international politics.

“That’s true. Isabella, I’d advise you to divorce this ‘refugee’ and get together with someone more worthy of the Summers name. Viktor is the perfect man for you.” Another woman said, and Vivian nodded.

Viktor had been dickriding the family for months, courting the family’s favor for as long as he could remember. If only they knew that Alexander had also been tracking Viktor’s movements for six months. None of these people knew his true identity, including Isabella.

Alexander’s mouth curved, not in a smile but in control. Not even one person in the room was on his side. They were all the same. Cruel. He wondered how they’d react when they found out that the charity gala that they all held so dearly was actually used by his own uncle to launder money for his regime.

Refugee. Alexander swallowed down the burn rising in his throat.

“You should have just stayed at home, man.” A guy he hadn’t even seen before whispered in his ear as he walked past.

“That’s enough.”

The words came out cold. Commanding. Alexander hadn’t meant for his voice to drop that low, to carry that much weight, but the guy froze mid-step. His eyes went wide and he stumbled backwards like he’d just touched fire.

The man hurried away without another word.

Alexander exhaled slowly, forcing his shoulders to relax. He couldn’t slip like that. Not here. Not yet.

Another man approached him next, and Alexander thought he’d be the reasonable one till he opened his mouth.

“I have a piece of advice for you. Just divorce Isabella before she does it. You should know that this marriage thing is going nowhere, you’re way below her social status and she wouldn’t live the rest of her life with you.” He tapped Alexander’s shoulder as though he was encouraging him.

“And maybe you should get a real job, even if it’s for you to be a highway robber. You really need to alleviate yourself—”

“I said that’s enough.” Alexander cut him off, his voice quiet but sharp as a blade.

The man held up his hands in surrender. “It’s just friendly advice.” Then he walked away backwards with his hands still held up.

As soon as he was left alone, his eyes travelled to the corner of the room where Isabella stood, and for the second time that night, their eyes clashed. Something flickered through her eyes for a brief moment. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but it wasn’t sympathy—it was more like tiredness. She looked exhausted from her family’s cruelty. Or it could be something else, he wasn’t sure.

Then suddenly, Isabella’s arm was dragged by her Aunt, breaking the moment. Vivian dragged Isabella over to where Marcus stood close to Alexander. He tried really hard not to listen to whatever they discussed, but they were really loud, especially when Marcus talked.

Just then, Viktor walked into the ballroom with a charming smile splayed across his lips. He greeted everyone he met on his way politely, even the people that he was older than. Everyone stared at him in admiration and whispered quiet praises of his goodness.

But Alexander stood indifferent. He watched Viktor silently with a predatory gaze. His eyes went to Viktor’s neck and for once, he envisioned his hand being wrapped around it as life snuffed out of him. One day. He was going to do that. All he needed was patience.

Viktor’s path brought him close to Alexander. Their shoulders brushed.

Viktor stumbled.

It was brief—barely noticeable—but Viktor’s confident stride faltered. He glanced back at Alexander, confusion flickering across his face. Something about that contact felt wrong. Cold. Dangerous.

Alexander didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just held Viktor’s gaze with those same dead, patient eyes.

Viktor looked away first and continued into the ballroom, but his smile had tightened.

Marcus cast a glance at Alexander. “Isabella dear, you’ll be joining Viktor Romanov for a private business dinner tomorrow night. There’s no need for the ‘help’ to attend. You’ll be fine with Viktor.”

Alexander said nothing. He just turned and walked out of the ballroom, leaving the laughter and cruelty behind him.