THE DISGRACED HUSBAND IS A HIDDEN PRINCE

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: The Warehouse Ambush

Alexander Petrov’s POV

Alexander’s bike tore through the warehouse district at speeds that should have killed him. His phone was pressed to his ear, Dmitri’s voice crackling through.

“How many?”

“At least fifteen. Professional. Ghost is directing them. Elena’s inside. She’s looking for you.”

“Casualties?”

“James took a round to the shoulder. I’ve got him stabilized. Katerina’s barricaded in the server room. But Alex—they’re not here to destroy the operation. They’re here for you.”

Alexander killed the engine two blocks out. Moved on foot. Silent.

The warehouse was lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. Gunfire echoed in the night. He counted four guards down at the entrance—his guards—and slipped past their bodies into the building.

The interior was chaos.

Bullet holes in the walls. Overturned equipment. Blood on the concrete. His people were pinned down in defensive positions, returning fire against a coordinated assault.

And at the center of it all stood Elena.

She’d grown. Twelve years had turned the little girl who used to braid flowers into his hair into something sharp and lethal. Short hair. Combat gear. Valdorian royal crest on her chest—the same crest their father had worn.

She was fighting three of his men at once. And winning.

Alexander’s training screamed at him to engage. To fight. But this was Elena. His sister.

“ALEX!” Dmitri’s shout pulled his attention. “Three o’clock!”

Alexander spun. Disarmed the attacker. Dropped him.

Another came from the left. Alexander’s fist connected with his jaw. The man went down hard.

But more kept coming.

They were being overwhelmed.

Alexander fought his way toward the server room where Katerina was hiding. Dmitri was holding the hallway, wounded but still firing. James was down but alive.

And then Elena stepped into his path.

They stood ten feet apart. Brother and sister. Prince and weapon.

“We finally met.” Her voice was cold. Empty. Nothing like the girl who used to laugh at his terrible jokes.

“We did.”

Elena raised her gun. Aimed it at his chest.

Alexander didn’t raise his own weapon. Couldn’t. This was Elena.

“I’ve promised to never let you go if I see you.”

Her finger moved to the trigger.

The door suddenly burst open.

“ALEXANDER!”

Isabella.

Elena’s focus shifted for a fraction of a second. Her finger tightened on the trigger—

BANG.

The gunshot cracked through the room.

Alexander moved. Shoved Isabella behind him. The bullet passed inches from his shoulder, close enough that he felt the heat.

If Isabella hadn’t entered when she did, if Elena hadn’t hesitated for that split second—

He’d be dead.

Elena’s eyes widened. Just for a moment, something flickered in them. Confusion? Recognition?

But then the Ghost’s voice cut through: “Elena. We’re leaving. Now.”

She lowered her gun. Stared at Alexander one more time.

“We shall meet again.”

And then she was gone. The assault team retreated like smoke. In under a minute, they’d vanished.

Leaving destruction in their wake.

Alexander turned to Isabella, who was pressed against the wall, eyes wide, breathing hard.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice came out harsher than he meant.

“I—Madam Orlova said you were under attack—”

“So you drove straight into a combat zone?”

“You’re welcome for saving your life!”

They stared at each other. Alexander’s adrenaline was still spiking. Isabella looked like she was about to either punch him or burst into tears.

Dmitri groaned from where he was clutching his bleeding arm. “Can you two fight later? I’m fucking bleeding here.”

The warehouse started to burn. Someone had set charges.

“Everyone out. NOW.” Alexander grabbed Isabella’s arm. “Move.”

They evacuated fast. Alexander’s people knew the drill—grab what you can, destroy what you can’t, and vanish. By the time the sirens were close enough to hear, they were gone.

Alexander shoved Isabella into a car with Dmitri and the wounded James. Katerina took another vehicle.

They drove to a safe house on the outskirts of the city. A small house, barely furnished, but secure.

Alexander carried James inside. Got him on a table. Started field dressing his wounds.

Isabella stood in the doorway, watching. Still in shock.

When James was stabilized and Dmitri’s arm was bandaged, Alexander finally turned to her.

“We need to talk.”