THE DISGRACED HUSBAND IS A HIDDEN PRINCE

Chapter Three

Chapter Three: Watching From the Shadows

Alexander Petrov’s POV

Alexander sat in the surveillance room of his warehouse, three monitors glowing in front of him. The timestamp on the feed read 11:47 PM. He shouldn’t be doing this. He should be strategizing, planning his next move against his uncle, tracking Viktor’s movements.

But instead, he was watching Isabella.

The camera feed showed her private study in the Summers estate. He had hacked into the security system months ago—one of the first things he’d done after moving in. Not for surveillance. For protection. He needed to know if his uncle’s men ever breached the estate.

But tonight, he was using it for something else entirely.

Isabella sat alone at her desk, divorce papers spread before her like a death sentence. Her hand hovered over the signature line but didn’t move. She uncapped the pen. Paused. Put it down. Picked it up again.

Alexander leaned closer to the screen. Why wasn’t she signing?

Vivian had brought her those papers hours ago, right after the gala ended. Alexander had seen the exchange through the cameras—Vivian sliding the documents across the desk with a satisfied smile, Isabella’s face carefully blank.

“Just go through it, sign it, then we’ll pass it over to Alexander too,” Vivian had said.

Isabella had nodded. Vivian had left.

And now, almost an hour later, Isabella still hadn’t signed.

Alexander watched her through the grainy feed. Her lips were drawn in a straight line. Her jaw tight. She looked… conflicted.

“I’ve always wanted this, right?” Her voice came through the audio feed, talking to herself. Alexander turned up the volume.

She frowned, bringing the pen closer to the paper. But just then, her eyes strayed over to the name at the top of the page.

Alexander Petrov. Her husband.

She froze.

Alexander’s chest tightened watching her. He knew that look. That was the look of someone remembering something they’d tried to forget.

The feed flickered slightly as Isabella leaned back in her chair, pen still in hand but no longer hovering over the signature line. She was staring into space now.

Alexander knew what she was thinking about. The same thing he’d been trying not to think about for three years.

The day they met.

Three years ago.

Desperation had driven Isabella into a marriage she shouldn’t have agreed to, but her father’s debt had gutted the Summers fortune completely.

Alexander had been standing outside the estate that night. Tattered clothes. Greasy hair. Barely holding himself together after weeks on the run. He’d heard about the Summers family’s financial crisis through his network—James had brought him the information.

“They’re about to lose everything,” James had said. “The bank’s coming for the estate in twenty-four hours. They need a miracle.”

Alexander had stared at the report. The Summers family. Old money. Connected to every major political player in Europe. And according to Katerina’s research, possibly connected to the Circle of Crowns.

“I need an in,” Alexander had said.

“You need a cover,” James had corrected. “You can’t investigate the Circle while living in a warehouse.”

And so Alexander had walked up to the Summers estate that night, looking every bit the desperate refugee he was pretending to be. He’d overheard the family meeting through an open window. Heard Isabella’s father admit he’d gambled away their last hope at the casino.

Heard Isabella’s voice crack when she realized they were truly fucked.

He’d waited by the door. When she’d stumbled out, tears burning her eyes, she’d almost crashed into him.

“What the hell? Have you been eavesdropping on us?” Her voice had been sharp despite the tears.

Alexander had looked her dead in the eye. “I can help you. I can help your family.”

She’d stared at him—this stranger in rags and desperation. “How do you want to help my family?”

“Just give me twenty-four hours to save this family, and if I do, you’ll give me anything I want.”

Isabella had nodded, not taking his words seriously. She’d watched him walk away in those same tattered clothes, probably thinking he was insane.

Alexander had gone straight to the warehouse. Dmitri had looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

“You want to do what?”

“Clear their debts. All of them. Twenty-four hours.”

“Alex, that’s millions—”

“I have access to the Valdorian treasury accounts my father set up in exile. The Ghost hasn’t found them yet. Use them.”

James had hesitated. “If we touch those accounts, we risk exposure.”

“Then make it untraceable. I need this family, James. They’re my way into the Circle.”

And so they’d done it. Moved funds through shell corporations. Paid off banks under false names. Cleared liens on properties. By the time the sun rose, the Summers estate was debt-free.

Alexander had walked back to the estate exactly twenty-four hours later, still looking like a refugee but carrying documents that proved what he’d done.

Isabella’s face when she’d seen the paperwork—he’d never forget it.

“Who even are you?” She’d whispered.

“I’m Alexander Petrov. Nice to meet you.”

“What do you want in return?”

“Marriage. I want to get married to you.”

Present day.

Alexander watched Isabella on the monitor, still staring at those divorce papers. Her hand had moved to her phone now, pulling up something. He couldn’t see what.

But he knew she was probably looking at their wedding photo. The one where they’d both looked like strangers pretending to know each other.

Because that’s what they were. Strangers.

Three years of living in the same house. Three years of separate bedrooms. Three years of business arrangement and nothing more.

He’d kept his distance for a reason. Caring about Isabella would be dangerous. Caring about her would give his enemies a weapon.

But watching her hesitate over those divorce papers—watching her hand shake slightly as she held the pen—Alexander realized something he’d been avoiding for months.

He didn’t want her to sign.

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. Stupid. Reckless. He couldn’t afford attachments. He couldn’t afford to care about the woman who’d watched her family destroy him night after night without saying a single fucking word in his defense.

But here he was, watching her through a camera feed at midnight, hoping she wouldn’t sign.

Isabella suddenly stood up, pushing the papers away. She paced the room, running her hands through her hair. Her lips moved but the audio was too low to catch what she was saying.

Then she stopped. Turned. Stared directly at her phone on the desk.

Alexander’s pulse kicked up. Had she realized he was watching? No, impossible. The cameras were too well hidden—

Her phone vibrated. A text message.

Isabella picked it up, frowning at the screen. Her eyes widened.

Alexander pulled up the message interception feed. Katerina had set it up months ago—any unknown numbers messaging the Summers family got flagged.

Unknown number: “Your husband is not who he claims to be. Meet me tomorrow if you want to know the truth.”

Alexander’s blood ran cold.

Someone was making a move on Isabella. Someone knew.

He watched her read the message again. Watched her face shift from confusion to something else. Suspicion? Curiosity?

She set the phone down. Stared at the divorce papers again.

And this time, when she picked up the pen, she didn’t bring it to the signature line.

She tore the papers in half.