ONE NIGHT STAND WITH HOT DUKE-Chapter 103: Plan to go

Valerie closed her eyes. Those words should have warmed her. Instead, the tightness in her chest only deepened.

"And Lady Ivanka?" she asked softly.

Demian did not answer immediately.

The silence was answer enough.

Valerie opened her eyes and smiled a fragile smile, almost like shattered glass. "I’m tired, Demian," she said. "Not just in my body. In my heart as well."

Demian stood. "Get some rest," he said, returning to the cold tone he usually wore. "I’ll make sure you lack nothing."

He turned and left.

And when the door closed once more, Valerie understood one thing with painful clarity:

She could not remain between two bonds that were not yet ended.

She could not live as a tragic opera loving, yet never truly chosen.

Her hand returned to her stomach.

"I’m sorry," she whispered softly, to no one in particular.

Outside the window, the night grew heavier. And within Valerie’s heart, the decision she had spoken to Lena slowly hardened becoming the only path she could see toward freedom, no matter how dark and dangerous that path might be.

The castle felt unnaturally quiet that morning.

Valerie sat in a small room near the inner garden, the window slightly open to let fresh air drift in. The cup of tea before her had gone cold long ago, untouched. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers interlaced a new habit since she learned there was another life inside her, as if she feared that letting go would cause everything to fall apart.

Demian had just left.

The fading sound of hooves still echoed faintly in her ears when the sharp click of heels sounded in the corridor.

Firm. Measured. Unhurried, yet brimming with certainty.

Valerie turned and her heart immediately sank.

Ivanka Kosler stood in the doorway, dressed in a perfectly tailored deep blue gown, her hair swept into a flawless chignon with not a single strand out of place. Her expression was calm too calm like the surface of a lake concealing dangerous currents beneath.

The servants who accompanied her stopped several steps behind. One of them hesitated, but Ivanka cast a brief glance just enough to make them retreat and leave the room.

Now, it was just the two of them.

"Lady Valerie," Ivanka greeted gently, almost sweetly. "I hope my visit isn’t an inconvenience."

Valerie rose slowly. "Lady Ivanka. I wasn’t informed there would be a guest."

Ivanka smiled faintly. "Oh, I know. That’s precisely why I came now." Her eyes glinted slightly. "While Demian is away."

Valerie stiffened but kept her voice even. "What do you want?"

Ivanka stepped inside, surveying the room as if assessing every detail the flower vase, the curtains, the cushioned chair prepared especially for Valerie since her pregnancy.

"Everything has changed so quickly," she said lightly. "You’ve only been here a short time, yet the castle has already adjusted itself entirely around you."

Valerie said nothing.

Ivanka stopped in front of the table, her gaze lowering to Valerie’s abdomen.

"Six weeks," she said quietly. "A fragile stage."

Valerie instinctively placed a hand over her stomach. "If you’ve come merely to calculate the age of my pregnancy, that won’t be necessary."

Ivanka chuckled softly. "Don’t worry. I have no intention of touching you." She lifted her gaze and met Valerie’s eyes directly. "I simply want to be sure you understand your position."

That word position fell like a blade.

"I know exactly where I stand," Valerie replied quietly.

"Do you?" Ivanka stepped half a pace closer. "Then you must also know that the child you carry... may amount to nothing."

Valerie’s breath caught. "What do you mean?"

Ivanka smiled. This time, there was no warmth at all. "Demian is the Duke of Morvex. His heir is not determined by blood alone, but by recognition, by lawful bonds, by traditions upheld for centuries."

She leaned forward slightly. "And you are not his wife."

Valerie went pale.

"That child," Ivanka continued calmly, as though discussing the weather, "may be born as the Duke’s child. Or may grow up as an illegitimate one treated well, protected... yet never truly acknowledged as an heir."

Each word felt like pressure against an open wound.

"You’re cruel," Valerie whispered.

Ivanka shrugged. "I’m realistic."

She circled Valerie slowly. "I grew up with Demian. I know how the noble world works. You may feel safe now treated like a consort, celebrated because of your pregnancy."

She stopped behind Valerie. "But this world doesn’t revolve around feelings. It revolves around status."

Valerie turned sharply. "If you came here only to frighten me—"

"Oh, I’m not frightening you," Ivanka said with another smile. "I’m simply awakening you. You’re an intelligent woman, Valerie. You can imagine what your child’s future will look like if Demian returns to the path he was always meant to walk."

"The path he was meant to walk?" Valerie’s voice trembled.

"Marrying me," Ivanka replied without hesitation. "Restoring the bond that briefly wavered."

Silence swallowed them both.

Valerie felt the world tilt slowly. She remembered the opera women who retreated with dignity, carrying swelling bellies and broken hearts, while the man returned to his rightful wife.

"And what do you expect me to do?" Valerie asked softly. "Step aside gracefully?"

Ivanka studied her for a long moment. "I think... that would be the wisest choice."

Valerie let out a small laugh fragile, nearly hysterical. "You came here to tell me to surrender?"

"I came," Ivanka said gently, "to give you a chance to consider before everything becomes far more painful."

Valerie lifted her chin, tears pooling but not falling. "I didn’t ask for this."

Ivanka nodded slowly. "I know." Then she turned to leave, stopping at the doorway. "No one ever truly asks to fall in love with the wrong man."

She looked back once more. "Think about it, Valerie. For your own sake. And for that child’s."

The door closed.

Valerie stood frozen for a long while, until her legs weakened and she sank back into her seat. Her breathing was uneven, her chest tight. Ivanka’s words spun relentlessly in her mind illegitimate child, unacknowledged, not an heir.

Her hand trembled as it returned to her stomach.

"Is that what awaits you?" she whispered softly. "A life in the shadows... from the very beginning?"

Tears finally fell, one by one, soaking the back of her hand.

And in that silence, the decision that had once been hazy now sharpened into a crossroads she could no longer avoid.

That afternoon, the sky above the castle was shrouded in gray, as if bearing the same burden that hung within the ancient stone walls.

Demian returned with hurried strides. The moment he stepped down from the carriage, a bad feeling tightened in his chest too quiet, too cold. Usually, Valerie would be waiting by the window, or at least leave some small sign that she was awake. This time, there was nothing.

He went straight to her room.

Valerie sat on the edge of the bed, her back to the door. Her hair hung loose, her face pale, her eyes empty as they stared at the floor. When Demian approached, he instinctively reached out a habit so ingrained he didn’t even have to think about it.

But Valerie pulled away.

The movement was small, yet it was enough to stop Demian in his tracks.

"Valerie?" Demian’s voice lowered, uncharacteristically subdued. "What’s wrong?"

No answer.

He tried again, softer now, almost hesitant. "Are you unwell? Your stomach—"

"Don’t touch me."

The words weren’t loud. They were flat. Cold.

Demian froze. Until now, even when angry or hurt, Valerie had never truly rejected him like this. Something had cracked, and he could feel it.

"Did I do something?" he asked, his jaw tightening.

Valerie shook her head faintly. "No."

"You’re lying."