ONE NIGHT STAND WITH HOT DUKE-Chapter 123: Not a lady here

Lira nodded without hesitation. "Yes, Lady Valerie."

She turned to Bianca. "Please, follow me."

Bianca cast one last glance at Valerie as if wanting to say something but in the end, she followed Lira. Her steps were obedient, yet her face tightened, her jaw setting ever so slightly.

Valerie watched that retreating figure until it disappeared around the bend of the corridor.

Then she let out a quiet breath.

"Sera," she said softly, "just accompany me back to my chambers."

Sera nodded and asked nothing. She knew when silence was required.

Elsewhere in the castle, Dorote was still seated, finishing her meal.

Her plate was not yet empty, her glass of wine still half full. She appeared relaxed, as though the long day had left no mark on her at all.

Lira stopped a few steps from the table and bowed.

"Dorote," she said politely. "Lady Valerie has requested that you show Bianca her room."

Dorote lifted an eyebrow slowly.

Her gaze shifted to Bianca from the tips of her hair to the soles of her shoes unhurried. Then she smiled faintly, a smile that held no warmth at all.

"Just a servant," she said coldly, "and still expecting to be called lady?"

Bianca stiffened at once.

Her hands clenched at her sides, though she restrained herself from responding. Her eyes flashed caught between anger and humiliation but she forced her expression to remain composed.

Dorote rose, smoothing her skirt with a languid motion. "Come," she said curtly. "I’ll show you your room."

The tone was unmistakable, not respect, but a reminder of rank.

Bianca followed.

And as she walked through the cold stone corridors, one thing became increasingly clear to her staying in this castle was not merely about being given a room, but about surviving within boundaries she had never truly chosen.

They stopped at the far end of a corridor rarely used by anyone. The atmosphere there felt different colder, quieter. The stone walls were rougher, the ceiling held only a single chandelier, its dim light swaying gently as a night breeze slipped through the cracks of a narrow window.

Dorote stopped in front of an old wooden door, dark brown with age. Without turning, without ceremony, she reached for the handle and pushed it open.

"This is your room," she said curtly.

Bianca stepped inside.

One step.

Then she stopped.

Her eyes moved slowly across the space carefully, deliberately as if hoping she had missed something, some detail that might change the reality before her. But the longer she looked, the clearer it became.

A single bed with plain white sheets.A small table with a simple wooden chair.A narrow wardrobe almost flush with the wall.One slim window enough for light, but not for grand dreams.

The room was clean. Neat. Acceptable.But... far too simple.

"This can’t be right," Bianca finally said. Her voice rose without her meaning to, disbelief edging close to a laugh. "This... is my room?"

She turned sharply to Dorote. "Valerie said she would give me a large room."

Dorote folded her arms across her chest. Her expression was calm, nearly cold like someone long accustomed to such complaints."This is a large room," she replied flatly. "You’re staying here alone."

She cast Bianca a brief glance before continuing, her tone unchanged."Other servants sleep four, even six to a room. No tables. No private wardrobes. Some of them even share beds."

Bianca shook her head slowly, a fragile smile tugging at her lips."You must be joking," she said. "Valerie would never do this to me."

Dorote stepped one pace into the room, her shoes stopping right at the edge of the lamplight."What exactly were you expecting?" she asked. "And one more thing stop speaking of the Duke’s favored woman in that tone."

Bianca stiffened. The words the Duke’s favored woman pierced her ears like thorns.

"I’m her sister," she protested quickly. "I have the right to stay in this castle. Not in a servants’ dormitory."

Dorote met her gaze head-on. The look was sharp not angry, not contemptuous, simply firm."Do you realize," she said slowly, "that you are not a lady here?"

Bianca fell silent. Her throat felt dry.

"You are only a servant," Dorote continued. "And this is your place."She exhaled shortly. "If you don’t wish to stay, you are free to leave. In this castle, all servants are treated the same. No one is special no matter who their family is outside these walls."

"I am the daughter of a count," Bianca shot back, her voice trembling whether from anger or from the weight of reality pressing in, she could no longer tell. "Why do you insist on being so disrespectful to me?"

Dorote was not offended. She didn’t even change her expression."That may be true," she said. "But you are the one who chose to stand in this position."

She looked at Bianca more closely now, as if ensuring every word would take root."If you see yourself as a count’s daughter who deserves noble treatment, then you should not be wearing a servant’s uniform or working here. Quit and return to your life."

Silence fell between them.

Heavy. Suffocating.

Bianca pressed her lips together. Her jaw tightened. Her gaze drifted back to the room to the cold stone walls, the modest bed, the narrow window that seemed to mock her expectations.

This was not what she wanted.But it was what she had chosen.

She drew in a deep breath, holding back the heat rising in her chest. Slowly, reluctantly, she nodded.

Dorote watched her for a few seconds, ensuring there would be no further protest. Satisfied, she turned away.

"Get some rest," she said shortly. "You start work early tomorrow."

Her footsteps faded down the corridor until they disappeared completely.

The door was left open.

Bianca stood alone in the room.

After a moment, she closed the door softly. The sound of wood meeting wood was quiet, yet to her ears it rang like a decision being firmly locked into place.

She leaned against the door and closed her eyes.

Her chest felt tight not because the room was small, but because of the price she had to pay for her own plans. A price she was bearing for freedom, for love, for hopes that might never lead to happiness.

Whatever happened next, one thing was now clear to her:

She had gone too far to turn back.

Meanwhile, far from the quiet servants’ quarters, the atmosphere inside Duke Morvex’s study was filled with a restrained tension the kind that only surfaced when important decisions were being made.

The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting an amber glow across the stone walls and the tall bookshelves lined with territorial maps and state documents. Behind a massive desk of dark wood, Demian stood upright, both hands braced against the surface. His red eyes stared straight ahead cold, sharp, calculating.

Two men stood before him.

Ren and Kael.

They were his most trusted knights, men who had stood at his side since the days of war men who understood Demian’s silences better than anyone else’s anger.

Ren stood with an air of relaxed alertness. His dark hair was tied neatly, his eyes keen and curious the type who spoke little but always knew where to look.Kael, by contrast, stood perfectly straight. His posture was rigid, his gaze sharp, his face nearly expressionless. Where Ren was a shadow that slipped in unheard, Kael was a wall that never faltered.

Demian broke the silence.

"A woman named Bianca Austin," he said flatly, his voice low but unmistakably clear. "As of today, she works in the castle as a servant."