ONE NIGHT STAND WITH HOT DUKE-Chapter 83: I shouldn’t have come.

Demian turned toward her.

Ivanka lifted her face, her eyes sincere or at least appearing so. "I don’t want to make things uncomfortable. If my presence makes her uneasy, then perhaps I shouldn’t have come."

She took a small breath, a faint smile touching her lips one that looked more like regret than satisfaction. "I’m sorry."

Demian shook his head immediately.

"No," he said without hesitation. "You’ve done nothing wrong."

Ivanka looked at him, as if to be sure she had heard correctly.

Demian went on, his tone firmer now. "Don’t blame yourself. Valerie is simply... thinking too much."

He picked up his spoon again, tapping it lightly against the edge of his plate before resuming his meal. "Whatever she’s imagining, that’s her concern."

Ivanka fell silent, then smiled softly relieved, yet still properly restrained. "If you say so..."

Demian glanced at her. "Leave her be. Eat."

The words were spoken lightly, as though they carried no consequences. As though choosing not to care were the most natural thing in the world.

Ivanka complied.

She began to eat with elegant movements, occasionally glancing at Demian to ensure he was comfortable, to ensure there was no doubt on his face. And there was none. Demian appeared calm, controlled, fully present at the table with her.

Upstairs, behind the tightly closed door of her chamber, Valerie lay curled around her blanket.

She did not know what conversations were taking place below. She did not know what words were being spoken in her name. Yet somehow, her heart felt heavier still, as if something unseen were slowly drifting farther away from her.

No one knocked on her door. No one came to check on her. No one asked whether she was truly all right.

And in the dining hall, the candles continued to burn, the dishes were steadily finished, and the conversation flowed as usual.

As though the empty chair truly did not need to be filled tonight.

As though Valerie’s absence was not a loss but a convenience.

Ivanka did not immediately resume eating.

Her spoon paused midair, then slowly returned to the plate. This time, she studied Demian longer, as if searching his face for something something his previous answer had not given her.

"For some reason," she said at last, her voice soft but clear, "you seem unwell this evening."

Demian turned toward her, his brows drawing together slightly.

Ivanka took a small breath, then continued, her tone sincere, almost self-reproaching. "I truly feel that I shouldn’t have come. Your relationship with Valerie always seems to... deteriorate whenever I’m here."

She offered a faint smile, a fragile one. "I don’t want to be the cause of a rift between you."

Demian fell silent for a moment.

Then he leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression flattening not angry, not uncertain, but resolute.

"Ivanka," he said calmly, "you are my fiancée."

Ivanka lifted her gaze.

"You may come whenever you wish. This castle is your place as well." His voice did not rise, yet each word landed with unmistakable weight. "There is no need for you to worry about such things."

He paused briefly, then added cooler, firmer

"Valerie is merely my woman."

Ivanka did not blink.

"So there is no reason for you to feel guilty," Demian continued. "Or to think that your presence here is a mistake."

Ivanka lowered her head slightly, concealing whatever crossed her face. "If that is what you believe..." 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

Demian nodded. "Eat. Don’t trouble yourself with unnecessary thoughts."

Behind the not-quite-closed door of the dining hall, Valerie stood frozen.

She had just arrived.

Her steps halted at the exact moment those words were spoken.

Fiancée.Merely my woman.

They were not spoken in anger. Not with emotion. And precisely because of that they struck far deeper.

Valerie felt as though the air had been ripped from her lungs. The hand that had been about to touch the door handle trembled, then slowly fell back to her side.

Only moments ago, she had hesitated in her room.

She had wanted to come down.She had not wanted to seem as though she were avoiding them.She had not wanted Ivanka to think she was jealous or displaced.

She had wanted to sit at that table, to behave normally, to show that everything was fine.

But now...there was no need.

Because inside that room, her place had already been defined with painful clarity.

Valerie took a step back.

Then another.

No tears fell not then. The pain was too deep to immediately become weeping. Her chest felt hollow, empty, as if something within her had finally been torn away by force.

She turned around.

And left.

Without a sound.Without farewell.Without anyone realizing that, that night, the person who should have been seated at the dining table had truly walked away.

In the dining hall, Demian and Ivanka continued their meal, unaware that the decision just made spoken so lightly had become a line that could not be crossed back over.

And for Valerie, the step she took that night was not merely leaving a corridor.

It was the beginning of her true departure.

The night was already deep when the bedroom door finally opened softly.

Demian entered without turning on the main lamp. The dim glow from the fireplace was enough to reveal the silhouette of the bed and Valerie lying upon it. The blanket covered her body up to her chest, her face turned toward the window, peaceful... too peaceful.

Demian paused at the threshold.

He watched her.

Valerie looked asleep. Her breathing was steady. Her face calm. Yet there was something something that made Demian certain. He didn’t know how, but he knew.

She wasn’t asleep.

Demian said nothing. He simply went into the bathroom, closing the door carefully behind him. The sound of running water flowed softly, then faded. Time passed long enough before he returned to the room, his hair still slightly damp, his steps quieter than usual.

He lay down beside Valerie.

The mattress shifted slightly. Valerie felt it. Her body tensed for a fraction of a second, then went still again. Her eyes remained closed. She chose to pretend, because speaking felt far more exhausting than silence.

Demian moved closer.

His arm slid around Valerie’s waist, gently pulling her into his embrace. The motion was not rough. Not forceful. If anything, it was too familiar as if everything were perfectly fine.

"I know you’re not asleep," he murmured softly, his voice low near her ear.

Valerie did not answer.

She did not move. Did not turn. Did not give any sign that she heard him.

Demian waited.

Several seconds passed in silence.

"I came here after Ivanka left," he continued. "I’m with you for the rest of the night."

Still, no response.

Valerie heard every word clearly. Yet something inside her was already too tired to react. What was the point of answering, when her place had already been decided?

She didn’t need to respond.She didn’t need to explain.She didn’t need to anymore.

Demian let out a quiet breath.

"All right," he said at last, as if accepting her silence as a choice. "If you want to sleep..."

His hand moved slowly, brushing over Valerie’s abdomen a gesture that once might have felt comforting, but now felt strangely foreign. Like a touch upon something already claimed, not upon someone who needed to be heard.

"Good night," he said.

He paused, then added in a flat voice filled with certainty:

"I hope you get pregnant soon."