ONE NIGHT STAND WITH HOT DUKE-Chapter 138: Death behind the bond

A quiet, humorless laugh escaped him. The elders did not need to shout or threaten. They only had to speak his father’s name, and the old wound opened on its own.

Demian looked at Valerie’s face again. She slept peacefully, utterly unaware that her existence had been aligned with a history that ended in death.

He exhaled once more, heavier this time.

"Will I die too," he whispered, "if I let go of my bond with Ivanka?"

The question lingered in the room. There was no answer only the soft, steady sound of Valerie’s breathing.

Demian realized something bitter: the elders always spoke of death as if it meant only the loss of power, honor, or position. But he who had watched his mother fade day by day, knew that the death they spoke of was far more expansive than that.

He had already been almost dead, many times over, without anyone noticing.

Dead when he lived a life chosen by others. Dead when every decision was made not because he wanted it, but because he had to. Dead when he touched the world without ever truly feeling part of it.

Demian looked at Valerie for a long time. A very long time.

"If remaining bound is what you call living," he said quietly, "then what kind of life is that?"

His grip tightened slightly, as if searching for an anchor.

"And if letting go means death," he continued softly, "then why, for the first time, do I feel as though I’m finally breathing?"

Valerie stirred faintly in her sleep, her brow creasing for a moment before smoothing again. Demian moved closer instinctively, a protective posture rising in him without conscious thought.

In that moment, a bitter yet honest realization settled into him:

His father had died because of his choice. His mother had died because of someone else’s.

But what the elders never said was this they had all been dead long before that, simply from living in bonds they had never chosen.

Demian bowed his head, his forehead nearly touching Valerie’s hand.

"If this ends up killing me," he whispered, calm yet resolute, "then at least I will die as myself."

And for the first time since the name Morvex had become a weight on his shoulders, Demian was not afraid of the word death.

What he feared instead was one thing only, living again without ever truly choosing.

Valerie woke slowly not from pain, but from a silence that felt too complete.

She did not open her eyes right away. There was something warm at her back, a familiar weight steady breath brushing her nape, an arm wrapped around her as if she might vanish the moment it loosened. Only when she finally opened her eyes and turned slightly did she see Demian asleep behind her, his face more peaceful than she had ever seen it while he was awake.

She was annoyed.And yet, somehow, she couldn’t truly be angry.

Valerie tried to move carefully, intending to sit up or at least shift away a little. But at once, the arm around her tightened. Demian, half-asleep, pulled her back into his embrace a reflexive, instinctive movement, as though his body reacted before his mind ever could.

Valerie froze.

There was no force in the hold. No demand. Just a warmth too real to reject. In the end, she surrendered to the stillness, allowing herself to remain there in the arms of a man who had thrown her life into chaos, yet also felt... safe.

Demian murmured, his voice rough with sleep. "Let’s go back north."

The words made Valerie stiffen. She turned her head, looking at Demian as he opened his eyes halfway, his chin nearly brushing her hair.

"Why all of a sudden?" she asked softly. "Aren’t you still dealing with matters with the Emperor?"

Demian didn’t answer right away. He only held her a little tighter, then said simply, without command or long explanation,"I just want to go home."

Valerie fell silent. She studied his face from the corner of her eye, searching for something hesitation, fear, or an excuse she could grasp. But all she found was an honest weariness, and a resolve whose origin she did not understand.

Demian lowered his voice. "Are you feeling all right now?" He shifted his hand, as if preparing to rise. "If not, I’ll call the doctor again. I want them to check on you."

"I’m fine," Valerie said quickly, stopping him. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she added, "But... I don’t want to go north."

Demian frowned. "Why?"

Valerie took a breath. "I still want to stay in the capital."

She felt his body tense slightly. He turned more fully, now truly looking at her. "You didn’t like the capital before," he said quietly. "Why do you want to stay now?"

Valerie met his gaze, her eyes calm but closed off. "Because I want to. That’s all."

There was no other reason. No explanation. And that was precisely what made Demian fall silent.

"I’ll think about it," he said at last. His tone was not harsh, not coercive. "But the north is the safest place."

He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead not a demanding kiss, but a promise left unfinished. Then he rose from the bed, straightening his clothes, as though a decision had already been made, even if it had not yet been spoken aloud.

Valerie watched his retreating back.

In her chest, something throbbed not fear, but a bitter certainty she had not yet dared to voice. Her hand moved slowly to her abdomen, a reflexive gesture she herself did not fully realize.

How could I go there, she whispered inwardly, if I would be going in a way completely different from before?

Valerie had just finished getting ready when she opened her chamber door and stepped into the corridor. The dress she wore was simple, almost plain a deliberate choice. She did not wish to draw attention, though she knew that in this place, attention always came uninvited.

Her steps slowed when she saw a figure standing at the far end of the corridor.

Bianca.

Valerie stopped.

"How is it that you’re assigned here?" she asked. Her tone was calm, yet there was something beneath it not suspicion, but a surprise she kept carefully restrained.

Bianca lifted her head. For a fraction of a second, their gazes met, and in that moment there was something no one else would ever read as significant, a thin line of acknowledgment, a bond of blood never spoken aloud.

"I don’t know either, Valerie," Bianca answered softly, then quickly lowered her gaze and corrected herself. "Miss Valerie. Work assignments come from the head steward. I only follow orders."