ONE NIGHT STAND WITH HOT DUKE-Chapter 155: Do it so that you don’t feel guilty

Demian fell silent. He remembered that promise. Spoken by a much younger version of himself, under pressure, before the emperor and the elders. A vow that had never truly been born of his own will.

"If I must die," Ivanka whispered, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, "let me die as your wife. Not as a woman abandoned by her own bond."

The door opened softly.

Marquess Kosler entered, his steps heavy. He stopped several paces from the bed and for the first time, he knelt.

"Demian," he said hoarsely. "As her father... I beg you. She has no time left. If this can give her peace at the end—"

The physician behind him bowed his head deeply. "Medically," he said quietly, "Lady Ivanka’s emotional state greatly affects her condition. If she is calm... it may not heal her, but it may at least not hasten the end."

All eyes turned to Demian.

He stood there, caught between the bed of a dying woman and the shadow of another woman waiting in his own castle. His chest felt crushed from both sides.

To marry Ivanka would bind him to a promise he knew would devastate Valerie. To refuse would leave Ivanka with one final regret and burden him with guilt that might never fade.

Ivanka looked at him with hope, but without coercion. "I’m not asking you to love me," she said softly. "Just... give me that name. Once."

Demian closed his eyes.

For the first time in his life, he wished a decision could be postponed but time, like Ivanka’s body, gave him no such mercy.

And beyond the chamber walls, dusk fell completely, as though the world itself were waiting for an answer that would change everything.

Demian left Ivanka’s chamber without looking back. His stride was fast almost rough as if slowing down for even a second would cause him to collapse right there.

"Demian," Marquess Kosler called after him, his voice strained between anger and desperation. "You’re leaving just like that?"

Demian stopped at the threshold. He turned halfway, just enough to reveal the hardened line of his face. "I’m going home."

The Marquess stared at him in disbelief. "Home?" He let out a short, bitter laugh. "You’re going to ask that woman for permission now?"

For a brief moment, the air tightened.

Demian turned fully. His gaze was cold far colder than his voice. "That’s none of your concern."

The words fell like a slammed door. Without waiting for a reply, Demian walked away, leaving the Marquess behind with clenched fists and a long, helpless sigh realizing that even now, he still could not force him.

The journey back to the castle felt far longer than usual. The carriage moved steadily, but Demian’s thoughts did not. Ivanka’s pale face kept resurfacing, followed by Valerie’s gentle voice soft, yet distant. Two worlds. Two choices. And he was trapped between them, belonging fully to neither.

By the time he arrived, night had fallen.

Valerie was in the small sitting room near the fireplace. She sat quietly, reading or at least pretending to. When Demian entered, she lifted her head. Their eyes met.

"You’re back," she said. Flat, but not cold.

Demian closed the door slowly. For a moment, he just stood there, as if unsure where to begin. Then he exhaled deeply, removed his coat, and walked closer.

"Ivanka is dying," he said at last. Direct. Honest. Unadorned.

Valerie wasn’t surprised. She simply closed her book and set it on the table. "I know," she replied. "I could feel it in the way you left."

Demian frowned. "She... asked for something."

Valerie looked at him attentively. There was no explosive jealousy, no anger he had dreaded. "What?"

"She wants me to marry her," Demian said softly. "As her final request."

Silence fell. The fire crackled faintly in the hearth.

Demian waited. He waited for Valerie to stand up, to strike him, or at least to say no. He waited for a voice that would either shatter him or bind him.

But Valerie only let out a quiet breath.

"Do it," she said at last.

Demian froze. "What?"

"Do it," Valerie repeated, her voice calm too calm. "If it will keep you from being consumed by guilt."

The words struck him harder than any shout. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

"You... you’re allowing me?" he asked quietly, almost disbelieving. "Valerie, this isn’t—"

Valerie raised a hand, stopping him. "Don’t twist this into something it’s not."

She stood, meeting his gaze head-on. "I’m not giving you permission out of kindness. I’m doing this because I’m tired of watching you suffer over a choice you despise."

Demian swallowed. "But I—"

"I know," Valerie cut in. "You feel trapped. And I don’t want to become another chain."

She stepped closer. Her face was near, yet the distance between them felt greater than ever. "Do what you think is right. I won’t stand in your way."

Demian searched her face for hidden anger, unspoken hurt, some sign that she was secretly hoping he would refuse.

But all he found was quiet resolve.

"You’re not angry?" he asked hoarsely.

Valerie gave a faint smile. "Angry? Maybe. But that’s no longer my right."

The words pierced him.

"Valerie..." Demian reached out, hesitating, as if afraid that touching her would only deepen his guilt.

Valerie stepped back half a pace. Not with coldness but with decision. "Don’t. If you’re going to do this, then do it completely. Don’t look back just to make sure I’m still here."

Demian went still.

For the first time, he realized something that left his chest hollow, Valerie wasn’t asking him to stay.

Wasn’t asking him to choose.

Wasn’t asking him to promise anything.

And precisely because of that, he could barely think.

"Does this mean... you’re letting me go?" he asked quietly.

Valerie looked at him for a long moment. "I’m letting you choose," she answered. "That’s different."

Then she turned and walked toward the dim corridor. Before disappearing, she paused briefly without looking back. "Whatever decision you make, Demian, I will live with my own."