ONE NIGHT STAND WITH HOT DUKE-Chapter 158: Counting the days to go

Valerie fell silent.

"They are sensitive to raw magic," Lena continued. "Not afraid, don’t mistake me. But disturbed. Like a sense of smell forced to take in too many scents at once. If you are within that caravan, your trail will fracture. Not vanish, but scatter."

Valerie let out a long breath. In her chest, relief mingled with grief. The path existed. But it was real, and it meant she truly had to leave.

"Three days," she murmured.

"Three days," Lena nodded. "To prepare. To decide what you will leave behind and what you will carry with you."

Valerie looked down at her stomach again, then lifted her face, her resolve now harder than before. "I will go."

Lena met her gaze, then nodded once, as if accepting an oath. "Then be ready. Leaving is not merely stepping away. Leaving means accepting that you may never return as the same person."

Valerie gave a faint smile bitter, but honest. "I think... I already am no longer the same."

Outside, the wind whispered, carrying the scent of forest and damp earth. Three days felt short too short for farewell, too long for doubt.

And without Demian’s knowing, the time until his loss had already begun to be counted.

Valerie returned to the castle with steps that felt slower than usual, as if each footfall carried a new weight. Lena’s words echoed endlessly in her mind three days. Not a threat, not coercion, merely a marker of time that now ticked with painful clarity. Three days to pretend that everything was still the same. Three days to hide a decision that was slowly hardening in her chest.

She passed through corridors she knew all too well, lowering her head to the servants, returning greetings only as required. Nothing had changed, yet everything felt different. Every corner of the castle seemed to hold a memory, asking either to be remembered or abandoned.

In the outer courtyard, the warmth of midday brushed her skin. Valerie meant to take a shortcut through the small garden, hoping for quiet, when a familiar laugh made her stop.

"Val?"

She turned.

Ethan stood a few steps away, flanked by two friends clearly his age. Their clothes were neat but unpretentious lesser nobility who did not need to pretend too much. Ethan’s eyes widened for a moment, then his smile bloomed, open and unburdened.

"It really is you," he said as he approached. "I almost wasn’t sure."

Valerie smiled faintly. There was no reason to avoid him, she had already been seen. "Ethan. It’s been a long time."

"The last time we met, you weren’t even this tall," he joked, then paused, as if truly noticing her. "You look... different."

Valerie did not ask what he meant. "You do too."

Ethan’s friends exchanged glances, then quickly excused themselves when Ethan looked their way. "We were about to have lunch," Ethan said, a little uncertain. "If you don’t mind... would you join us?"

Valerie almost refused an old reflex, keeping her distance. But the day felt long, and the silence in her head was too loud. "All right," she said at last. "Just for a while."

They sat at a small tavern not far from the gate a place once too ordinary to notice, now warmly familiar. Simple food was served, and conversation flowed without effort. About Ethan’s travels, about his work helping his father, a baron, about small plans that involved neither grand destinies nor painful bonds.

Valerie spoke of safe things, books she read, gardens she liked, the fickle weather. She did not mention Demian. Ethan did not ask. There was a quiet agreement between them: that day belonged to memories, not burdens.

"Do you still remember with Esme?" Ethan asked suddenly, smiling at the past.

Valerie laughed softly, a laugh that had been rare lately. "How could I forget? She always led our games, even though you and I were just small nobles pretending to be brave."

Ethan nodded, his gaze drifting. "We were, you the count’s child, me the baron’s, and Esme, just a commoner. No one cared back then."

"No one counted rank," Valerie added. "No one bound the future."

They fell silent for a moment, letting the memories breathe again: running through fields, hands dirty with soil, laughing until breathless. A brief time, but a beautiful one, and perhaps because it was brief, it remained whole.

"It’s strange," Ethan said quietly. "Sometimes the purest things are the ones that pass the fastest."

Valerie looked into her cup, feeling something warm bloom in her chest, not hope, but a small courage. "Maybe," she said, "that’s why we remember them."

When they parted, Ethan did not offer promises, did not ask for another meeting. He only smiled and said, "I’m glad I saw you again, Val."

"So am I," Valerie replied honestly.

On her way back, Valerie’s steps felt lighter. The three days were still there. The decision remained. But the afternoon with Ethan had given her something long lost: a reminder that life had once been simple and perhaps, somewhere else, could be simple again.

Behind her calm smile, Valerie kept her count.

Three days.

And then she would leave.

Castle Kosler lay drowned in a suffocating silence. Heavy curtains were drawn halfway, allowing daylight to enter only as pale shadows spilling across the marble floor. In the chamber, Ivanka lay with breaths that sounded fragile each inhale seeming borrowed from a time that was rapidly running out.

Demian stood at the bedside, his hands clasped behind his back. His face was taut, not with hesitation, but with a decision already made and the weight of what he now had to say.

"Ivanka," he said quietly, keeping his voice low. "I’ve thought it through."

Ivanka opened her eyes. A brief spark of hope flashed then vanished when she saw Demian’s expression.

"You... won’t marry me," she said faintly, more a statement than a question.

Demian let out a long breath. "No." 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

Silence. Then Ivanka’s breathing faltered. Her eyes filled, her lips trembled, and at last tears fell, one by one, soaking into the pillow.

"So this is how it ends," she said, her voice breaking. "In the remainder of my life... you still refuse me."

"Ivanka—"

"No," she cut in, this time louder than her body should have allowed. "You are the cruelest man I have ever known, Demian Morvek." Her sobs deepened. "I did not ask for your love. I only asked for your name. That status. The one thing I have wanted for so long."