ONE NIGHT STAND WITH HOT DUKE-Chapter 159: False hopes

Demian closed his eyes briefly. The words struck hard, but did not shake the ground he had chosen to stand on. "I don’t want to hurt you," he said honestly. "And that is why I came with another option."

Ivanka gave a bitter laugh, tears still flowing. "Another option?" She turned sharply toward him. "Do you think I care about anything else?"

"I can guarantee your honor," Demian said, his voice steady. "I will announce before the emperor and the elders that you are under my protection. I will ensure your name remains untarnished, your life provided for, and—"

"I don’t need protection," Ivanka interrupted. "I need to be your wife."

"I can stay," Demian continued, refusing to yield. "I will be by your side until the end. I will bear every political consequence. But marriage—"

"Is the only thing I want," Ivanka finished, her voice now calm in a terrifying way. "You know that."

She reached out with what strength she had left and grasped Demian’s arm. "I don’t want to die as a woman who was abandoned. I want to die as your wife. As Lady Morvek. As it was meant to be."

Demian looked down at her grip. Cold. Light. Like holding something already halfway gone. "I can’t," he said softly, but firmly. "Not because I am cruel but because I will not build your peace upon another lie."

Ivanka was silent for a long moment. Then she slowly withdrew her hand, as if realizing that the strength was no longer there. Her face hardened, her eyes wet yet gleaming with sharp disappointment.

"Go," she said quietly. "If you will not give me the one thing I ask, then go. Do not return with pity."

Demian did not move. "I will still make sure you are not alone."

Ivanka turned her face away. "I do not want your comfort. I want your promise."

At the threshold, Demian stopped. For a moment, he wanted to turn back to say something that might soften the wound. But he knew there were no words sufficient.

He stepped out.

In the corridor, Marquess Kosler was waiting, his face tight with collapsed hope. "Well?"

Demian shook his head slightly. "I will not marry her."

The marquess closed his eyes, his breath heavy. "Then you must be ready to bear the consequences."

Demian stared straight ahead. "I am ready."

And in the chamber that had fallen silent once more, Ivanka closed her eyes with tears still streaming holding onto a single unfulfilled wish, while the world outside continued to move on, waiting for no one.

The corridor turned into a courtroom without a judge.

Demian had taken only two steps when the heavy sound of knees dragging against stone struck the floor behind him.

"Demian."

He turned and his heart seemed to stop.

Marquess Kosler was kneeling.

An elderly nobleman, head of the great House of Kosler, a man who for decades had stood level with dukes and imperial ministers, now knelt at Demian’s feet. His forehead nearly touched the floor, both hands clutching the tips of Demian’s shoes with a desperation no longer hidden.

"Marquess, get up," Demian said sharply, reflexively. His hand moved to pull the man to his feet.

But the marquess refused. His grip tightened instead, his voice breaking.

"No. I beg you. Demian... for my child."

Demian froze.

"I have already lost everything," the marquess continued, his voice trembling. "My wife. My son. Ivanka is the only one left. The only reason I am still breathing."

Footsteps sounded. The court physician, several servants, even the head steward stopped at a distance. No one dared approach. No one dared speak.

"If you reject her," the marquess whispered, barely audible, "then let me die with her. Because I cannot bear to see my daughter draw her last breath as a woman who was abandoned."

Demian felt his throat tighten.

"This is not fair," he said softly, but with pressure. "You are asking me to sacrifice my life—"

"Not your life," the marquess cut in quickly. He looked up, tears flowing without shame. "Only your name. Only one bond. You can leave afterward, if that is what you wish. But let her die in peace."

Demian shook his head. "You know I cannot—"

"YOU MUST."

The voice did not come from the marquess. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Ivanka stood in the doorway of her chamber.

Her body was wrapped in a pale nightgown, too large for her steadily shrinking frame. But her eyes those eyes were still sharp, filled with a frightening resolve.

"Father," she said softly, "do not rise."

The marquess sobbed, remaining on his knees.

Ivanka walked forward slowly, each step seeming to drain what little life remained in her. She stopped directly in front of Demian.

"I will not force you with love," she said quietly. "I know it has long been dead. But if you still have a heart, just a little do not let my father beg like this."

Demian looked at her face. The face of someone who had made peace with death, yet refused to die as one who had lost.

"You leave me no choice," Demian said at last.

Ivanka smiled faintly. "You’re right. I don’t."

The court physician stepped forward, his voice careful yet heavy with urgency.

"Your Grace... Lady Ivanka’s condition is worsening. Emotional shocks like this are dangerous. If this request is refused now... I cannot guarantee she will survive until tomorrow."

It was not a threat.

It was a verdict.

Demian closed his eyes.

In his mind, Valerie’s face passed through calm on the surface, shattered within. Her words that had sounded like permission, but were in truth a farewell she was quietly preparing.

He knew.

He knew he was being forced.

And the cruelest part they were forcing him with death, with blood, with a sin that would chase him forever if he refused.

Demian opened his eyes again.

"Very well," he said.

That single word fell like a gavel.

The marquess sobbed aloud, his forehead finally touching the floor fully. Ivanka swayed then smiled, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"You... agree?" she whispered, as if afraid the word would be taken back.

Demian looked at her without warmth, without hatred only a deep exhaustion.

"I will marry you," he said flatly. "But know this, Ivanka. I do this not because of a promise, not because of love but because I am being forced not to let you die with blood on my hands."