ONE NIGHT STAND WITH HOT DUKE-Chapter 180: A wizard who can help

She fell silent for a moment, then her voice dropped lower, colder, far more dangerous.

"You promised me, Father. You said this marriage would bind him. You said I would be safe."

Marquess swallowed. "I didn’t expect his reaction to be this severe. But this isn’t over. We can still—"

"Enough."

The voice came from the far side of the hall.

Ivanka’s mother, Marchioness Kosler stood near the tall windows, her hands folded neatly before her. Her face was calm. Too calm. As though the storm before her was none of her concern.

"You should let Demian go," she said flatly. "That man was never truly yours."

The words fell like a blade.

Ivanka turned slowly. For a moment, she only stared at her mother in disbelief.

"What...?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

The Marchioness stepped closer. "You obtained what you chased, status, marriage, public recognition. But love? Control? Those were never there. And the more you force him the more he will hate you."

Ivanka’s expression changed.

Not into tears. Not into ruin.

But into ignition.

"So in Mother’s opinion," she said slowly, pressing every word hard, "I should simply accept this humiliation?"

The Marchioness released a small sigh. "I’m saying you must stop chasing a man who clearly—"

"Silence!"

Ivanka screamed. Her voice echoed through the hall, making the servants flinch. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

"Silence!" she repeated, her eyes shining with something wild. "You’ve always been like this. Always telling me to yield. Always telling me to accept what’s left."

She stepped toward her mother until only a few paces separated them.

"I am his wife," Ivanka hissed. "I am his right. The world acknowledges it."

The Marchioness studied her for a long moment, then said with a calm that felt crueler than anger, "The world may acknowledge you. But Demian does not."

That was what finally shattered Ivanka’s restraint.

"I will not let him go!" she screamed. "Not now. Not ever!"

She spun sharply toward her father, fixing him with a demanding stare. "You said there was a way. You spoke of a bond. A curse. Something."

Marquess Kosler fell silent.

That silence itself was an answer.

Ivanka smiled not a smile of joy, but the smile of someone who had gone too far to turn back.

"If Demian will not come to me as a husband," she said softly, almost like a vow to herself, "then I will make sure he has nowhere else to return to."

The Marchioness closed her eyes. The Marquess drew a long breath.

Within Castle Kosler, Ivanka’s fury did not fade.

The strategy hall of Castle Morvex was lit by dim light. The fireplace burned, but it offered no warmth only long shadows dancing across the stone walls.

Demian stood at the head of the large table, both hands braced against the dark wood. His face was hard, jaw locked, his gaze piercing the territorial map as if he could see something not drawn upon it.

Noel and Gordon stood several steps behind him. Both were tense not because of the room, but because of Demian’s presence. Something about him was different tonight. Colder. More dangerous.

"I want you to find every witch you know," Demian said without turning around. His voice was low, flat, yet heavy with pressure. "Those who live in one place. Those who wander. Anyone bold enough to deal with Morvex."

Gordon exchanged a brief glance with Noel before daring to speak.

"Your Grace... can’t you track Lady Valerie by her scent?"

The air seemed to freeze.

Demian turned slowly.

His gaze fell on Gordon sharp, piercing, forcing the general to straighten his back on instinct.

"If she is alone, yes," Demian replied quietly. "If she is afraid, injured, or trying to hide, I can still find her."

He turned fully now, his voice dropping another degree.

"But if she is with a witch... I will smell nothing."

Noel went silent. Gordon stiffened.

"Their concealment magic doesn’t only deceive the eyes," Demian continued. "It seals traces, disrupts instinct, even erases the remnants of a person’s existence from the ordinary world."

His hand clenched slowly.

"And Valerie is smart enough to understand that."

Silence fell.

Gordon finally lowered his head slightly. "Forgive me, Your Grace."

Demian did not respond.

Several seconds passed before he spoke again this time in a tone that made both men’s skin prickle.

"Bring that witch here."

Noel lifted his head. "Your Grace... you mean—"

"Vedssel."

The name landed heavily in the room.

Noel immediately stiffened. Gordon stared at Demian, surprise flashing across his face before he could hide it.

"The witch who nearly killed Lady Valerie?" Gordon asked carefully.

"The same one," Demian answered without hesitation. "And the only one who has ever touched her soul deeply enough to almost take her life."

He stepped closer, his voice now cold as honed steel.

"If someone has ever formed a bond even a partial one, even a flawed one then that trace never truly disappears."

Noel swallowed. "Such a bond is dangerous, Your Grace. If it’s forced—"

"I don’t care," Demian cut in sharply.

His eyes gleamed darkly.

"I will not wait for Valerie to appear on her own. I will not guess where she has gone."

He stopped directly in front of them.

"I will find her. And if the only way is through the magic that nearly killed her then I will use it."

Gordon and Noel dropped to one knee in unison.

"We will bring him," Gordon said. "Alive... if possible."

Demian turned away, staring into the unstable flames of the fireplace.

"Make sure he comes," he said coldly. "Because if he doesn’t I will assume he is hiding."

And everyone in the room understood what that meant.

The search for Valerie was no longer quiet.

It had become a hunt.

Gordon drew a deep breath before speaking. His voice remained controlled, but the caution in it was unmistakable.

"Your Grace... witches are usually difficult to negotiate with. They do not submit to noble law. Threats often only make them—"

"Withdraw?" Demian interrupted quietly.

He lifted his gaze. His expression was calm. Too calm.

"No," he continued flatly. "Threats only fail when the one making them hesitates to follow through."

The room fell silent once more.

Demian stepped closer to the table, then stopped. His finger tapped the wooden surface once the sound louder than it should have been.

"Tell that witch," he said slowly, each word articulated with care,

"that I have already granted him his life once."