ONE NIGHT STAND WITH HOT DUKE-Chapter 130: I don’t care

Valerie said at last.

Not loudly. Not trembling.

Just flat like a decision that had been made long before the words ever left her lips.

She walked past Demian without another glance. Her skirt rustled sharply, as though she feared that if she slowed down, something inside her would collapse. Her chamber door opened, then closed with a sound that was firm not slammed, but clearly intentional.

Click.

Locked.

Sera and Lira, standing not far away, froze. They exchanged awkward glances, then hurried closer.

"Lady Valerie...?" Sera knocked softly. "Are you—"

There was no answer.

Lira swallowed. They didn’t knock a second time. Both stepped back carefully, leaving the door as if it might explode if touched for too long.

In the corridor, Ivanka crossed her arms and leaned casually against the wall."Is she angry?" she asked lightly, almost as if commenting on the weather.

Demian stared at Valerie’s door for several seconds. His jaw tightened.

"Yes," he said shortly. "She’s angry. Now go home."

Ivanka let out a small laugh a brief sound, edged with mockery. "So you’re throwing me out because your whore is angry?"

The word fell like a knife.

Demian turned sharply. His eyes darkened, his voice low."She is not my whore, Ivanka."

He stepped forward half a pace. "And every time you come here, there’s trouble. Leave."

Ivanka’s smile faded. She straightened, meeting Demian’s gaze without yielding. "Our bond still exists," she said coldly. "You can’t treat me like this."

"I can," Demian replied without hesitation. "And I am. Leave."

Several seconds passed silent, taut. Ivanka searched his face for something: doubt, guilt, or the remains of an old feeling. There was nothing.

At last, she snorted softly, turned, and walked down the corridor. Demian’s shirt still wrapped around her body a small trace she left behind on purpose.

Demian stood alone.

Behind the locked door, Valerie leaned back, her spine pressed against the cold wood. Her breath was trapped in her chest, her fingers gripping the fabric of her gown over her heart. Her face held no tears not because she was strong, but because her feelings were too full to spill out as crying.

She closed her eyes.

So this is how it feels, she thought. To be the woman chosen yet still so easily displaced by a single sight in a corridor.

And for the first time since she had come to that castle, Valerie truly felt alone.

The pounding on the door could no longer be called knocking.

Thud.

The wooden door trembled faintly.

"Valerie."

Inside the room, Valerie sat on the edge of the bed, her back straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The lamp remained unlit. Moonlight slipped in through the window, casting her silhouette cold and distant. She stared at the door without moving, as if the voice beyond it no longer belonged to her world.

"Open the door," Demian said, his voice restrained, held back from breaking. "We need to talk."

Valerie drew a slow breath.

"There is nothing to talk about."

Demian let out a quiet groan, then knocked again this time more controlled, but unmistakably frustrated.

"You misunderstood."

Valerie curved her lips into a crooked smile, one she had never shown anyone.

"Oh? So it’s my fault for having eyes that work too well?"

Silence fell in the corridor.

Demian exhaled deeply, his palm pressing against the door.

"Her dress was stained with tea. That’s all. There was nothing else."

"Tea," Valerie repeated lightly, dripping with sarcasm. "A remarkable drink. It makes a woman walk out of your room wearing your shirt, while you follow half-naked. I should write down the brand."

"Valerie," his voice rose, then dropped again by force. "Don’t be childish."

That word made Valerie stand. She stepped closer to the door so close that the cold wood touched her forehead.

"Childish?" she said softly, but sharp. "I’m pregnant, Demian. I live in your castle, under your name, without status, without certainty. And you call my reaction childish?"

Demian fell silent. He dragged a hand roughly over his face.

"I didn’t mean—"

"You never do," Valerie cut in quickly. "You never mean to hurt me. And yet somehow, I’m always the one bleeding."

She let out a small, bitter laugh.

"Do you know what’s funniest? I’m not even angry because of Ivanka. I’m angry because of how easily this happened... and how easily you assumed I would understand."

Demian lowered his head briefly, then lifted it again.

"Open the door," he said more quietly. "You’re sweating. You’ll catch a chill."

The concern came too late. Far too late.

"Oh, now you remember I can get sick," Valerie replied flatly. "Thank you. But you don’t need to worry."

She leaned against the door, her voice deliberately turning cold.

"You can stay outside."

Demian frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Valerie continued calmly, "if you don’t want to get cold... leave."

She paused, then added with cruel precision: "Go find Ivanka. Isn’t she close enough to keep you warm?"

The words struck harder than any insult.

Demian clenched his fists. His jaw tightened. "You’re crossing a line."

Valerie smiled—a smile without joy.

"A line?" she whispered. "I didn’t even know I had one in your life."

Silence descended again. Heavy. Long.

"I will not open the door," she said firmly. "Not tonight. Not until I want to. You don’t get to command me to be fine."

Demian stood rigid in the corridor. The entire castle felt too small for him then. He wanted to break the door down, to force his way in, to demand explanations as he always had as he always succeeded in doing.

But the door remained locked.

And Valerie did not cry.

"Whatever you think," Demian said at last, his voice low and cold, "do as you please."

His footsteps retreated, shoes echoing against the stone corridor one by one until there was only silence.

Inside the room, Valerie slowly slid down to the floor, her back still pressed against the door. Her hands trembled as she cradled her belly, her breath caught in her chest.

No tears fell.

Only emptiness and one bitter realization pulsing quietly in her heart:

For the first time, she did not try to understand.And for the first time, Demian could not force her to.

Morning arrived without truly entering Valerie’s room.

Sunlight slipped shyly through the gap in the curtains, yet the door remained closed locked just as it had been the night before, like a statement that had never been withdrawn.

In the corridor, Lira had been standing there since dawn. Her hair was not fully neat, her eyes weary from barely sleeping.

"Lady Valerie..." her voice was gentle, almost pleading. "Please open the door. At least drink a little."