ONE NIGHT STAND WITH HOT DUKE-Chapter 133: Story repeats

Outside, the world waited for Duke Zarkiel’s decision.But inside that room, the only thing Demian hoped for was this that Valerie would open her eyes.

Night crept down slowly, carrying a cold that clung to the castle walls like a long, held breath. Inside the room, time seemed to stop circling only between the steady drip of the IV and Valerie’s fragile breathing.

Demian did not move.

He had taken off his coat and shoes, sitting at the bedside with his back slightly bent, as if moving even an inch too far might shatter something delicate. Candlelight cast harsh shadows across his face his jaw tight, his eyes red, stripped of their usual sharpness. Not from exhaustion alone, but from a guilt he refused to name.

"Wake up," he whispered, barely audible. "I’m not good at waiting."

His hand closed around Valerie’s fingers. Cold. Too cold for someone who should be alive, breathing, responding. He pressed his thumb gently, as if begging the stubborn pulse to answer.

Nothing.

He swallowed, then let out a short, soundless laugh.

"I always thought everything could be fixed with decisions," he murmured. "With orders. With money. With threats, if necessary." He shook his head faintly. "Apparently not."

Ivanka’s image her cold words, her sharp smile flickered briefly through his mind. The family dinner. The elders. The bond. Things that once were nothing more than minor inconveniences he could brush aside. Tonight, they felt irrelevant—almost cruel.

Sean knocked softly and entered without a sound.

"Your Grace," he said quietly, "the doctor requests an update on Lady Valerie’s condition every two hours. So far she is stable, but—"

"I know," Demian interrupted gently. "Thank you."

Sean hesitated, then dared to continue. "Lady Ivanka is still waiting for your answer. The family has gathered. The elders as well."

Demian didn’t turn. "I’m not coming."

"If I may be honest," Sean said, keeping his voice as even as possible, "your absence will be taken as a statement."

Demian gave a thin, bitter smile. "Then let them interpret it however they wish."

Sean bowed and withdrew, leaving the room once more to the pressing silence.

Demian rested his forehead against the edge of the bed. His silver hair fell over his eyes, his shoulders rising and falling slowly. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to be tired tired of carrying roles, tired of being someone who never hesitated.

"If you wake up," he said again, softer than before, "I’ll listen. I promise."

As if in response, Valerie’s brow moved just slightly. Her breath faltered for a moment, almost imperceptible, yet enough to freeze Demian in place.

"Valerie?" He straightened, leaning closer. "Listen to me."

Her eyelids trembled, heavy, like doors reluctant to open. Valerie’s lips moved faintly, releasing a broken breath.

Demian reached for the small bell on the bedside table then stopped himself. He waited. This time, he chose to wait.

"Demian..." the voice came out faint, barely there.

His chest tightened. "I’m here."

Valerie didn’t open her eyes fully. Her brow furrowed, as though trapped in a painful dream. "Don’t... be angry..."

The simple words struck harder than any accusation.

"I’m not angry," he said quickly, his voice rough. "I’m just—" He stopped. Softened his tone. "I’m here. That’s all."

Valerie released a long breath, as if letting go of a burden she had carried for too long. Her fingers moved, searching and Demian met them at once, gripping more tightly.

Outside the room, the bells announcing the family dinner rang. Once. Twice. Declaring something important to many people.

But for Demian, the world narrowed to one bed, one breath, one woman who had finally opened her eyes if only a little.

If tonight he had to choose between an old bond and the life lying before him, then for the first time in his life, Demian knew the answer without needing to think.

And outside, the world could wait.

The night at the Kosler family estate glittered beneath crystal chandeliers and the silver sheen of polished cutlery. The long table was laden with lavish dishes roasted meats, aged wine, fragrant soft bread yet none of it softened the atmosphere.

Demian arrived on time.Alone.

That alone was already a statement.

Ivanka’s father, Count Kosler, sat at the head of the table with a straight back and an expression carved from restraint. Ivanka’s mother wore a thin smile the kind perfected by nobility, trained to hide unease behind impeccable etiquette. Along the sides, the family elders sat in a row, their aged eyes sharp, weighing Demian’s every movement as if he were an asset under negotiation.

Ivanka herself sat gracefully across from Demian, dressed in a dark gown that emphasized the line of her neckline. She appeared calm too calm as though certain the evening would end exactly as she wished.

Dinner proceeded with forced small talk. The weather. Trade routes. Court rumors. Demian answered only when necessary. He did not touch his wine.

When the main course was cleared, Count Kosler finally set his spoon down.

"Demian," he said, his voice low but authoritative. "We all know why you are here tonight. I hope this is not merely a courtesy visit."

Demian lifted his gaze. His reddened eyes were calm too calm."Correct," he replied shortly. "I came to discuss the bond."

The tension around the table tightened instantly.

Ivanka’s mother offered a small smile. "Thank goodness. I feared you would continue avoiding it."

Demian did not respond to the barb. "I want to annul it."

The words fell onto the table like a blade.

"No," one of the elders said bluntly.

"Impossible," another added.

Count Kosler leaned back, fingers interlaced. "This bond is not a unilateral decision, Demian. It is an agreement between two great families. Between power and stability."

Demian drew a slow breath. "And I no longer want it."

Ivanka finally spoke. "Why?" she asked, her voice soft but edged. "Am I not worthy to be your duchess?"

Demian glanced at her briefly. "This is not about worth."

"Then what is it?" Ivanka’s smile thinned. "That woman?"

Several elders exchanged looks. Valerie’s name was not spoken but everyone knew.

"Demian," Ivanka’s mother said, her tone turning colder, "if you came here to humiliate my daughter, you have chosen the wrong place."

"I did not come to humiliate anyone," Demian replied flatly. "I came to be honest."

Count Kosler tapped the table lightly. "Honesty does not erase obligation. You are an adult, Duke Morvex. You know what this bond means. You know what you gain by marrying Ivanka."

Demian nodded once. "I know."

"Political influence.""The elders’ support.""Stability in the northern territories."

Each was spoken like an item on a price list.

"And you refuse it?" one elder asked, frowning. "For a woman without status?"

Demian stood.

His chair scraped back, the sound echoing in the overly silent room.

"I refuse it," he said firmly, "because I will not marry Ivanka."