ONE NIGHT STAND WITH HOT DUKE-Chapter 177: New hostess
Gordon freezes.
"She knew," Demian repeats, softer now. "And she did not come to me. She did not ask. She did not wait for an explanation."
His hand slowly curls into a fist.
"She chose to leave."
Gordon lowers his head. "Perhaps... Lady Valerie wished to avoid trouble, Your Grace."
Demian shakes his head slightly. "No."
He turns, meeting Gordon’s gaze directly. "Valerie is not someone who runs without reason. If she went this far if she chose a world I cannot reach then she had already made her decision."
His voice drops, nearly a whisper.
"And that decision was made after she knew."
Gordon hesitates, then asks, "Are you certain, Your Grace... that she knew before you went to Kosler Castle?"
Demian does not answer immediately.
The memory of that wedding night returns the way Valerie had been too calm, too distant. The way she did not demand explanations, did not show anger, did not display jealousy.
Now, it all feels... logical.
"Yes," Demian says at last. "She knew."
He steps back to his desk and places his palm on the map spread across it. Trade routes, borders, old roads clearly drawn, yet none of them point to a path he can follow.
"And she did not leave out of fear," Demian continues. "Not out of anger."
He lifts his head.
"She left because she did not want to remain in a place where I would have to choose."
Gordon feels his throat go dry.
"Your Grace..." he asks carefully, "what will you do now?"
Demian is silent for a long moment.
Then he speaks, his voice calm far too calm to be safe:
"I will find her."
He stares at the map as though he can see the caravan routes not marked upon it.
"Not to force her back," he adds. "Not to punish her."
His hand presses harder into the parchment.
"But to hear it from her myself," he says quietly, "why she chose to leave without looking back."
Silence fills the room once more.
And Gordon finally realizes something that makes the hair on his neck rise:
Demian is no longer pursuing Valerie as a Duke.
He is pursuing her as a man who has just lost something without ever being given the chance to fight for it.
Demian returns to Morvex with a mind still unable to settle on a decision.
But the moment his horse passes through the main gates, he knows something is wrong.
The courtyard is crowded with carriages.
Not one.Not two.
Dozens of wheels are parked in neat rows, the crests of minor noble houses fixed to their sides. Servants move back and forth with tense expressions, carrying chests, fabrics, and furniture not like guests passing through, but like people who intend to stay.
Demian pulls hard on his reins.
"What is this...?" he mutters.
He dismounts without waiting for anyone and strides into the castle, his steps long and furious. The main doors stand wide open and inside, the sight that greets him feels like a slap.
Ivanka stands in the center of the hall.
Dressed formally. Her hair pinned neatly. Her smile calm too calm. Around her, Morvex’s servants stand stiffly, uncertain whether to bow to her or await Demian’s command.
Ivanka turns.
Her smile widens.
"Demian," she says softly. "You’re back."
Demian stops at the threshold.
His gaze freezes.
"What," he says slowly, his voice trembling with restrained fury,"are you doing here?"
Ivanka steps forward, graceful, possessive. "I’ve come home," she answers lightly. "Isn’t that only natural?"
Demian lets out a short, sharp laugh."Home?"
"We are married," Ivanka continues without flinching. "And it is clear I am the Duchess of Morvex. The mistress of this castle."
Each word falls like a nail.
Something in Demian’s chest cracks.
He steps fully inside now, the doors slamming shut behind him.
"You," he says quietly, "have no right to be here without my permission."
Ivanka raises an eyebrow. "I am your wife."
Demian stops directly in front of her.
The air changes.
Servants bow their heads in fear. Some take a step back. The pressure in the room thickens, as though the castle itself is holding its breath.
"You are using that status," Demian says low, dangerous, "to trample my territory."
Ivanka smiles this time, a flash of satisfaction glinting in her eyes.
"I am simply fulfilling my role."
That is enough.
Demian’s fury erupts.
"ROLE?" his voice booms through the hall. "YOU DARE CALL THIS A ROLE?"
He gestures around them. "You brought your people into my castle. You gave orders to my servants. You took over my home while I was out searching for someone who is MISSING!"
Ivanka flinches for a heartbeat. Then she regains control.
"Whatever happened to that woman—"
"DO NOT SPEAK HER NAME!" Demian roars.
He steps closer, forcing Ivanka to retreat half a step on instinct.
"You did not come here as a wife," Demian continues, his voice making the stone floor feel cold. "You came as an invader."
Ivanka’s face hardens. "I have rights—"
"THOSE RIGHTS WERE GIVEN BY ME," Demian cuts in coldly. "And I can take them back."
A deadly silence falls.
Ivanka looks at him and for the first time, her smile cracks.
"Demian... you cannot humiliate me in front of everyone."
Demian leans in, lowering himself slightly until their faces are level.
"Then," he says quietly, full of threat, "you should not have stepped onto Morvex soil without the Duke’s permission."
He straightens, his voice absolute.
"Leave this castle," he orders. "Now."
Ivanka draws a deep breath.
This time, she does not smile.
"Demian," she says, her voice lower, more controlled the tone of someone who believes they are holding the final card. "You cannot cast me out."
Demian turns slowly.
"What did you say?"
Ivanka straightens her back. "I am your wife," she states firmly. "By law, by custom, by public acknowledgment. You may be angry, but you cannot simply erase that fact. As long as I am your wife, I have rights to Morvex. To this house."
