ONE NIGHT STAND WITH HOT DUKE-Chapter 65: Different from fiancé

Ivanka laughed softly but this time, there was nothing light about it. There was certainty in her tone, a conviction built over far too many years to be shattered by a few words of defiance.

"Do you really think," she said, tilting her head slightly, "that speaking like that... will make everything turn out fine?"

Valerie stopped walking.

She did not turn around at once. Her gaze fell to the marble floor beneath her feet, its cold lines painfully real, as if grounding her, keeping her from wavering.

"Whether it turns out fine or not," Valerie finally replied, her voice low but steady, "is none of your concern."

Ivanka laughed again, this time more clearly. She crossed her arms over her chest, watching Valerie’s back with a look that was not angry but pitying.

"You always speak like that," she said. "As if you still have room to choose."

Valerie turned slowly.

"I speak like this," Ivanka continued, her tone lowering, almost gentle, "because I pity you."

That word pity landed harder than any insult.

"You should know this," Ivanka went on without hesitation, "even until death, Demian and I will never be able to be separated."

Valerie met her gaze.

There was no anger in Valerie’s eyes. Only a weariness that had been held back for far too long.

Ivanka stepped closer, her gown brushing the floor with effortless grace.

"Our engagement was decided when we were still children," she said. "And this is not an ordinary arrangement that can be undone by fleeting emotions."

She stopped directly in front of Valerie.

"There is a bond of blood," she said firmly. "And also... a bond of souls."

Valerie’s heart began to pound harder.

She knew.She had always known.

The story was no great secret among the nobility. Yet hearing it spoken directly by Ivanka so calmly made it feel far more real.

Valerie swallowed, but remained silent.

Ivanka took that silence as an opening.

"It is stronger than any bond you know," she continued. "And what you must understand is this Demian is the one who chose me."

Valerie frowned slightly.

Ivanka smiled faintly. "Not his parents. Not the emperor. Not tradition alone."

"Demian," she repeated softly, "chose me."

The air felt heavy against Valerie’s chest.

Ivanka went on, her voice now almost a whispered secret,"Since Demian was a child... he has already bound his soul to mine."

She looked straight at Valerie, unblinking.

"That is not something that can be undone easily," she said. "No matter what happens."

Then, in a tone calm yet lethal—

"Even if he has another woman."

Valerie felt something inside her slowly give way.

She wanted to laugh.To deny it.To say that Demian held her, sought her out, desired her.

But all of it felt fragile in the face of one simple phrase:

A soul bond.

Ivanka studied Valerie’s face carefully, as though reading every tiny fracture beneath her composure.

"Let me ask you one thing," she said softly. "Has Demian ever told you that he loves you?"

Valerie parted her lips then closed them again.

No answer came.

And that silence spoke louder than words.

Ivanka let out a small breath, as if she had expected it all along.

"Even if he has ever spoken those words," Ivanka continued, "they stop at the lips."

She touched her own chest.

"Because true love," she said quietly but firmly, "is not merely spoken."

"It lives in the heart," "and is bound to the soul."

She looked at Valerie with an expression that was almost gentle.

"And that," she said, "is not a lie that can be shared."

Valerie stood rigid.

Her chest tightened not from jealousy, not from anger, but from a bitter realization slowly creeping in.

That perhaps, all this time,she had been holding onto somethingthat was never truly meantto belong to her.

And yet Valerie lifted her head.

Her gaze remained calm.

And though her heart was wounded,she refused to crumble before a womanwho saw heras nothing more than a temporary stop.

Because beneath her silence,Valerie was beginning to understand one thing:

If a soul bond was Ivanka’s weapon,then her own choice, to stay, or to leave was the only thing still entirely in her own hands.

Ivanka smiled faintly when she saw Valerie remain silent.

"If you truly understand now," she said softly, each word sharp despite its quiet tone,"then you should also know one more thing."

She stepped slightly to the side and picked up a ring from its velvet cushion, turning it between her fingers as if weighing something trivial.

"As long as he is with me," Ivanka continued without looking at Valerie,"have you ever wondered... whether Demian thinks of you?"

Ivanka’s fingers stilled.

She lifted her gaze and looked straight at Valerie.

"The answer is no," she said lightly, almost as if she were talking about the weather. "Not because you are unimportant."

A small smile curved her lips.

"But because you are not even in his thoughts."

The words fell one by one neat, deliberate, and cruel.

"When he is with me," Ivanka went on, "he laughs. He speaks of future plans. Of politics, of territories, of the life we will build."

Valerie clenched her fingers at the side of her gown. Her nails pressed into her palm, holding back the small tremor she refused to show.

"He does not ask about you," Ivanka continued. "He does not speak your name."

Her voice remained calm, as though she were merely stating facts.

"He even forgets," she said softly but clearly, "that you exist."

For a long moment, the room seemed to freeze.

Valerie drew in a slow breath. It felt heavy, but she forced it to remain steady.

"So," Ivanka concluded, her voice almost gentle, "if you are still standing here and hoping for something... it is only because you are alone with your own thoughts."

She placed the ring back onto its cushion.

"Not because Demian has left any space in his heart for you."

Valerie did not reply.

But beneath her composed expression, something shifted not breaking, not collapsing, but hardening.

Ivanka stepped closer.

The distance between them was now too close enough for Valerie to catch the faint scent of expensive perfume clinging to the woman’s skin. Ivanka no longer smiled. Her expression was calm, cold, as though she had decided there was no longer any need to pretend courtesy.

"No matter how long time passes," Ivanka said softly but firmly, "you will never be the same as me."

Valerie lifted her gaze and met her eyes.

"I am the fiancée of the Duke of Morvex," Ivanka continued. "My family name, my bloodline, my position everything I am stands equal to his."

She paused, then went on, her tone sharpening.

"And you?"

Ivanka’s lips curved into a thin smile, one utterly devoid of warmth.

"You will always be nothing more than the woman who warms his bed."