ONE NIGHT STAND WITH HOT DUKE-Chapter 98: Six week

Tears slipped silently from the corners of her eyes.

Demian did not know what to say.

For the first time, words truly abandoned him.

He knew only one thing no matter how tangled his life was, how complicated his bond with Ivanka, or how vast his pride he had just nearly lost Valerie.

And now...

he knew he would not survive losing that child as well.

Demian stood at the side of the bed, looking down at Valerie as she lay weak and exhausted. His expression remained hard as it always was. There was no wide smile, no sudden embrace, no tender words people usually expected from a man who had just received such news.

Yet beneath his silence, something moved slowly... and powerfully.

He was pleased.

The feeling came without permission, beyond his control. Not an overflowing joy, but a deep, heavy, grounding satisfaction as if something he had long desired had finally become real.

Pregnant.

Six weeks.

Demian looked away for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor, his jaw tightening. He drew a long breath, steadying himself as he always did. He was not good at showing emotion especially emotions that made him vulnerable.

But when he looked back at Valerie, his eyes had changed.

"So..." he said quietly, his voice lower than usual, "that’s why you’ve been ill."

Valerie gave a small nod. Her eyes were still wet not from pure happiness, but from a mixture of fear, confusion, and exhaustion.

Demian reached out and touched Valerie’s hair. The movement was stiff, as though he had to think carefully before doing it yet the touch was real. Warm. Unhurried.

"You need to rest," he said shortly. "From now on."

That was all.

There was no I’m happy, no thank you, no I’ve been waiting for this.

But the doctor and the servants could see it the way Demian stood closer than before. The way he refused to leave even when Asher reminded him of his schedule. The way his gaze kept drifting back to Valerie’s abdomen, as if to reassure himself that it was all real.

Valerie looked at him hesitantly. "Demian...?"

"Hm?"

"You... aren’t angry?"

The question came softly, almost afraid.

Demian fell silent for a few seconds. Then he answered without looking directly at her.

"Why would I be angry?"

Valerie bit her lip. "I was just... afraid."

At last, Demian looked at her. His gaze was sharp but not cold.

"Don’t be afraid," he said. "As long as you’re carrying my child, no one will dare lay a hand on you."

Those words were not a confession of love.Not a romantic promise.

But they were the truest expression of Demian’s feelings.

He was pleased because Valerie carried his blood.Because something now bound them more firmly than desire alone.Because for the first time, he felt he had a future that was real.

And though he did not smile,did not offer congratulations,did not hold Valerie the way other men might

Demian remained there.He did not leave.He did not let go of Valerie’s hand.

Because in his silence,his happiness had already chosen where to stay.

The news spread far faster than Ivanka had ever expected.

Not through Demian.Not through any official announcement.

She heard it through whispered conversations among the nobility from the altered glances, from half-sympathetic smiles that felt more like mockery, from remarks casually dropped during a small afternoon gathering as if by accident.

Lady Valerie... is with child.Six weeks.The Duke’s heir.

Ivanka froze where she stood.

The smile she had been wearing collapsed instantly, like a mask cracking and shattering to the floor. She finished the gathering with a flawless posture and an icy expression just as she had been trained to do since childhood.

But the moment the carriage carried her back to the Kosler family residence, everything fell apart.

The instant her bedroom door closed,

CRASH!

The first porcelain vase slammed into the wall and shattered. Then the vanity mirror was swept off the table by her arm, followed by a chair kicked aside without aim. Ivanka’s breathing came fast and sharp, her eyes burning red, her chest heaving as though it might explode.

"VALERIE—!" she screamed hysterically, her voice breaking.

She seized the window curtains and yanked them violently, as if she could tear the outside world apart. Her hands trembled not with fear, but with a rage deeper than anything she had ever known.

"Pregnant?" Her laughter cracked, bordering on sobs. "She’s... pregnant?"

Panicked footsteps sounded outside the door. It flew open.

"Ivanka!" Her mother entered first, face pale. "What is all this? Why are you screaming like a—"

"What?" Ivanka snapped, turning sharply. "Did you come to comfort me too?"

Her father followed, staring at the wrecked room. "Ivanka, calm yourself. Whatever you heard—"

"It’s true!" Ivanka shouted. "She’s carrying his child!"

The words spilled from her mouth like poison she had to expel before it destroyed her from the inside.

Her mother fell silent.

She didn’t deny it.

And that was when Ivanka knew this was no mere rumor.

Ivanka laughed again, this time bitter. "How amusing, isn’t it? I’m his fiancée. I was groomed from childhood to become duchess. I’m the one who has always stood beside him."

She pointed to her own chest. "And yet that woman that cheap woman is the one who gives him an heir!"

Her mother stepped closer, trying to take her shoulder. "Ivanka, listen to me—"

Ivanka slapped her hand away. "Don’t touch me!"

Her father exhaled slowly, trying to remain rational. "This pregnancy doesn’t necessarily change anything. Demian is still bound to you. The marriage—"

"Enough!" Ivanka screamed. "You don’t understand!"

Her eyes gleamed wildly. "A man like Demian... once there is a child, he will never let go. Never."

She began pacing, her fingernails digging into her palms. "He will never truly abandon that woman now."

Her mother looked frightened. "Ivanka... what are you planning to do?"

Ivanka stopped.

Her face gradually smoothed into calm too calm. A thin smile curved her lips, devoid of any warmth.

"What am I planning to do?" she repeated softly.

She looked at her parents, one after the other.

"If Demian cannot remove her himself," she said quietly, her voice edged with iron, "then I will make sure that woman never stands on equal ground with me."

Her mother recoiled. "Ivanka, don’t speak like that!"

Ivanka turned toward the cracked mirror, staring at her own reflection red eyes, disheveled hair, yet her resolve was cold and razor-sharp.

"Since when has this world ever been fair, Mother?" she said softly. "The lawful woman always wins."

Her hand clenched into a fist.

"And I will not lose... to a mistress not even if she is carrying his child."