ONE NIGHT STAND WITH HOT DUKE-Chapter 160: Se must not know
Demian returned to the castle as dusk approached.
There was no procession. No expression of relief or victory. He walked in like a man who had just stepped out of an execution chamber alive, yet having left something behind. When Valerie appeared at the far end of the corridor, carrying a stack of fabrics Sera had just chosen for her, Demian paused for a moment. Their gazes met.
Valerie gave a small smile. A calm one. Asking for nothing.
"Your journey was long," she said lightly.
Demian nodded. "There were many matters."
That was all.
No explanation. No confession. Not a single word about Castle Kosler, about Ivanka, about a marquess kneeling at his feet. He walked past Valerie, then stopped and stepped back adjusting the shawl on her shoulders, making sure the knot did not press against her stomach.
"Have you eaten?" he asked.
"Not yet," Valerie replied, a little surprised. "I was waiting for you."
"We’ll eat together," Demian said briefly.
Asher, standing not far away, caught something in that tone. He moved closer when Valerie walked ahead.
"Your Grace," he said quietly, "at Kosler—"
Demian cut him off without turning. "Not in front of Valerie."
Asher fell silent. "Is it—"
"No. Not now. Not ever," Demian said, his voice dropping an octave. "If a single word reaches her ears, I will personally make sure there are consequences."
Asher lowered his head. He understood. All too well. "Yes, Your Grace."
From that day on, Demian’s behavior changed subtle, almost imperceptible, yet real.
He became more present. More attentive to whether Valerie ate on time. He reminded the physician to examine her more regularly. He altered his own travel schedule so he would not be far from the castle. When Valerie woke at night from nausea or nightmares, Demian was already sitting at the edge of the bed, handing her water, letting her rest her head against him without asking a single question.
Valerie did not suspect anything.
She only thought Demian was tired. Or perhaps trying to keep a promise he had once spoken in half-despair I will protect you.
Demian went even further.
He sent a messenger to Kosler with cold instructions, no news, no visits, not a single message that mentioned his name especially not Valerie’s. When Marquess Kosler attempted to allude to the plans that had been "agreed upon," Demian answered with one short sentence:
"If Valerie finds out, I will consider it betrayal."
The threat was enough.
In Valerie’s eyes, the world moved as usual perhaps even warmer. Demian held her hand more often in public, no longer caring about whispers. He would stop walking if Valerie seemed tired. He refused overly long banquets. He reprimanded anyone who made Valerie uncomfortable, no matter how small the offense.
But Valerie did not know that all this care was born from a decision made without her knowledge.
She did not know that every touch from Demian was a form of atonement. Every act of attention an attempt to delay guilt. Every silence a carefully arranged lie.
And Demian he lived in two times.
The time in which he was with Valerie, reminding himself that he was still human. And the time in which he was alone, staring into the dark, repeating one inescapable truth:
He had surrendered his future for a death that was demanded, for a sin he now hid from the one person he should never have lied to.
Meanwhile, Valerie, knowing nothing at all, began to count the days.
Three days.
And Demian, with all his power, did not realize that it was precisely this ignorance that would cost him everything.
Valerie was still caught between two opposing pulls.
Lena’s words about the caravan and the mages kept circling in her mind about three days, about a trail that would vanish, about leaving without being chased. The more she tried to convince herself it was the only way, the stronger the unease that crept in. It was not fear of the journey, but fear of what or whom she would have to leave behind.
That afternoon, sunlight slipped into the room in a soft golden hue. Valerie stepped inside to rest for a moment, removed her gloves, then stopped short.
On the chair by the window lay Demian’s coat, carelessly left behind something he rarely did. Usually it was always hung neatly, mirroring his controlled way of life. Valerie moved closer, intending to straighten it.
As she lifted the coat, something shifted from an inner pocket and fell into her hand.
A small box.
Valerie froze.
The box was simple, lined with dark velvet, yet its weight felt unmistakably real in her palm. Her heart began to beat faster not from mere curiosity, but from a sudden intuition that felt far too clear.
She opened it.
Inside lay a ring.
The stone was blue not an ordinary blue. Not the blue of the sky, nor the blue of the sea. It was deep and clear, as if it held light from a place Valerie had never seen in her life. When the afternoon light touched it, the gem reflected a soft glow, almost alive.
Valerie held her breath.
Her hand trembled as she lifted the box a little closer. A strange warmth spread through her chest chaotic, conflicting, painful. Images of Demian surfaced in her mind: his excessive attentiveness lately, the way he made sure she was always all right, the softer, more careful tone of his voice, as if he were afraid of touching something fragile.
Is this... for me?
The question pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
Thoughts of the caravan, of Lena, of leaving everything unraveled. If the ring was meant for her, then Demian was preparing a future Valerie was already planning to abandon. If it was not, then she had touched something she was never meant to see.
With her breath still unsteady, Valerie closed the box. She slipped it back into the inner pocket of Demian’s coat, smoothed the fabric, and placed the coat exactly as it had been before as though it had never been touched.
She stepped back.
Her heart was still racing when she whispered, almost soundlessly,"Demian... is this for me?"
