ONE NIGHT STAND WITH HOT DUKE-Chapter 97: Pregnant

The morning had not yet fully broken when the sound reached him.

Demian woke not to sunlight, but to a familiar, choking noise one that made his chest tighten instantly. He opened his eyes with his breath held, then bolted upright as he heard Valerie retching beside the bed.

"Valerie—"

He didn’t bother to dress. Demian was out of the bed in an instant, dropping to his knees at her side. Valerie was bent weakly over the edge of the mattress, her body shaking violently, one hand clutching the sheets as if they were the last thing keeping her upright.

Demian rubbed her back, his movements stiff at first, then slowly gentler, steadier.

"Breathe... slowly," he said, his voice low but trembling. "I’m here."

Valerie didn’t answer. She kept vomiting, her breaths broken, her face so pale it looked nearly bloodless. Her hair, usually neat, clung to her temples with cold sweat.

Something crawled up Demian’s chest real panic, the kind he couldn’t control with orders or logic.

He grabbed a glass of water from the table and brought it to Valerie’s lips. "Drink a little," he urged. "Just a little."

Valerie obeyed, taking a small sip then gagged again. Her hands shook even harder. Demian closed his fingers around her wrist.

Cold.Too cold.

"Valerie..." His voice began to slip.

After a moment, the retching stopped. Valerie sagged, her breathing heavy, her eyes half-lidded. Demian released a brief breath of relief.

"Come on," he said softly. "Lie back down."

He slid one arm behind Valerie’s back, the other supporting her shoulder, guiding her back onto the bed. Her body felt light too light as if she weren’t entirely there.

Just as Demian reached to adjust the pillow

Valerie’s body suddenly went completely limp.

"Valerie?"

No answer.

Her head lolled to the side, her lips drained of color, and the hand Demian had been holding slipped from his grasp.

Time seemed to stop.

"Valerie!" Demian shook her, no longer hiding the panic in his voice. "Open your eyes!"

Nothing.

His heart slammed violently, his ears ringing. For the first time in his life, his mind was empty no strategies, no calculations.

"VALERIE!"

He pressed his palm to her cheek.

Cold. Far too cold.

Demian sprang to his feet and shouted toward the door, his voice echoing through the entire wing.

"ASHER! SEAN! GET A DOCTOR! NOW!"

The door flew open. Rushed footsteps, panicked voices filled the corridor. But to Demian, it all felt distant there was only Valerie, lying unconscious before him.

He returned to the bedside and dropped to his knees again, gripping Valerie’s hand tightly.

"Don’t you dare..." His voice broke. "Don’t you dare leave me."

He pressed his forehead to the back of her hand, his breathing ragged. All the pride, power, and control he had once taken for granted shattered in a single moment.

"I’m not finished," he whispered hoarsely, almost like a prayer. "I haven’t... said anything yet."

At last, the doctor’s footsteps arrived. The door opened again, commands were barked, urgency filled the room. But Demian did not move.

He stayed there.Still holding Valerie’s hand. Terrified truly terrified that if he let go, Valerie would never open her eyes again.

The doctor arrived in a rush, his black bag still swaying from his hurried steps. Asher and Sean stood by the door, their faces tight with concern—yet even that tension paled in comparison to Demian’s expression.

"Your Grace, please give us some space," the doctor said carefully.

Demian stared at Valerie lying pale on the bed, her eyes closed, her breathing shallow. Her hand was still in his grasp and for several seconds, he truly did not want to let go.

But at last, he stepped back half a pace. Not away only enough to allow room, still standing far too close to be calm.

The doctor began examining Valerie quickly but thoroughly. He checked her pulse, pressed his ear to her chest, observed the color of her face and eyelids. Now and then, his brow furrowed, as if noting something that required deeper thought.

Demian stood rigid.

Every second felt like punishment.

"Well?" Demian’s voice was low, restrained, yet sharp. "Speak."

The doctor did not answer immediately. He asked for water, for a warm cloth, then touched Valerie’s abdomen with great care. His movements slowed suddenly as though he had discovered something that demanded reconsideration.

Demian noticed at once.

"What is it?" he pressed, no longer hiding the strain. "Don’t stand there in silence."

The doctor exhaled softly, then straightened. His gaze shifted to Demian more serious, more cautious than before.

"Your Grace," he said at last, "Lady Valerie’s condition is not due solely to exhaustion or a chill."

Demian stiffened. "Then what?"

The doctor looked back at Valerie, then spoke clearly too clearly.

"Lady Valerie is with child."

The words fell into the room like a foreign object.

With child.

Demian did not react at once.

It was as if his mind refused to process them.

"What...?" His voice came out low, almost inaudible. "What did you say?"

The doctor repeated it, firmer this time. "Lady Valerie is pregnant. Approximately six weeks along."

Six weeks.

Demian took an unconscious step back.

Time seemed to freeze.

Six weeks meant before all the arguments, before the hunting night, before his anger, before he had nearly... forgotten her.

It meant everything he had said, everything he had done, every cold, half-careless remark of ’perhaps you’ll be pregnant soon’ had become reality.

Demian turned to Valerie.

Her face was still pale. Fragile. Far too fragile for someone carrying his child.

"Why did she faint?" Demian finally asked, his voice different now rougher, straining to hold back what churned in his chest.

"Her body is exhausted, Your Grace," the doctor replied. "She has been vomiting continuously, most likely due to early pregnancy symptoms. Combined with stress and inadequate nourishment... her body could not withstand it."

Stress.

The word pierced deeper than the doctor could know.

Demian clenched his fists.

He remembered Valerie’s silence. Her eyes that often looked away. The way she swallowed words that should have been spoken. The way she always chose quiet even when she was hurt.

"Is the child..." Demian paused, as if uncertain he could finish the sentence. "Is it safe?"

The doctor nodded slowly. "For now, the child is well. But if the mother’s physical and emotional condition is not carefully protected, the risks will increase."

Demian did not answer.

He stepped back to the bedside, looking at Valerie for a long time longer than he ever had before.

His hand lifted, hesitated, then finally touched Valerie’s abdomen with the lightest care. The gesture was foreign to him. Careful. Almost afraid.

There was a life.

His child.

With the woman he had called only his woman.

His chest tightened.

"Six weeks..." he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

Valerie let out a soft groan, her brows knitting together. Slowly, her eyes opened.

"Demian...?" Her voice was weak, barely there.

Demian bent down immediately. "I’m here."

Valerie swallowed, her breathing still heavy. "Why... is it so loud?"

Demian looked at her truly looked at her with a gaze unlike his usual one. Not cold. Not angry. Not demanding.

"Valerie," he said softly, far too softly for a man like him. "The doctor says... you’re pregnant."

Valerie went still.

Her eyes widened slightly, then slowly filled with tears. Her hand moved instinctively to her stomach a small, trembling gesture.

"Pregnant...?" she whispered.