Bianca lowered her head briefly, then lifted her face again. Her eyes were wet now, but her resolve was firm.
"Adrian wants to run away with ," she said honestly. "But we need ti. Money. Just a few months. If I stay at ho, Father will lock away or force the marriage before that."
She swallowed. "If I live in the castle... Father won’t give any money. But if I work even as a maid I can save. I’m begging you, Valerie."
The room fell silent.
Valerie studied Bianca for a long mont. For the first ti, she did not see a spoiled girl or a stubborn cousin. She saw soone cornered soone trying to reclaim control over her life by whatever ans remained.
And yet, beneath that, Valerie felt sothing else.
Suspicion.
Bianca was being too bold. Too confident that the Duke’s protection could be used as a shield. Too certain that everything could simply be "delayed" without consequence.
And Valerie knew one thing for certain:
Anything that involved Demian was never that simple.
She let out a quiet breath.
"Bianca," Valerie said at last, her voice low but serious, "you’re asking for more than protection. You’re asking to stand between you and your father... and possibly between you and the Duke."
Bianca nodded. "I know."
Valerie closed her eyes briefly.
In her mind, Demian’s image surfaced those red eyes, the way he chose, the way he despised being cornered. Valerie knew this decision was not just about Bianca.
It was about boundaries, about trust and about risks she might have to carry herself.
"I’ll think about it," Valerie said finally.
Bianca held her breath, then bowed her head deeply.
"That alone is enough," she said softly. "Thank you, Valerie."
But as Bianca turned toward the door, Valerie knew whatever decision she made, it would not end simply.
Valerie let out a quiet breath.Once.Then once again.
The air in her chamber felt heavy, as though the conversation from monts ago still lingered in every corner of the room. She stood by the window, gazing out at the garden without truly seeing it, when a familiar set of footsteps sounded behind her.
Demian had just entered.
He did not speak right away. As always, he observed first the stiffness in Valerie’s posture, the slight slump of her shoulders, the way her breathing was too asured to be called relaxed. Signs he recognized, even if he rarely nad them aloud.
"Sothing happened?" he asked at last.
Valerie turned slowly. Their eyes t.
"Yes," she answered honestly. "Sothing did happen."
Demian frowned faintly. "What is it?"
She hesitated for a mont, then said, "Did you introduce Count Neilson to my father and arrange a marriage agreent with him?"
The question ca out straight, without excess emotion. And precisely because of that, Demian answered without evasion.
"Yes," he said. "Where did you hear that?"
Valerie exhaled again, deeper this ti. "Why didn’t you tell about it?"
Demian looked at her, clearly not seeing it as a serious issue.
"You didn’t need to know about sothing like that," he replied flatly. "Besides, I was only keeping them away from you. So you wouldn’t have to trouble yourself with your family’s affairs."
Valerie looked at him for a long mont.
And yes this was Demian.Logical, direct, and far too simple when it ca to human emotions.
Not because he was cruel.He simply disliked thinking about things more complicated than necessary.
"So to you," Valerie said softly, "it’s just a matter of efficiency."
Demian lifted one shoulder slightly. "Is there a problem with that?"
Valerie fell silent for a beat, then said, "Bianca wants to beco my maid."
"Bianca?" Demian repeated, clearly puzzled.
"She’s my stepsister," Valerie clarified.
"Oh."Just that.
Valerie almost smiled bitterly at the sound of it.
"She doesn’t want to marry Count Neilson," Valerie continued.
Demian crossed his arms over his chest. "Why? Isn’t it advantageous? He’s a bit old, but Count Neilson has never married, has no children. His position is solid. She would beco a countess."
His tone was calm, almost as if he were evaluating a report.
Valerie looked at him, and in her eyes there was sothing deeper than re disagreent.
"Bianca loves another man," she said.
Demian fell silent.
Not because he was surprised but because, to him, that sentence did not automatically change anything.
"Love doesn’t pay for protection," he said at last. "And it doesn’t protect her from your father."
Valerie nodded faintly. "I know."
She stepped closer, stopping right in front of him. "But to you, all of this is just a matter of position and advantage. To Bianca it’s her life."
Demian looked down at her, then spoke in a low voice. "And to you?"
Valerie froze.
She hadn’t expected that question.
"Is this only about Bianca," Demian continued, "or is it about sothing else?"
Valerie swallowed. "I just... don’t want to beco a tool to pressure soone the way I once was."
Demian didn’t answer right away.
He studied Valerie’s face the face that was usually composed, now showing small cracks she rarely allowed anyone to see. There was fatigue there. There was empathy. And there was a faint fear that she might be opening the door to sothing far more complicated.
"I protect you in my own way," Demian said at last. "I never intended to trap anyone."
"I know," Valerie replied softly. "But not everyone wants to be protected that way."
Silence filled the room again.
Demian let out a slow breath rare, but real this ti. "So what do you want from ?"
Valerie t his gaze steadily. "I want you to listen to . And... this ti, don’t decide everything on your own."
Demian was silent for several seconds.
Then he nodded slightly.
"Very well," he said curtly. "Tell everything."
Valerie took a deep breath before answering. She knew this part wouldn’t be easy even for herself.
"Bianca doesn’t want to marry Count Neilson," she said softly. "She wants to run away with her lover. But they have no money. That’s why she asked ... to let her beco my maid, until she can save enough to leave."
The room fell silent again.
Demian looked at her, his brow slightly furrowed, as if he were trying to follow a line of reasoning that, to him, twisted in an unnecessary direction.
"Why should she trouble herself like that?" he said at last. "And trouble you."
Valerie lifted her face. Their eyes t.
"Wouldn’t life be much easier with wealth?" Demian continued, his tone flat not mocking, just honest in his own way.
Valerie turned her gaze toward the window. Daylight slipped inside, but it did nothing to warm her chest.
"You don’t like it when I say things like that," Demian remarked, more a statent than a question.
Valerie swallowed. "So people," she said finally, "don’t think about wealth. They think about love."
Reviews
All reviews (0)