Silence spreads like cold fog.
The servants hold their breath. Even the fire in the hearth seems to dim.
Demian looks at Ivanka for a long ti.
Too long.
The gaze is no longer heated it is cold, sharp, and final.
Then he smiles faintly.
Not a smile of happiness, but the smile of soone who has finally made a choice.
"Then," he says quietly.
He steps forward once, his voice now carrying clearly across the hall.
"From this mont on... you are no longer my wife."
Ivanka freezes.
"What...?"
"We are divorced."
The word falls heavy. Echoing. Irreversible.
Several nobles standing at the edges of the hall exchange glances. A maid drops the tray she is holding.
Ivanka lets out a small, nervous laugh. "Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t simply, "
"I can," Demian cuts in coldly. "And I will."
He turns slightly, his voice hard with authority. "Summon the Captain of the Morvex Guard. And send ssengers to the Noble Council. Now."
Ivanka steps forward in panic. "Demian! You are humiliating yourself!"
Demian turns back, his eyes pitch-black. "No. I am saving myself."
He steps closer again but this ti not with rage, with a terrifying certainty.
"This marriage," he says low, "was built on coercion, manipulation, and betrayal. You know it. Your father knows it. The Council knows it."
Ivanka clenches her fists. "You promised—"
"I was forced," Demian snaps. "And I will not live as a prisoner to a corrupted vow."
He turns to the entire hall.
"Listen carefully," he says to everyone present. "From this mont on, Ivanka Kosler holds no authority within Morvex Castle. Any order she gives void. Any arrangent revoked."
Ivanka grits her teeth. "You think the Council will approve this divorce?"
Demian ets her gaze without hesitation. "They don’t have to like it," he says. "They only have to accept it."
He steps forward one last ti, his voice low and cold as steel.
"And one more thing, Ivanka."
She looks at him this ti unable to hide the fear.
"You were wrong about one thing," Demian says softly. "You thought status made you safe."
He straightens.
"In Morvex, the only thing that keeps soone safe...is my permission."
The silence breaks as the sound of guards’ footsteps echoes down the corridor.
Ivanka is still standing in the middle of the hall when Demian’s hand clamps around her arm.
Hard.Without warning.Without hesitation.
"Demian—!"
She is dragged forward.
Ivanka’s shoes scrape harshly against the stone floor of Morvex. The gown she had arranged so carefully, with such pride, is now pulled and twisted, sared with dust. Servants recoil in fear no one dares step closer.
"Stop!" Ivanka gasps, her voice breaking. "I’m sick—!"
Demian does not slow.
"I’m sick," Ivanka repeats, this ti softer, almost pleading. "Could you... be a little gentler?"
She tries to pull her arm free. Her weakness is not an act. Her face is pale, her breathing shallow.
"I am your wife," she says between breaths. "I am the Duchess of Morvex. I am the first lady of the Morvex house—"
Demian stops abruptly.
Ivanka nearly stumbles forward, jolted by the sudden halt.
He turns slowly.
There is no longer explosive rage in Demian’s gaze. What remains is cold emptiness sothing far more terrifying.
"In your dreams," he says flatly.
Ivanka falls silent.
"And in reality," Demian continues, his voice low and cutting, "all of that is a lie."
His grip tightens, forcing Ivanka to look at him.
"You are not my wife," he says firmly."You are not my duchess.""And you were never part of Morvex."
Ivanka trembles.
"You are only a woman who forced her way into my life," Demian continues without rcy, "using illness as a shield and status as a weapon."
Tears begin to gather in Ivanka’s eyes. "Demian... I really am sick..."
Demian leans closer, his voice very soft yet every word falls like a death sentence.
"If you truly are sick," he says, "then you should have stayed silent."
He drags Ivanka again, throwing open the great hall doors with a single violent motion.
"And waited for your death."
The words freeze Ivanka completely.
She does not scream. She does not protest.
All that remains is trembling breath and a face that finally collapses not from illness, but from reality.
The guards stand rigid as Demian drags Ivanka past them.
"Prepare a carriage," Demian orders coldly. "Escort Lady Kosler out of Morvex territory."
One guard hesitates. "Your Grace... her status—"
Demian turns sharply. "She has no status here."
The guard bows imdiately. "Order received."
Ivanka finally sinks weakly onto the stone floor near the gate. Demian releases her arm as if discarding sothing worthless.
He looks at her one last ti.
"This marriage is over," he says. "And never set foot in Morvex again."
Ivanka looks up, her voice barely audible. "What if I die?"
Demian does not answer.
He turns away.
His footsteps fade steady, resolute, never once looking back.
Ivanka suddenly grabs Demian’s arm once more.
The movent is desperate almost feral.
"Demian, wait!"
But this ti, his patience is truly gone.
With a single brutal motion, Demian throws Ivanka away. Her body is flung onto the stone floor, her back slamming hard as the air is knocked violently from her lungs.
"Enough."
Demian’s voice is low, yet it reverberates through the entire hall.
Ivanka curls inward, her hands clawing at the floor, her hair fallen into wild disarray. She coughs weakly, her body trembling whether from illness, fear, or the reality finally breaking her, it no longer matters.
Demian does not look at her again.
He lifts his gaze and fixes it on Marquess Kosler.
That stare is sharp. Accusing. And filled with long-contained fury.
"You," Demian says, his voice cold as honed steel. "You stood before yourself and said I had to marry her."
The Marquess falls silent for a mont. His face tightens, his jaw hardening.
"So now," Demian continues, stepping closer by one asured pace,"explain this to ."
He stops directly in front of the Marquess.
"What is the aning of all this?"
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