Demian turned slowly.
His gaze was sharp, cold and for the first time that night, unmistakably angry, no longer restrained.
"My position?" he repeated softly, as though tasting the word.
Ivanka nodded sharply. "Yes. My position. You can't cast me aside for a woman who chose to leave you. Everyone saw how you abandoned me, how I was humiliated. Do you know what they say about me?"
She let out a short, nearly hysterical laugh. "That I'm a rejected wife. An unwanted duchess. A woman who couldn't even make her husband stay on their first night."
Vedseel released a quiet breath, clearly impatient, but he remained silent. This was not his concern at least, not yet.
Demian stepped closer.
With every step, Ivanka was pushed further back, though she still tried to stand her ground.
"You want me to understand your position?" Demian asked lowly. "Very well."
He stopped directly in front of her.
