She fell silent for a moment, then her voice dropped lower, colder, far more dangerous.
"You promised me, Father. You said this marriage would bind him. You said I would be safe."
Marquess swallowed. "I didn't expect his reaction to be this severe. But this isn't over. We can still—"
"Enough."
The voice came from the far side of the hall.
Ivanka's mother, Marchioness Kosler stood near the tall windows, her hands folded neatly before her. Her face was calm. Too calm. As though the storm before her was none of her concern.
"You should let Demian go," she said flatly. "That man was never truly yours."
The words fell like a blade.
Ivanka turned slowly. For a moment, she only stared at her mother in disbelief.
"What…?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
The Marchioness stepped closer. "You obtained what you chased, status, marriage, public recognition. But love? Control? Those were never there. And the more you force him the more he will hate you."
Ivanka's expression changed.
