Silence drops heavily between them.
At last, the Marquess draws a long breath. His voice is lower now, more careful no longer carrying the certainty it once had.
"Demian," he says, trying to steady what is already ruined, "Ivanka is unstable. Her condition, her emotions, she's fragile. She needs your support right now."
Demian lets out a short laugh.
Not amused. Dry. Empty. Without warmth.
"Support?" he repeats quietly.
He glances briefly at Ivanka, still seated on the floor, then returns his gaze to the Marquess.
"From the beginning," Demian says firmly, each word spoken slowly so it cannot be twisted, "I stated only one thing."
He raises one finger.
"Marriage."
A second finger rises.
"And nothing more."
He lowers his hand.
"No love."
"No role as a wife."
"No claim over my life."
"No claim over Morvex."
Demian's gaze grows colder.
"Do you still not understand?"
The Marquess remains silent.
