Perhaps Duke saw the sorrow pooling in my eyes. He sighed, his tone softening.
"Gertrude, I know I've wronged you. But I'm doing this for the child."
"Stacy's position is already... delicate. And she's pregnant. Without shares to her name, how is she supposed to hold her head up in high society? Our child would be whispered about too."
"Stacy and I have already discussed it. If you're willing, you can travel overseas—go wherever you like. If you'd rather stay with the company, we can arrange a quiet position for you. Something comfortable. You can retire in peace. We certainly won't leave you wanting for money. Just ask, and it's yours. We won't mistreat you."
"Haven't you noticed how smoothly business has been going these past six months? The master said it himself—Stacy's child is a lucky heir, destined to bring glory to the Stephens name."
I laughed. It tasted like vinegar.
A grown man believing this nonsense. A lucky heir?
Why not call it what it really was—a bastard born of betrayal. But of course, he'd spin it into something gilded.
And apparently, I now needed their permission to spend money I'd earned myself.
"Duke, don't you find this shameful? Since when do mistresses and gold-diggers get to strut in and steal the nest?"
"A lucky heir? As if the company was hemorrhaging money before this child existed?"
His expression darkened. Finally, the words spilled out.
"What would you know about it? You can't even bear children. If you could, do you think I would've let Stacy carry my heir?"
"We're doing this for your own good. Don't be ungrateful."
"Think it over carefully. If you can't come around... I have no problem replacing Mrs. Stephens."
The door slammed behind him.
I stared at the trembling frame, then crumpled onto the sofa.
I sat there, hollow, until dawn.
Early the next morning, Victor Whitney called.
"I studied all the materials last night, just as you requested."
"It's entirely feasible."
"Unless he'd prefer to spend the rest of his life in prison."
My voice came out quiet. Steady.
"Good. Prepare to move."
At three o'clock that afternoon, I summoned every senior executive to the boardroom.
I wore a black tailored suit, ten-centimeter heels clicking against the marble, my face revealing nothing.
Behind me followed Attorney Whitney and three senior forensic auditors. Each one carried a stack of files thick enough to break a table.
The conference room fell silent. Every eye locked onto me.
Duke had already claimed the head of the table. Stacy was draped against his side, wrapped in Chanel haute couture, wearing the smug little smile of someone who believed she'd already won.
Gone was the timid girl who used to look at me with grateful eyes.
The board members exchanged whispers. Their gazes held a cocktail of pity and the gleeful anticipation of spectators at a trainwreck.
Duke's brow furrowed when he realized I wasn't backing down. His voice carried its usual impatience.
"Gertrude, are you done making a scene? If you've come to your senses, come sign the papers."
"If you keep embarrassing everyone, you can forget about being Mrs. Stephens at all."
Stacy's eyes lit up. She pressed closer to Duke, her voice honeyed.
"Ms. Sullivan, I know this must be painful for you. But Duke and I are truly in love. I felt for him—having no heir. And the baby—"
"Shut your mouth."
I swept her with a glacial glance and walked straight to the seat beside the head of the table.
"Before you say another word, let me make something clear. You are nothing but a mistress who can't survive daylight. An ungrateful wretch. What gives you the right to speak in this room?"
Stacy's face flushed scarlet. Whatever she'd been about to say died in her throat. Her eyes, brimming with tears, turned to Duke.
A flash of anger crossed his gaze.
