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.