By the time Conrad Montague left the café, the encounter with Eurydice Santiago still lingered in his thoughts.
It wasn’t just what she said—it was how she said it.
The sharp wit, the unapologetic defiance, the way she threw his name out so casually, as if he weren’t one of the most powerful men in the city. As if he weren’t someone to fear.
It was infuriatingly amusing.
And worse?
It was still on his mind even as he drove toward the Montague estate.
The Montague family mansion was as grand as ever—a statement of wealth, power, and generations of ruthless ambition. The high iron gates, the marble pillars, the perfectly manicured gardens—everything about it screamed legacy.
And burden.
Conrad wasn’t in the mood to deal with either.
The moment he stepped inside, a familiar tense energy filled the air. He hadn’t even set foot in the study yet, but he could already tell—this wasn’t just a family dinner.
This was a setup.
And Conrad Montague hated setups.
“Conrad,” came the deep, authoritative voice of Richard Montague, his father.
Sitting in the grand study, whiskey glass in hand, Richard looked every bit the businessman he was—calculated, intimidating, and always one step ahead.
Beside him, his mother, Eleanor Montague, sat poised, expression unreadable but expectant.
And, as if things couldn’t get worse—
Vincent Montague was there, leaning lazily against the fireplace, wearing that ever-present smirk that meant he knew something Conrad didn’t.
Conrad exhaled. This was going to be a headache.
“You’re late,” Richard noted, setting his drink down.
“I wasn’t aware we were on a schedule,” Conrad replied smoothly, loosening his tie as he took a seat.
Richard didn’t acknowledge the remark. Instead, he cut straight to the point.
“It’s time we discuss your future.”
Conrad stiffened slightly. Here we go.
“You’re turning thirty-five,” Eleanor added. “It’s about time you stop avoiding the inevitable.”
Conrad pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me guess—this is about marriage.”
Richard’s gaze didn’t waver. “It’s about stability. The company needs certainty, and investors trust a man who is settled. It’s time you start thinking about the long-term.”
Vincent chuckled from the sidelines. “Translation: They’re about to introduce you to some poor woman and hope you miraculously fall in love.”
Eleanor shot Vincent a look. “It’s not about romance. It’s about partnership.”
Conrad’s jaw tightened. “And if I refuse?”
Richard leaned back in his chair. “Then we’ll have to reconsider your role in the company.”
The air shifted.
Cold. Dangerous.
Conrad’s grip on the armrest tightened. “What does that mean?”
His father folded his hands together, voice calm. Too calm.
“If you refuse to settle down, we will begin the process of considering other heirs for the company.”
For the first time, Vincent straightened, his smirk vanishing.
“Wait—” Conrad’s voice was low, sharp. “You’re saying—”
Richard nodded once. Final. Absolute.
“If you do not meet our conditions within the next year, Montague Enterprises will be transferred—to Vincent.”
Conrad’s pulse spiked.
Vincent—Vincent Montague—would take over the company.
The cousin who spent more time charming women, gambling in high-stakes deals, and treating life like a game would suddenly be in charge of an empire that Conrad had built, sacrificed for, and bled for?
Unacceptable.
Unthinkable.
Unforgivable.
“Are you serious?” Conrad’s voice was dangerously quiet.
Richard met his gaze, unwavering. “Completely.”
Eleanor sighed. “This isn’t meant to be a punishment, Conrad. It’s a natural next step. We are simply ensuring the legacy of this family.”
Conrad stood, buttoning his jacket, his expression unreadable.
“I see.”
Vincent let out a low whistle. “Well, this just got interesting.”
Conrad shot him a cold glare before turning to his father.
“I assume you already have a name in mind.”
Eleanor smiled, pleased that he was at least listening. “Yes, actually. We’ve arranged for you to meet someone—”
“I’ll handle it.”
Silence.
Richard frowned. “Excuse me?”
Conrad’s smirk returned, sharp, calculated, dangerous.
“If a stable image is what you need,” he said, adjusting his cuffs, “then I’ll find someone myself.”
Vincent let out a laugh. “Oh, this I have to see.”
Eleanor exchanged a glance with Richard. “You’re saying you already have someone in mind?”
Conrad’s smirk didn’t falter. Not even a little.
“I will,” he said simply.
And with that, he turned and left the study, his mind already working through the implications of what just happened.
The Montague empire—his empire—was at stake.
If they wanted him settled, fine. He would handle it his way.
No attachments. No obligations. No real marriage.
Just an agreement, a solution, something to keep the board satisfied while he secured his position.
And, in that moment, a certain name crossed his mind.
Eurydice Santiago.
The woman who had spilled wine on him.
The woman who had mocked his name so easily.
The woman who had zero interest in marrying rich.
A smirk slowly curved on his lips.
Perfect.