Eurydice Santiago had two ways of dealing with stress.
Option one: Sarcastic denial and aggressive pastry consumption (which, unfortunately, had limited long-term benefits).
Option two: Throwing herself into her art until the world faded away.
Right now?
She was on option two, and she was going all in.
The problem was simple.
Conrad Montague had given her an offer.
An offer that, logically speaking, should have been an immediate and resounding no.
But instead?
Here she was, still thinking about it.
Eurydice scowled at her canvas, dragging her paintbrush in frustrated, uneven strokes.
It wasn’t fair.
She wasn’t the kind of person who let rich, arrogant businessmen worm their way into her thoughts.
And yet—
The offer had tempted her.
That was the worst part.
She wasn’t stupid. She knew that financial stability wasn’t something to take lightly. The gallery barely paid her enough to cover rent, her art commissions were unpredictable, and the bakery…
She sighed.
She hated thinking about it, but her mom was struggling. The bakery wasn’t as busy as it used to be, and Isabel never complained—but Eurydice saw it.
If she agreed to Conrad’s ridiculous plan, even temporarily, she could help.
But then…
Did she really want to get involved with someone like him?
A man so controlled, so unreadable, who had power and influence in ways she couldn’t even fully grasp?
A man who could probably ruin her entire life with a single well-placed phone call?
Eurydice huffed, dragging bold strokes of blue across her canvas.
She shouldn’t even be entertaining this.
Yet, as her brush moved instinctively, blending colors in ways she didn’t even consciously think about, she realized something—
She wasn’t painting like she usually did.
Her strokes were erratic, impatient. The colors were too bold, too sharp, colliding into each other in chaotic movement.
This wasn’t a peaceful painting.
This was a battle on canvas.
And at the center of it, without meaning to—
She had painted a silhouette.
Broad shoulders. A stiff posture. Sharp lines and controlled edges, like someone who never let himself be anything but perfect.
Her stomach dropped.
Eurydice put down her brush and stared at it.
“…No.” She shook her head, pointing at the painting. “Absolutely not.”
She grabbed a fresh brush and immediately smeared white paint over the figure.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Conrad Montague was not going to invade her art space.
Not today.
Not ever.
After cleaning up, Eurydice grabbed her phone.
She needed sanity. She needed someone who wasn’t her mom (who would encourage this disaster) or Leo (who would mock her endlessly).
Which meant—
She texted Amelia Vasquez, her best friend and voice of reason.
Eurydice: Meet me at the café. I need help.
Amelia: Are we talking life crisis, or did you buy another 50 tubes of paint you can’t afford?
Eurydice: First one.
Amelia: Damn. I’ll be there in ten.
Eurydice exhaled, grabbed her bag, and headed out.
 
By the time Eurydice reached Café Amora, Amelia was already there, waiting in their usual corner booth, stirring a caramel macchiato.
The moment Eurydice sat down, Amelia took one look at her and sighed.
“Oh no,” Amelia muttered, shaking her head. “I know that face. That’s your I have a problem but don’t want to admit it face.”
Eurydice groaned, resting her forehead on the table. “Amelia. I think I’ve entered another level of insanity.”
Amelia raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
Eurydice lifted her head slowly, exhaling sharply. “Okay. So, hypothetically speaking, let’s say a man—an obnoxious, controlling, arrogant billionaire—proposes a fake engagement deal.”
Amelia choked on her drink.
Eurydice continued, ignoring her. “And let’s say that in exchange, said billionaire offers financial security, which could help with, oh, I don’t know—rent, art supplies, bakery bills—”
Amelia held up a finger. “Wait, wait, pause. Back up. What?!”
Eurydice slumped into the booth. “Yeah. That’s my life now.”
Amelia gawked at her. “Who—? What—? Who even does that?!”
Eurydice rubbed her temples. “Conrad Montague, apparently.”
Amelia dropped her spoon onto the table. “You’re kidding.”
Eurydice gestured wildly. “Do I look like I’m kidding?!”
Amelia sat back, eyes wide with disbelief. “You mean to tell me that Conrad Montague—the billionaire, the guy who looks like he could scare a boardroom into submission with just a glance—wants you to pretend to be his fiancée?”
Eurydice nodded miserably. “For a whole year.”
Amelia let out a low whistle. “Wow. And here I was thinking your worst dating disaster was Jacob Langford III.”
Eurydice groaned. “You’re not helping.”
Amelia crossed her arms, considering. “Okay, but… why does he need a fake fiancée?”
Eurydice sighed. “His parents gave him an ultimatum—get engaged or lose control of his company. If he doesn’t play along, they’ll hand everything over to his cousin.”
Amelia frowned. “Wait, the sketchy cousin? Vincent, right?”
“Yep,” Eurydice confirmed. “The guy who treats billion-dollar businesses like a hobby.”
Amelia grimaced. “Yikes. No wonder he’s desperate.”
Eurydice ran a hand through her hair. “So now I’m stuck wondering if I should take the deal.”
Amelia leaned forward, serious now. “And do you want to?”
Eurydice hesitated.
“…I don’t know.”
Amelia studied her for a moment. “Okay. Worst-case scenario?”
Eurydice exhaled. “I move in with a control freak, deal with his family, pretend to be in love, and possibly lose my mind.”
“And best case?”
“…I get financial security, help my mom, and mess with a billionaire’s life for fun.”
Amelia smirked. “I won’t lie, that last part sounds amazing.”
Eurydice shook her head. “Amelia.”
Her best friend grinned. “What? I’m just saying—if you do this, you better make him suffer.”
Eurydice sighed, staring at her coffee.
“…I haven’t decided yet.”
Amelia shrugged. “Well, whatever you do, just make sure it’s your choice.”
Eurydice exhaled.
She still had no idea what to do.
But one thing was certain—
If she said yes, Conrad Montague was in for a wild ride.