From the matching couple items to his exasperated expressions, she had made it her personal mission to make him suffer.
But now?
Now, he was gone.
Eurydice lay spread out on the couch, her Chaos Gremlin mug half-empty, staring at the ceiling.
No sarcastic remarks from Conrad.
No grumbled complaints about her antics.
No deep sighs when she got too comfortable in his space.
She never thought she’d say this, but—
“...I’m bored.”
And worse?
She was starting to miss home.
She had grown up in a house full of noise—her mother baking in the kitchen, her brother Leo yelling about some video game, Aunt Carmen meddling in her love life like it was her full-time job.
Now, she was in a beautiful, massive, stupidly quiet mansion.
Eurydice sighed.
She needed something to do.
Something to fill the silence.
Her gaze landed on the garden outside.
And just like that, she knew exactly what she needed.
 
The Montague estate gardens were undeniably breathtaking.
Flowers of every color, perfectly trimmed hedges, a grand fountain at the center, and tall trees that provided just enough shade.
It looked like something out of a storybook.
And Eurydice?
She dragged her easel, canvas, and paints right into the middle of it.
She had no plan.
No image in mind.
No subject to paint.
Just pure instinct.
She set up her easel, tied her hair into a loose bun, dipped her brush into the first color her fingers found, and—
She let go.
Let go of the teasing.
Let go of the silence.
Let go of the thoughts circling in her mind.
The world faded as she immersed herself in the art.
She painted the garden first—soft brushstrokes capturing the light, the movement of the leaves, the way the fountain shimmered in the distance.
But then—
Her hands moved on their own.
And before she realized it—
She was painting him.
The sharp lines of his suit.
The way his eyes held something unreadable, yet always too knowing.
The way his presence felt like a storm and a sanctuary all at once.
Eurydice snapped out of her trance, blinking at the image before her.
She had painted Conrad Montague.
…Oh no.
She immediately flipped the canvas around, hiding it from view.
“Nope. Nope. Nope.”
She wasn’t thinking about him.
She wasn’t missing teasing him.
She wasn’t getting used to having him around.
It was just boredom.
Yes. That’s all.
Just boredom.
Nothing more.
Right?
Just as she was about to start a new painting, her phone buzzed.
She picked it up—and immediately groaned.
Unknown Number.
She had a bad feeling about this.
Sighing, she answered.
“Hello?”
A smooth, vaguely familiar voice replied.
“Miss Santiago. How interesting to find you alone.”
Eurydice stiffened.
That voice.
It wasn’t Conrad.
It wasn’t Nate.
It was—
Vincent Montague.
A slow smirk spread across her face.
“Well, well,” she drawled, reclining in her chair. “If it isn’t Conrad’s favorite cousin.”
Vincent chuckled. “You flatter me.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
Vincent’s voice turned curious. “Tell me, Miss Santiago… how is life at the Montague estate? Comfortable?”
Eurydice twirled her paintbrush. “Comfortable enough.”
“Really? And yet, Conrad leaves you alone so often?”
Eurydice tilted her head. “Are you trying to imply something?”
“Not at all. Just making conversation.”
Sure. And she was the Queen of England.
Vincent continued, voice too smooth, too amused.
“You see, I’m very intrigued by you, Miss Santiago. You’re quite the mystery.”
Eurydice smirked. “I get that a lot.”
“And yet… something about this engagement feels off.”
Eurydice’s smile didn’t falter.
“Well,” she mused, “if you’re so curious, why don’t you come see for yourself?”
A beat of silence.
Then—Vincent laughed.
“My, my,” he said. “I think I will.”
Eurydice’s smirk widened.
“Good,” she said sweetly. “I’ll even wear my favorite matching pajamas for the occasion.”
Vincent chuckled. “Oh, this will be fun.”
Click.
The call ended.
Eurydice set her phone down, stretching lazily.
“Well,” she murmured. “That escalated quickly.”
She was about to have a visitor.
And something told her Conrad wasn’t going to like it.
Good.
 
Instead of dwelling on the conversation, Eurydice picked up her brush again.
This time?
She wasn’t painting Conrad.
She wasn’t thinking about Vincent.
She wasn’t thinking at all.
She simply let herself go.
Her world became streaks of color, light and shadow dancing together in perfect harmony.
She painted the way the wind felt on her skin.
The way the trees whispered secrets to each other.
The way time stood still in this little oasis.
There was no teasing,
No overthinking,
No fake engagement.
Just her and the canvas.
And what she didn’t realize—
Was that Conrad Montague had been watching her the entire time.
 
Conrad had returned home earlier than expected.
The first thing he saw when he stepped onto the back terrace?
Eurydice.
Sitting in the middle of the garden, completely lost in her world.
He had seen her paint before—quick, playful sketches, teasing portraits meant to annoy him.
But this?
This was different.
The way she moved, so completely immersed, as if nothing else existed.
The way the sunlight caught the strands of her hair, turning them gold.
The way she bit her lip in concentration, oblivious to everything around her.
For the first time, Conrad didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t announce his presence.
He just stood there, watching.
And as he did—
A strange, unwelcome thought crept into his mind.
She’s beautiful like this