By the time they got back to the house, Eurydice stormed inside without a word, kicked off her shoes, and disappeared into the bedroom.
Conrad followed at his own pace, removing his watch and placing it on the nightstand as he entered the room.
Eurydice was already buried under the blankets, facing away from him.
Ah. Full sulking mode.
He loosened his tie, rolled up his sleeves, and sat on his side of the bed.
Pulling out some documents from the bedside table, he started reading, the soft rustling of papers the only sound in the room.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Then—
A dramatic sigh from Eurydice.
Conrad smirked. Here we go.
Another sigh.
Then shifting.
Then—
“You are the worst,” Eurydice finally muttered, her voice muffled by the pillow.
Conrad didn’t even look up. “I know.”
Eurydice turned her head slightly, glaring. “You don’t even deny it.”
He flipped a page. “Why would I lie?”
Eurydice groaned, burying her face back into the pillow. “I hate you.”
“Impossible,” Conrad replied smoothly, scanning another paragraph.
She peeked at him. “You are so insufferable.”
He smirked. “And yet, you’re still here.”
Eurydice grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it.
Conrad finally set his documents down, stretching out slightly.
Then, casually—too casually—he said:
“I’ll take you to an art exhibit tomorrow.”
Eurydice froze.
She lifted her head. “What?”
He glanced at her. “Art exhibit. Tomorrow night. You like those, right?”
Eurydice sat up, narrowing her eyes. “…Why?”
Conrad shrugged, leaning back against the headboard.
“You’ve been in a mood all evening. Consider it a peace offering.”
Eurydice crossed her arms. “You don’t just offer things. What’s the catch?”
He smirked. “No catch. Just you, me, and a room full of paintings. Thought you might actually enjoy it.”
Eurydice squinted.
This was suspicious.
Conrad Montague didn’t just do things without a reason.
But at the same time…
An art exhibit?
Her world?
Her hands twitched, already itching at the thought of seeing new pieces, new ideas, new inspirations.
She hesitated. “…Where?”
“Private event. Some of the best modern artists will be showcasing. VIP entry.”
Eurydice perked up despite herself. “VIP?”
He smirked. “You are engaged to me, after all.”
Eurydice made a face. “Ugh, you had to ruin it.”
But her tone was lighter now.
Conrad knew he won.
Eurydice flopped back onto the bed, grumbling. “Fine. But if you embarrass me again, I swear I’m shoving you into a fountain.”
Conrad chuckled. “Duly noted.”
Eurydice glanced at him again.
For once, she wasn’t sure what to say.
Because Conrad Montague wasn’t the type to apologize with words.
But actions?
Maybe this was the closest thing she’d get.
And maybe…
It was enough.
For now.
Eurydice smoothed out the fabric of her dress as she stepped out of the sleek black car, taking in the scene before her.
The art gallery was a stunning architectural masterpiece—glass walls framed by dark steel, modern and grand, with golden lights illuminating the entrance. The night air carried a faint hum of conversation and soft classical music drifting from inside.
Guests, dressed in elegant attire, moved gracefully up the stairs, some already holding glasses of champagne.
She exhaled slowly.
This was her world.
Not fancy galas. Not billionaire boardrooms. Not exclusive, high-profile engagements.
Just art.
She should have felt at ease.
But then—
A warm hand settled on the small of her back.
Eurydice tensed.
Conrad, standing effortlessly poised beside her, tilted his head.
“You look like you’re about to pass out,” he murmured.
She scowled, stepping slightly away from his touch. “I’m fine.”
His lips twitched in amusement.
“You know,” he said, adjusting his cufflinks, “you could at least pretend you enjoy being here with me.”
Eurydice gave him a sweet, deadly smile. “Oh, I’m enjoying myself. Just not with you.”
Conrad chuckled. “That hurts, Santiago.”
She smirked. “You’ll live.”
Without waiting for him, she strode forward, entering the gallery with the confidence of someone who actually belonged here.
The moment she stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted.
The space was breathtaking—high ceilings, soft lighting that perfectly highlighted the paintings, sculptures, and installations. Guests moved through the exhibit, admiring works of art, discussing techniques, and indulging in their glasses of expensive wine.
Eurydice’s eyes immediately softened.
She inhaled, slowly, letting the familiar energy sink in.
This was why she loved art.
Because every piece—every color, every brushstroke—told a story.
And for the first time in the past few days, she felt at peace.
She almost forgot Conrad was beside her.
Almost.
Because the moment she started admiring a modern abstract piece, he leaned in.
“You’re smiling,” he noted.
Eurydice blinked, then quickly forced her expression back into a neutral one.
“So?”
Conrad smirked. “It’s rare.”
Eurydice rolled her eyes. “It’s not rare. You just don’t pay attention.”
“Mm.” He gave her a knowing glance. “I think I do.”
She ignored him, moving toward another painting, determined to enjoy herself without letting him ruin it.
She had seen dozens of incredible pieces already, but then—
She stopped.
Her breath hitched.
There, near the far end of the gallery, hung a large canvas, bathed in soft lighting.
It wasn’t the boldest piece in the room.
It wasn’t the most extravagant.
But something about it called to her.
Eurydice stepped closer, drawn in by the muted yet emotional strokes—hazy blues blending into deep purples, delicate gold accents shining softly beneath the surface.
It was melancholic. Beautiful.
Lonely.
It reminded her of something.
Something distant.
Something familiar.
Conrad’s voice broke through her thoughts.
“You like it.”
It wasn’t a question.
Eurydice barely glanced at him. “It’s… breathtaking.”
He studied the painting, then her. “What about it?”
She exhaled.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It just… feels like something I should remember.”
Conrad was quiet for a moment.
Then—
“Buy it.”
Eurydice snapped out of her trance. “What?”
He nodded toward the small plaque. “It’s for sale. If you want it, I’ll have my assistant handle the purchase.”
Eurydice stared at him.
For once, he wasn’t teasing.
He was serious.
She hesitated. “I—I can’t just buy a painting on impulse.”
Conrad raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
She crossed her arms. “Because I don’t do rich people things like that.”
His lips twitched. “Santiago. You are dating a rich person.”
Eurydice scoffed. “Fake dating.”
“Still counts.”
She shook her head. “No. I—I’ll think about it.”
But even as she said it, she knew—
She wanted it.
Badly.
And Conrad?
He knew that.
Eurydice had just finished studying another mesmerizing painting when she overheard a group of well-dressed socialites whispering nearby.
She didn’t think much of it—until she heard her name.
“…Eurydice Santiago?” a woman’s voice drawled. “You mean that girl?”
Eurydice stiffened.
Another voice, male this time, chuckled. “The artist Conrad Montague’s been dragging around?”
“Oh, please,” the first woman scoffed. “Did you see her? She doesn’t belong here.”
“Obviously,” another woman chimed in, voice dripping with amusement. “She’s nothing more than a temporary distraction. A pet project.”
Eurydice’s jaw clenched.
She wasn’t new to criticism.
She’d dealt with snobby gallery owners, dismissive patrons, and even rude clients. But something about this moment—about being reduced to a charity case in Conrad’s world—set her blood boiling.
Taking a deep breath, she turned toward them, her expression cool.
“Oh?” she said, tilting her head. “Did I miss the part where we were introduced?”
The group froze, clearly not expecting her to confront them.
The first woman—tall, blonde, impeccably dressed in designer couture—arched an eyebrow. “No, but I suppose it was only a matter of time before you started… learning your place.”
Eurydice smiled—dangerously.
“My place?” she echoed. “Funny. I thought we were in an art gallery, not a debutante ball.”
The blonde gave a mocking laugh. “Oh, sweetheart. You can’t honestly believe someone like Conrad Montague is serious about you.”
A sharp, knowing smirk curved her lips.
“You’re an artist, right?” she continued. “Then tell me—what happens when the muse fades? When the novelty of the starving artist wears off? What happens when—”
“Enough.”
A low, authoritative voice cut through the air, sending a shiver down Eurydice’s spine.
She didn’t have to turn around.
She knew who it was.
Conrad.
He strode forward, his usual composed demeanor carved with something sharper.
Something dangerous.
He stopped beside Eurydice, his presence immediately commanding.
The group visibly tensed.
The blonde, however, smirked. “Oh, Conrad,” she purred. “We were just—”
“I heard exactly what you were doing,” Conrad interrupted smoothly, his voice eerily calm.
The blonde faltered.
Conrad’s icy blue gaze swept over the group.
“Do I amuse you?” he asked. “Do you find my choices something to gossip about?”
Silence.
Eurydice stood rigid, unsure of what was more shocking—the sheer intensity of his anger or the fact that he was so openly defending her.
The blonde, to her credit, attempted to recover gracefully.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said lightly. “I was only looking out for you. I mean, honestly, Conrad—this? This isn’t your usual type.”
Conrad’s expression didn’t change.
But his hand did something unexpected.
It slid gently around Eurydice’s waist.
A quiet but deliberate action.
Eurydice nearly jumped out of her skin.
Conrad’s fingers pressed lightly against the fabric of her dress, a silent reassurance—or maybe a warning.
For them.
For her.
For himself.
“You’re right,” he finally said, his tone lethal in its casualness. “She isn’t.”
Eurydice’s stomach dropped.
But then—
“She’s better.”
The blonde gaped.
The other guests murmured amongst themselves.
Eurydice’s heart pounded.
Conrad, completely unfazed, continued.
“I don’t recall ever asking for your opinion on my fiancée,” he said smoothly. “But since you’re so eager to give it—” He tilted his head. “Tell me. Which part offends you more? The fact that she’s talented? Or the fact that she’s here because of her own skill, not because she inherited her daddy’s last name?”
The blonde’s face burned red.
“I—”
“I’d tread carefully,” Conrad added, his voice dropping just a fraction lower. “Before you embarrass yourself any further.”
The blonde’s mouth snapped shut.
Eurydice, still recovering from the absolute audacity of this man, forced herself to smirk.
With a sweet, mocking smile, she leaned into Conrad’s side just slightly—just enough to make a point.
“Well,” she mused. “That was fun.”
Conrad chuckled.
The blonde and her entourage stormed off.
And just like that—it was over.
But the tension between Eurydice and Conrad?
That was very much still there.
The moment they were alone again, Eurydice whirled on him.
“What the hell was that?”
Conrad raised an eyebrow. “You wanted me to let them continue?”
She groaned. “No! But did you have to—”
She gestured wildly. “—do all of that?!”
He smirked. “You didn’t seem to mind when I called you talented.”
Eurydice glared. “Don’t distract me with compliments.”
“Would you prefer I take them back?”
Eurydice opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Then—
She shoved him lightly.
“You’re impossible.”
Conrad chuckled, adjusting the cuff of his impeccably tailored suit.
“But effective,” he added.
Eurydice sighed.
Then, after a beat—
“…Thanks,” she muttered, crossing her arms.
Conrad stilled.
It was soft, the way she said it.
Real.
For a moment, he didn’t respond.
Then—
A small, knowing smirk.
“Of course,” he murmured.
As if protecting her had been the most natural thing in the world.
And Eurydice didn’t know what to do with that.
So instead—she turned back to the paintings, ignoring the strange warmth in her chest.
And Conrad?
He let her.
For now.