The Montague Hotel’s grand ballroom was empty.
The last of the guests had left hours ago, the distant echoes of laughter and idle chatter replaced by silence. The air still carried the lingering scent of expensive cologne, aged whiskey, and polished marble, but the liveliness of the event had long faded.
Yet, Conrad Montague remained.
Seated in the private lounge overlooking the ballroom, he rolled the glass of whiskey between his fingers, the amber liquid catching the soft glow of the chandeliers above.
His jacket lay draped over the back of a chair, discarded and forgotten—his crisp, custom-tailored white shirt now bearing a deep red stain across the chest.
A stain that should have infuriated him.
A stain left behind by a girl who should have been forgettable.
And yet, Eurydice Santiago wasn’t.
Conrad had spent years building a reputation—untouchable, efficient, relentless. People feared him. Respected him. They never dared to challenge him, let alone make a mistake in his presence.
But that girl…
She had looked at him like he was a problem to solve, not a man to fear.
That was unusual.
Typically, when people made mistakes around him, there were two reactions: excessive groveling or complete terror.
Eurydice had panicked, yes—but not in the way he expected.
She had been embarrassed, mortified even—but not because of him.
Her fear had been of making a scene, of becoming the center of attention, of being remembered for the wrong reasons.
Too bad for her, he thought, smirking slightly. She will be remembered.
When he had said her name, he had watched the exact moment she froze, the realization dawning on her that he knew who she was now.
That alone had been enough to amuse him.
That amusement had been… unexpected.
The sound of polished shoes clicking against marble interrupted his thoughts.
Conrad exhaled slowly, already regretting not having Vincent thrown out earlier.
His cousin strolled into the lounge with the air of a man who had just been handed the best piece of gossip in years.
“Well, well, well,” Vincent Montague drawled, loosening the buttons on his cufflinks. “Still here? Should I be concerned?”
Conrad didn’t respond, merely swirling the whiskey in his glass.
Vincent smirked. “You know, most people would have sent their suit to be dry-cleaned by now. Or at least changed into something that wasn’t an obvious reminder that they got humiliated in public.”
Conrad gave him a blank stare. “Are you done?”
Vincent chuckled, unbothered. “Oh, absolutely not.” He sank into the chair across from Conrad, resting an elbow on the armrest. “This is fascinating. I mean, out of all the things that could’ve happened tonight, I never would’ve bet on this.”
Conrad remained silent.
Vincent leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “So… was it anger? Or was it something else?”
Conrad exhaled slowly, his patience wearing thin. “I don’t entertain distractions.”
Vincent’s smirk widened. “Then why are you still thinking about her?”
Conrad didn’t answer.
He didn’t have to.
Vincent could see it plain as day—the way his normally unshakable, ruthless cousin was still here, long after the event had ended, wearing the evidence of an incident he should have forgotten by now.
Vincent leaned back, tapping a finger against his chin. “You didn’t fire her.”
Conrad finally looked at him. “Should I have?”
“Well, under normal circumstances,” Vincent mused, “you would have destroyed her career before she could even step out of the building. Maybe even had her blacklisted from every high-end venue in the city.”
Conrad didn’t react.
Vincent grinned. “But you didn’t. And that means—”
“I had no reason to.” Conrad’s voice was calm, measured. Final.
But Vincent was far too entertained to let it go.
“No reason?” He laughed, shaking his head. “That’s not how you work, cousin. You don’t let things go. You control everything. And yet, when she spilled wine on you, you did… nothing.”
Vincent studied him for a moment before smirking. “You were amused.”
Conrad finally set his whiskey glass down with a quiet clink. “Leave.”
Vincent chuckled. “Of course. But just so we’re clear—” He stood, adjusting his suit jacket. “You remembered her name. And that, dear cousin, is something very few people can say.”
He gave one last knowing smirk before strolling out.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence filled the lounge once more.
Conrad leaned back, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass.
He shouldn’t be thinking about her.
Eurydice Santiago was a nobody. A clumsy, unremarkable server who had merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
She shouldn’t matter.
And yet…
For the first time in a long time, something unexpected had happened to him.
And he had let it happen.
Instead of dismissing her. Instead of demanding she be fired.
He had simply… watched her.
Watched her stumble through her panic, argue with her own thoughts, and ultimately hold her ground in a way no one else ever dared to.
It had been far too entertaining.
And Conrad Montague didn’t do entertainment.
He did power, control, and calculated precision.
This?
This was not calculated.
And that?
That was a problem.
Conrad stood, slipping his jacket back on, adjusting the sleeves as he moved toward the exit.
The ballroom was silent, but his mind wasn’t.
Because somewhere out there, Eurydice Santiago was probably trying to forget this ever happened.
Too bad for her.
He wasn’t forgetting her anytime soon.