Their first "date" wasn't a date. It was a four-hour dissection of market trends in a sterile airport coffee shop, followed by a frantic rush to his gate. Their second was a text message thread that lasted until 3 AM, debating economic theory. Their third was a "business dinner" that they both knew was a lie.
The world they lived in—the high-achieving, high-stakes "A-list" world—had rules. A 27-year-old female strategist on the fast track did not get involved with a 23-year-old analytics prodigy. It was a "career-limiting move." It was "unprofessional." For her, it screamed, "She's robbing the cradle." For him, "He's a gold-digger, using her to get ahead."
So, they kept it a secret.
The secrecy became a kind of intoxicating oxygen. It heightened everything. A shared glance across a crowded boardroom felt like a shout. A hand brushing his in a taxi was a jolt of electricity. Their romance bloomed in the margins of their lives, in places the world wasn't looking.
They didn't go to the trendy, glass-walled restaurants they usually frequented. Their world became small, hidden, and intensely private. They ate at hole-in-the-wall diners at 1 AM, their conversation a rapid-fire exchange of ideas and dreams over bad coffee and greasy fries. They took long walks in parks after dark, the city lights a distant blur. Their true home became a tiny, dusty, used-book shop run by an old man who didn't care who they were, where they'd sit on the floor in the history section, knees touching, whispering about their fears.
"They all still see a kid," Karlman confessed one rainy Tuesday, the smell of old paper and rain filling the air. He was tracing the spine of a book on the Roman Empire. "I walk into a meeting, and I can feel them discounting me. I have to work five times as hard just to get to zero."
"I know," Eunice said softly, resting her head on his shoulder. "For me, it's the opposite. I'm 'the Ice Queen.' I'm 'all business.' If I'm tough, I'm a bitch. If I'm quiet, I'm weak. God forbid I'm just... human."
He turned his head, his lips brushing her hair. "You're the most human person I know. Your mind... it's incredible. But it's not what I love most about you."
"What do you love most?" she whispered, her heart aching.
"That you're the only person who's ever made me feel calm and set me on fire at the exact same time."
This was the truth of it. With him, she wasn't just "Eunice the Strategist." She was just Eunice. And with her, he wasn't "Karlman the Prodigy." He was Karlman. They were equals, a two-person nation with a population they trusted.
But the secret had a cost. It meant lies. "Working late again, Eunice?" her boss would ask, with that knowing, paternal look that made her skin crawl. "Networking event," she'd reply, the lie tasting like ash. It meant coded texts and deleted call logs. It meant a constant, low-grade hum of anxiety.
One evening, they were parked in her car, a few blocks from her apartment, the engine off, the windows fogging. They had just come from an industry gala—separately, of course. They had barely looked at each other all night.
"I hate this," she said suddenly, hitting the steering wheel. "I hate lying. I hate sneaking around like a teenager. I'm twenty-seven years old, and I'm hiding in a car just to kiss you."
Karlman took her hand, his thumb rubbing circles on her skin. His touch was always so steady. "I know. I hate it, too. But, Eunice... look at me."
She did. His blue eyes were serious in the dim streetlight.
"Is it worth it?" he asked.
She searched his face. She thought of the loneliness of her perfect, curated life before him. The sterile boredom. The crushing weight of expectation. Then she thought of this. The thrill. The intellectual spark. The profound, terrifying rightness of his hand in hers.
"Yes," she breathed, her voice thick. "It's worth it."
He leaned in and kissed her, a kiss that was both a promise and a defiance. It was slow, and deep, and it tasted of the champagne from the party and the promise of a future they'd have to steal.
"Then we keep stealing it," he murmured against her lips. "Until we're ready to own it."
But they both knew that day was coming. The secret was a balloon, and it was getting bigger. The "why" they had to hide was about to get much, much bigger than just office gossip. It was about to become a war.