The news from Dr. Aris wasn't just a medical diagnosis. It was a social verdict.
In the "A-list" world Eunice and Karlman inhabited, success was a form of religion, and vulnerability was its only sin. Their story—the defiant, romantic, "us-against-the-world" narrative—had been a point of thrilling, dangerous gossip. But this new chapter, the one that whispered of genetic incompatibility, of being "highly unlikely" to conceive... this was different.
This wasn't romantic. It was just sad.
The ostracism didn't begin with a declaration. It began with a silence. It was a lunch invitation from Eunice to her closest work friend, Sophie, that was met with a text: "So swamped this week, E! Can we circle back?"
"Circling back" was corporate code for "never."
Eunice stared at the text. Sophie had been her trench-mate, the one who knew everything. They had a standing Thursday lunch, rain or shine. Eunice typed, "Are you free next week? Tuesday?"
The three dots appeared, hovered, and then vanished. The message was left on "Read."
A cold, familiar dread, one she hadn't felt since she was a teenager, settled in her stomach. This was how their world worked. You weren't fired. You were just... no longer invited to the meeting.
Karlman felt it on the business side. His "disrupter" status had always been a double-edged sword, but his sheer, undeniable success had protected him. Now, that protection was gone. He walked into a pitch meeting with a venture capital firm that had been courting him for a month. The lead partner, a man who had previously clapped him on the back and called him "the future," was now all stiff smiles and steepled fingers.
"We admire the algorithm, Karlman," the partner said, his eyes empty. "Truly. But... given the... noise... around your personal affairs, we're concerned about stability. Optics are... well, you know. Optics are everything."
"Optics?" Karlman repeated, the word tasting like acid. "My personal life has zero effect on my code."
"The market doesn't see it that way. This... situation... with Eunice's family, the disinheritance... it's messy. And now we're hearing... other things. It suggests volatility. It suggests... poor judgment."
"Poor judgment?" Karlman stood, his 'A-type' energy turning into a cold, quiet rage. "My judgment built a company that you were practically begging to invest in last week."
"And last week was last week," the partner said, standing to signal the end of the meeting. "We wish you the best, son. We really do. We'll be... watching from the sidelines."
They were radioactive. Eunice had lost her legacy. Karlman's future was being poisoned. The "noise" of their "flawed" union had become a stench, and their friends and colleagues, for all their talk of "synergy" and "loyalty," were holding their noses and backing away.
The final, brutal confirmation came a week later. It was the annual Museum Benefit, the apex event of their social calendar. It was the one event Eunice had not been un-invited to, simply because the invitations had gone out months ago.
"We can't go," Karlman said, loosening his tie as he walked into her apartment. He had lost the VC deal. He looked exhausted.
"We have to," Eunice said. She was already in a black, floor-length gown, her hair coiled in a severe, elegant knot. She looked like a queen going to her own execution.
"Eunice, why? Why put ourselves through this? We know what will happen."
"Because if we hide, we're letting them win," she said, her voice thin but sharp. "We are letting them define us as 'messy' and 'volatile.' I will not be defined by their whispers. We will walk in, we will have a glass of champagne, we will be seen, and we will leave. We are not ashamed."
He looked at her, so fierce and so brittle, and he couldn't deny her. He put his suit back on.
The moment they stepped through the grand doors, a hush fell over the atrium. It was almost imperceptible, a slight drop in the ocean of chatter, but to them, it was a roar. The sound of two hundred people suddenly finding their champagne glasses fascinating.
They saw Sophie, her back to Eunice, laughing a little too loudly with a rival strategist. They saw the VC partner, who saw them, and immediately turned to greet someone else. People didn't confront them. They didn't sneer. They simply... parted. A little bubble of polite, invisible emptiness formed around them wherever they walked. They were social lepers.
Eunice kept her head high, her spine straight, her smile a painted-on rictus. Karlman stood beside her, his hand a rigid, protective presence at the small of her back. They were a two-person island in a sea of tuxedos and gowns.
They didn't even make it to the champagne. After ten minutes of the suffocating, silent rejection, Eunice turned.
"You were right," she whispered, her voice tight with unshed tears. "We shouldn't have come."
She walked out. He followed. The sound of the party, the laughter and the music, swelled behind them as the doors closed, a party they were no longer a part of, a world that had erased them in an evening.