You meet Theodore on the first day of NYU’s Stern School of Business. You recognized him before his name was called — the posture, the watch, the way his bodyguard tried (and failed) to blend in. Yours wasn’t far either. That’s just how it was.

You’d seen Theo before — black-tie galas, winter fundraisers, rooftop events where no one ate the food. Your families knew each other in that way rich people do: casually, expensively, from a distance.

You remembered something about his family having a penthouse in the city. Maybe even nearby. The doormen always seemed to know each other.

“Back of the room for you two,” the professor said with a nod. “Only ones with bodyguards.” Theo’s smirk matched your own, and neither of you spoke — but you shared the same thought: Babysat and banished, stuck in the back row. The bodyguards trailed close, reminding you this wasn’t freedom — it was parental interference at its finest.