My Rich Boyfriend Rented a Fake Cheap Apartment to Test My Loyalty

Some love stories are destined to be. Ours, however, was built on spilled coffee, witty exchanges, and a jaw-dropping revelation that flipped everything I believed about my boyfriend—who went to extreme lengths to test my devotion.

I crossed paths with Jack a year ago in what was possibly the least romantic way imaginable: by accidentally dousing his meticulously arranged paperwork with an entire iced latte at a coffee shop. Completely horrified, I immediately grabbed a handful of napkins, but before I could even start apologizing, he simply chuckled and remarked, “Maybe this is fate’s way of telling me to take a break.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” I stammered, desperately blotting at the drenched pages. “I swear I’m not usually this uncoordinated. Okay, that’s a lie—I totally am.”

His laughter deepened, his eyes creasing at the edges. “In that case, I should probably move these other papers before they become your next target.”

We laughed, and just like that, I was drawn to him.

We ended up talking for hours, seated together like old friends. Jack was charismatic, down-to-earth, and refreshingly real. He mentioned working in logistics for a small firm, and I told him about my job in marketing. There were no grand gestures, no pretenses—just a natural flow of conversation that made me feel like I’d known him forever.

“You know,” he mused, stirring his second cup of coffee, “I usually don’t appreciate strangers ruining my documents, but I think I’ll make an exception for you.”

I smirked. “Just this once?”

“Well, that depends on how many more beverages you plan on throwing at me.”

And that’s how it all began.

From the start, Jack always suggested we spend time at his place. I assumed it was because my roommate was a neat freak who despised visitors, so I didn’t think much of it. But his apartment? It had… charm.

His place was a tiny, dimly lit studio in an ancient complex on the rough side of town. The heater worked only when it felt inclined, and the couch—well, it was a relic, held together by duct tape, patches, and sheer determination. His kitchen was almost legendary, consisting of one single hot plate because the stove had apparently decided to retire early.

“This couch,” Jack declared one evening, patting its armrest with pride, “is the best thing in this apartment. It’s basically a luxury bed in disguise.”

I sat down, only to be immediately assaulted by a spring in my spine. “Jack, this thing is actively trying to take me out.”

He simply grinned. “Give it time—it grows on you.”

“Like mold?” I teased, shifting to a safer position.

“Hey now, be kind to Martha.”

I blinked. “You named your homicidal couch Martha?”

“Of course! She’s family,” he said, affectionately patting the battered armrest. “She’s seen me through some tough days. Ramen dinners, late-night movies…”

Speaking of meals, I finally eyed his hot plate with skepticism. “How do you even cook with just that?”

Jack shrugged, looking sheepish. “You’d be surprised what you can create with a single burner and perseverance. Want me to make my specialty? Instant ramen with an egg on top.”

“Gourmet,” I teased, though a part of me melted at how he made even the simplest things feel special.

I wasn’t in this for extravagance. I didn’t need five-star restaurants or luxury apartments. I loved Jack for who he was, and despite his questionable living conditions, I was happy.

Fast-forward to our first anniversary…

I was practically vibrating with excitement. Jack had planned a surprise, and I expected something sweet—maybe a homemade meal, some budget candles, and a romantic comedy to mock together.

“Close your eyes before you step outside,” he instructed from behind my door. “No peeking!”

“If this is another plant from that shady street vendor, I swear—”

What I wasn’t prepared for was the sight of Jack casually leaning against an absurdly expensive, sleek car—the kind only CEOs with private jets drive.

He flashed a grin, holding out a bouquet of deep red roses. “Happy anniversary, babe.”

I gawked at the car, then at him. “Whose car is this?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled. “Mine.”

I laughed. “No, seriously.”

He didn’t laugh back.

And that’s when the truth came out.

For an entire year, Jack had been “testing” me. He wasn’t just some logistics employee scraping by—he was the heir to a multi-million-dollar empire. The rundown apartment? A facade. He had rented it just to ensure I wasn’t dating him for his wealth.

I just stared. “I’m sorry… WHAT?”

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But you have to understand—every relationship I’ve had changed the moment they found out about my family’s money. Suddenly, I wasn’t just Jack anymore. I was ‘Jack-with-a-fortune.’”

“So, your grand solution was… pretending to be broke?” I crossed my arms, trying to process this absurdity.

“When you say it like that, it sounds a little…”

“Crazy? Manipulative? Like something out of a really bad romance novel?”

Jack sighed, visibly nervous. “I just needed to know you loved me for me.” He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket. “And now I do.”

Right there, on the sidewalk, he dropped to one knee.

“Giselle,” he murmured, looking up at me with those annoyingly gorgeous blue eyes. “Will you marry me?”

Most people would have screamed “YES!” and leapt into his arms. But I had my own secret.

Smirking, I plucked the car keys from his hand. “Let me drive. If what I show you next doesn’t make you run, then my answer is yes.”

He frowned in confusion but handed over the keys. “Alright…?”

“Trust me,” I grinned. “You’re not the only one with secrets.”

I drove us out of the city, past the suburbs, straight toward an enormous set of iron gates that practically touched the clouds.

Jack’s eyebrows knitted together. “Uh… where are we going?”

“Remember how I mentioned growing up in a ‘modest’ home?” I asked innocently.

“Yeah?”

“I may have slightly stretched the definition of ‘modest.’”

I punched in a code, and the gates glided open, revealing a sprawling estate with pristine gardens, towering fountains, and—yes—even a hedge maze.

Jack’s jaw nearly hit the floor.

He turned to me, eyes wide. “Giselle… what the hell?”

I parked, turned to him with a smirk, and said, “Welcome to my childhood home.”

He blinked. Then blinked again. “You’re rich?”

“Extremely.”

Jack opened his mouth, then closed it. “So… while I was testing you, you were testing me?”

I nodded. “Looks like it.”

For a moment, I thought he might be furious. But then, he erupted into laughter.

“We are completely insane,” he declared, shaking his head. “I was out here trying to see if you were a gold digger, and you—” He gestured at the mansion behind me. “—had a freaking palace the whole time?”

“Pretty much,” I said smugly. “Guess we both passed the test.”

Jack exhaled a laugh, then met my gaze. “So, does this mean your answer is yes?”

I tapped my chin playfully. “Hmm. I suppose I’ll marry you.”

And with that, he pulled me into a kiss, sealing our perfectly ridiculous love story.