I met Jack a year ago when I spilled my iced latte all over his papers at a coffee shop. Instead of getting mad, he smiled and said, “Guess this is fate telling me to take a break.” He told me he worked in logistics for a small company.
We ended up talking for hours, hit it off, and started dating.
Jack always insisted we spend time at his tiny, worn-down studio — scuffed walls, mismatched furniture, and a heater that barely worked.
He’d light dollar-store candles, cook dinner on a single hot plate, and I swear, his ratty old couch was the comfiest thing ever. It wasn’t about the space — it was about him.
We hit our one-year anniversary, and Jack promised me a surprise.
When I walked out of my building, I froze. Jack was leaning against this sleek, luxury car, holding a huge bouquet of red roses.
“Happy anniversary,” he said, grinning as he handed me the flowers and kissed me.
“Whose car is this?” I asked, completely stunned.
His smile shifted, a little nervous now. “It’s mine,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I think… now’s the time.”
That’s when he dropped the bombshell. He was the heir to a multi-million-dollar family business. The shabby studio?
A carefully planned test to see if I loved him for him — not his money.
Then he got down on one knee, pulling out a velvet box. “Will you marry me?”
Most people would say yes right away, but I had a secret too. I smiled, took the car keys out of his hand, and said, “Let me drive.
If what I show you doesn’t scare you off, my answer will be yes.”
Jack looked confused but handed me the keys. “Okay…?”
“Trust me. You’re not the only one with secrets.”, I said with a grin.
I drove us past the quiet suburbs, and straight toward a set of iron gates so tall they practically touched the sky.
“Uh… where are we going?”
“Remember how I told you I grew up in a ‘modest’ house?” I asked innocently.
“Yeah?”
“I may have stretched the definition of ‘modest’ just a tiny bit.”
I punched in a code, and the gates silently swung open, revealing a massive estate with pristine gardens, towering fountains, and even a freaking hedge maze.
Jack turned to me, eyes wide.
“Giselle… what the hell?”
I parked, and turned to him with a grin. “Welcome to my childhood home.”
He blinked. Then blinked again.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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