I met Jack a year ago when I accidentally spilled my iced latte on his papers at a coffee shop. Instead

of getting mad, he smiled and said, “Guess this is fate telling me to take a break.” We hit it off and started dating.

Jack lived humbly—his studio was tiny, the couch was ancient, and he cooked on a hot plate. But he made

that space feel like home. I fell for him, not the surroundings.

On our one-year anniversary, he surprised me with roses—and a luxury car. “It’s mine,” he admitted nervously.

Then came the twist: Jack was heir to a multi-million-dollar business. The humble lifestyle? A test to see if I loved him, not his wealth.

Then he proposed.

I smiled and said, “Let me drive. If what I show you doesn’t scare you off, my answer will be yes.”

We pulled up to a sprawling estate behind towering iron gates. Jack gawked. “Giselle… what the hell?”

“Welcome to my childhood home,” I said. “Turns out you’re not the only one with secrets.”

He stared at me. “So you were testing me while I was testing you?”

“Looks like it.”

We both laughed—two secret millionaires who fell in love the old-fashioned way.