Some love stories are written in the stars. Ours? It was written in spilled coffee, sarcastic banter, and one jaw-dropping revelation that turned everything I knew about my boyfriend upside down. Jack went to the most extreme measure to test my loyalty—and I had no idea.
How It All Started
I met Jack in the least romantic way possible: by spilling an entire iced latte all over his neatly stacked paperwork in a crowded coffee shop. I gasped in horror as brown liquid spread across the pages, ruining everything in seconds.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry!” I scrambled for napkins, my hands shaking. “I swear I’m not usually this clumsy. Actually… that’s a total lie. I absolutely am.”
Jack just chuckled, shaking his head as he held up a dripping page. “Guess this is fate telling me to take a break.”
I blinked. “Wait… you’re not mad?”
“Nah.” He grinned, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “But I should probably move these before you decide to give them a second coffee bath.”
We both laughed, and just like that, something clicked. We ended up sitting together and talking for hours. Jack was funny, charming, and refreshingly real. No pretense, no flashy moves—just an easy, natural conversation. He told me he worked in logistics for a small company, and I told him about my marketing job.
“You know,” he said, stirring his second coffee, “I usually hate when people spill drinks on me. But I might make an exception this time.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Just this time?”
“Well… depends on how many more times you plan on assaulting me with beverages.”
And just like that, we were us.
Jack’s Apartment—Or, The Disaster Zone
From the start, Jack always insisted we hang out at his place. I figured it was because my roommate was a neat freak who hated guests, so I never questioned it. But when I first saw his apartment, well… let’s just say it had character.
The place was a tiny, dimly lit studio in an ancient building on the worst side of town. The heater had a personality of its own—it worked only when it felt like it. The couch? Older than both of us combined, held together by duct tape, sheer willpower, and probably a few prayers.
“This couch,” Jack said proudly one night, “is basically a luxury mattress in disguise.”
I sat down and immediately felt a spring jab into my spine. I winced. “Jack, this thing is trying to assassinate me.”
He just laughed. “Give it a chance. It grows on you.”
“Like mold?” I teased, shifting to avoid another attack.
“Hey now, be nice to Martha.”
I stared. “You NAMED your couch?”
“Of course! She’s part of the family.” He patted the armrest affectionately. “Martha’s seen me through some tough times—ramen noodle dinners, late-night movie marathons…”
Speaking of dinner, his kitchen was a whole other story. He had no working stove—just one lonely hot plate sitting on the counter.
I crossed my arms. “Jack, how do you survive with just that thing?”
He grinned. “You’d be surprised what you can make with one burner and determination. Want to see my specialty? Instant ramen with an egg on top.”
I laughed but felt my heart melt a little. Jack had this way of making even the simplest things feel special. And honestly? I didn’t care about fancy dinners or expensive gifts. I liked him—exactly as he was.
The Anniversary Surprise
Fast forward a year. Our first anniversary. I was expecting something sweet—maybe a homemade dinner, some dollar-store candles, and a cheesy rom-com we’d mock together.
Instead, Jack called from outside my apartment. “Close your eyes when you open the door. No peeking!”
“If you got me another plant from that sketchy street vendor, I swear—”
I stepped outside, opened my eyes, and froze.
Jack was casually leaning against a sleek, jaw-droppingly expensive car. The kind you only see in movies. The kind owned by CEOs with private jets.
He grinned, holding out a bouquet of deep red roses. “Happy anniversary, babe.”
I blinked at him. Then at the car. Then back at him. “Whose car is this?”
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mine.”
I laughed. “No, seriously.”
He didn’t laugh back.
That’s when he dropped the bombshell.
For the past year, Jack had been testing me. He wasn’t just some logistics guy scraping by—he was the heir to a multi-million-dollar family business. The apartment? Fake. He had rented a tiny place on purpose to make sure I wasn’t dating him for his money.
I just stared at him. “I’m sorry… WHAT?”
“I know it sounds crazy,” he said quickly. “But every relationship I’ve had before… changed when they found out. Suddenly, I wasn’t just Jack anymore—I was Jack-with-a-trust-fund.”
“So… you thought pretending to be broke was the solution?” I crossed my arms, trying to process this insanity.
“When you put it like that, it sounds a bit—”
“Insane? Manipulative? Like something out of a bad romance novel?”
Jack sighed. “I needed to be sure you loved me for me.” He pulled out a small velvet box. “And now I am.”
Then, right there on the sidewalk, he got down on one knee.
“Giselle,” he said, looking up at me with those stupidly gorgeous blue eyes. “Will you marry me?”
I should’ve screamed “YES.” I should’ve jumped into his arms. But instead, I smirked, plucked the car keys from his hand, and said, “Let me drive. If what I show you next doesn’t scare you off, then my answer is yes.”
Jack frowned. “Uh… okay?”
I drove us out of the city, past the suburbs, straight toward iron gates so tall they practically touched the sky.
Jack’s brows furrowed. “Where are we going?”
I punched in a code. The gates swung open, revealing a massive estate—pristine gardens, towering fountains, even a freaking hedge maze.
Jack’s jaw DROPPED.
I parked and turned to him. “Welcome to my childhood home.”
He blinked. “Giselle… what the hell?”
Turns out? I was also filthy rich. And I had also been testing him.
Jack burst out laughing. “We are ridiculous.”
“Guess we both passed the test.”
“So… does this mean your answer is yes?”
I tapped my chin, pretending to think. “Hmm. I guess I’ll marry you.”
He pulled me into a kiss. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love it.”
Six months later, we got married. Our families never stopped teasing us about our ridiculous scheme. But in the end, none of it mattered.
Because we had found each other—two ridiculous people who fell in love over spilled coffee, broken heaters, and one very questionable couch named Martha.
