A year ago, Giselle’s clumsy latte spill at a coffee shop led her to Jack—witty, charming, and refreshingly low-key. He worked in logistics; she worked in marketing. Their connection felt effortless, authentic. Jack’s humble apartment, with a patched couch he affectionately named Martha and a finicky hot plate, only deepened her fondness for him. Despite his modest lifestyle, she saw him—just him.
On their first anniversary, Jack surprised her with something jaw-droppingly expensive: a sleek luxury car and—more shocking—an admission that he’d been faking the entire time. His apartment was rented; he was the heir to a multi-million-dollar business. He’d staged poverty to make sure she loved him for herself, not his wealth.
Stunned, Giselle paused—but then revealed her own secret. She wasn’t who she appeared to be either. She drove him to her childhood home—an enormous estate hidden behind iron gates. It turned out she, too, had presented herself as modest—but was wealthy all along.
They both had tested each other. And both passed.
They laughed over the absurdity, each relieved to have found someone who accepted their real story. Six months later, they wed, surrounded by guests who couldn’t stop chuckling at how they’d hoodwinked each other—and fallen for the real person behind the disguise.
