My Rich Boyfriend Rented a Fake Cheap Apartment to Test My Loyalty
When I met Daniel, he was charming, kind, and seemingly down-to-earth. He told me he was a struggling entrepreneur trying to make ends meet. I didn’t mind—I wasn’t dating him for money. I liked him for who he was. Or at least, who I thought he was.
For the first few months, our dates were modest—walks in the park, homemade dinners, and the occasional movie night at his tiny one-bedroom apartment. The place was barely furnished, with peeling paint, a leaky faucet, and a sagging couch that looked like it came from a thrift store. But I didn’t care. I genuinely enjoyed his company.
One day, Daniel sat me down, his expression serious. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I want us to move in together.”
I was thrilled—until he showed me the apartment. It was even worse than his current one: cramped, with flickering lights, broken tiles, and a refrigerator that barely worked. “It’s all I can afford right now,” he said hesitantly, watching my reaction.
I hesitated. I loved Daniel, but this place? It looked unlivable. “Are you sure this is the best option?” I asked carefully.
His face darkened. “If you don’t want to live with me because of money, just say it.”
I felt trapped. I didn’t want to hurt him, but the apartment genuinely worried me. “It’s not about money,” I insisted. “I just think we could find something a little better—maybe a small place, but not one falling apart?”
His lips pressed together. “I need to know you love me for me, not for what I have or don’t have.”
The conversation ended awkwardly, but I ultimately agreed. If he could make it work, I would try.
Then, everything unraveled.
A week later, Daniel invited me to dinner at a “friend’s” house. When we arrived at the address, I was stunned. It wasn’t an apartment—it was a massive penthouse. Marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and a grand piano in the corner.
I turned to Daniel. “Whose place is this?”
His expression was unreadable. “Mine,” he said simply.
I blinked. “What?”
“I’m rich,” he admitted. “I own several companies. The apartment I showed you? I rented it for a test—to see if you’d still want to be with me even if I was poor.”
I stared at him, my mind reeling. “You lied to me?”
“I had to know,” he said. “And you passed… mostly.”
I took a step back. “Mostly?”
“You hesitated,” he said, studying me. “You didn’t reject me outright, but you weren’t exactly thrilled either.”
I felt my stomach drop. “You manipulated me,” I whispered. “You made me think you were struggling just to test me?”
He reached for my hand, but I pulled away.
Trust was something I valued more than money. And Daniel had just shattered it.
