When Sloane finally lets her boyfriend see her luxurious penthouse, he proposes to her the very next day. But when a sudden “disaster” happens, his loyalty crumbles. What he doesn’t know? It’s all a test… and she’s been watching closely. This is a story about power, love, and the moment a woman chooses herself.
I don’t usually play games, especially not with people.
But something about Ryan’s timing seemed too polished… too sudden… like he’d skipped a few pages of our story and jumped straight to the part where I say “yes” with stars in my eyes.
—A thoughtful woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
Spoiler: I said yes. But not for the reason he thought.
We met eight months ago in a dive bar downtown, one of those dimly lit places where the cocktails are all whiskey-based and the bartenders wear suspenders like it’s a religion.
Ryan had an easy smile, a firm handshake, and eyes that lingered just long enough to be charming, not creepy. That night we talked about everything: the exhaustion of your twenties, dreams of entrepreneurship, childhood regrets.
—Inside a dive bar | Source: Midjourney
He was smart. Charismatic. Ambitious on a superficial level and restless. And when he kissed me outside, beneath a flickering neon sign that seemed unsure of its mood, I thought maybe this could be something.
And it was. For a while.
But this is what happens with charm: it can start to feel scripted.
—A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
By our third month together, I noticed the patterns. We always went to his apartment. A narrow room in a building that smelled faintly of incense and desperation.
He called it “charming.” I called it “no hot water after 10 PM.”
Ryan always paid for dinner, but only if it was somewhere cheap. He talked about “tired gold diggers” and “materialistic women” like it was a rehearsed speech he knew well. I started realizing he spent a lot of time talking about what he didn’t want in a partner, and very little asking what I wanted.
What did Ryan not know?
—Inside a fast food joint | Source: Midjourney
Two years ago, I sold my AI-driven wellness startup to a tech giant for seven figures. I had spent my early twenties living on instant ramen and coding between shifts in a co-working space that smelled of ambition and burnt coffee.
The acquisition was clean, and I reinvested most of it. Between that, consulting gigs, and some cryptocurrency investments I sold just in time, I was more than fine. I was now working at another tech company, helping build it and keeping busy.
But I never acted like it. I drove my old car because it had belonged to my father, and he had passed it down to me. I wore no-brand clothes that fit well. And I hadn’t brought Ryan to my home because I needed to know who he was before showing him what I had.
—A bowl of ramen | Source: Midjourney
At the sixth month, I invited him to my place.
“Finally, Sloane,” Ryan smiled as he got out of the car. “I was starting to think you were hiding a secret family or something.”
The doorman, Joe, greeted me by name, smiling warmly.
“Sloane, welcome home,” he said, tipping his hat.
Here’s the English translation:
⸻
A smiling doorman | Source: Midjourney
Ryan looked at him and then looked back at me, his eyebrows raised. I said nothing. I simply pressed the button for the private elevator and stepped inside. The doors closed with a whisper.
When they opened again, we were at my apartment. My sanctuary. Light poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The horizon gleamed as if dressed up for the occasion. My living room was clean and peaceful, the kind of peace double-glazed glass and money can buy.
At first, he didn’t come in. He just stood there, looking around.
—An elevator in a lobby | Source: Midjourney
“This is… wow, Sloane,” he finally said. “You live here?!”
“Yes,” I said, slipping off my heels and placing them on a mat I’d imported from Tokyo. “Not bad, right? It’s comfortable.”
He entered slowly, as if afraid to touch anything but unable to resist. His fingertips trailed along the marble countertops. He opened the custom-installed Sub-Zero wine fridge and nodded to himself.
“Not bad at all,” he said.
—A wine fridge in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
Ryan kept walking and stopped in front of one of the abstract canvases hanging over the fireplace.
“How much is that one worth?” he asked.
I shrugged, but now I was watching him. Closely.
He didn’t ask to sit down. He just moved around. His eyes stopped on the custom sofa, the Eames chair in the corner, the fridge that synced with my sommelier app to suggest pairings based on what was chilled inside.
—A chair in a penthouse living room | Source: Midjourney
That night, he didn’t kiss me. He barely touched my arm or leg, something he’d always done before. Instead, he kept smiling with that stunned, youthful grin… like he’d stumbled into a fairy tale and didn’t want to wake up.
And a week later, he proposed to me.
Ryan and I hadn’t really talked about marriage. Not the way you do when you’re building a future. No deep conversations about kids, biological clocks, or timelines, no dreamy hypothetical scenarios over wine.
—Close-up of a man | Source: Midjourney
Just vague hints of “someday” and offhand comments about “building something together.”
It always felt like a placeholder, not a plan.
So when he showed up a week later, standing in my living room, holding a ring box in one hand and nervous energy dripping from every pore, I blinked.
Ignorant. But not exactly… surprised.
—A ring box on a small table | Source: Midjourney
Ryan gave a speech. He talked about knowing when you’ve found the right person. About life being too short to wait or waste time. Something about seizing the moment when the universe gives you a sign.
I smiled. Pretended to be surprised. I said yes. I even kissed him.
But something inside me stayed still.
—A smiling woman standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
Because what he didn’t know was that Jules, my best friend, had seen him the day after he dropped his jaw at seeing my apartment.
She called me from the mall.
“He’s at the jewelry counter,” she whispered. “Sloane, he’s literally pointing at the rings like he’s late for something. He’s not even really looking at them! Girl, are you sure about him? He’s going to propose soon. I can feel it in his energy.”
—A ring display case in a jewelry store | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t know what to say. I cared about Ryan, of course. But did I love him?
Knowing what I knew, the proposal wasn’t romantic.
It was strategic. So yes, I said yes. But not because I was in love. Because I needed to know if he was.
Did Ryan want a life with me? Or did he want a lifestyle that came with marble countertops and a smarter fridge than most people?
—A romantic table setting | Source: Midjourney
So I smiled, put on the ring, and started planning the trap.
A week later, I called him crying.
“Ryan?” I gasped, letting panic seep into my voice. “I got fired. They said it was a restructuring, but I don’t know… Everything is… falling apart.”
Here’s the English translation:
⸻
A woman sitting on a sofa | Source: Midjourney
There was a pause. Too long.
“Oh… wow. That’s… unexpected,” he said slowly, as if his brain was trying to pull the words out of mud.
“I know,” I whispered. “And on top of that… the apartment? Good Lord! A pipe burst. There’s water damage everywhere. The hardwood floors in the guest room are wrecked. It’s uninhabitable.”
Close-up of a burst pipe | Source: Midjourney
More silence. A dense, heavy silence. Then a clearing of the throat.
“Uninhabitable?” he repeated. “What does that mean?”
“Exactly what you think it means, Ryan. For now, I’m staying with Jules. Just until I get things sorted.”
This time, the silence lingered.
A man talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
I sat cross-legged on my leather sofa, dry as a bone, of course, twisting my hair into a loose anxious knot for effect. I imagined him on the other side, blinking stupidly, recalculating.
The “forever” speech.
The horizon he’d mentally moved to.
“I… wasn’t expecting this, Sloane,” he said finally, his voice lost all its shine. “Maybe we should… slow things down. Rebuild. You know, stabilize before moving forward.”
A woman sitting on a sofa wearing a cozy sweater | Source: Midjourney
“Okay,” I murmured, barely above a whisper, letting my breath hitch as if trying not to cry. That was it… Ryan was refusing to see me. It was Ryan blatantly showing me he didn’t care.
The next morning, he sent me a message.
“I think we went too fast. Let’s take some space, Sloane.”
No calls. No offers of help. Just… gone.
A cellphone on a table | Source: Midjourney
And then I called him. This time it was a video call, because some truths deserve a front-row seat.
Ryan answered the phone looking like he hadn’t shaved or slept well. His sweatshirt was wrinkled and his voice was rough.
Close-up of a tired man in a gray sweatshirt | Source: Midjourney
He was on the balcony, wearing silk pajamas, barefoot on the warm stone tiles. A chilled glass of champagne sat on the side table next to me, and I was ready to suspend my anguish.
And to teach Ryan a lesson, of course.
I didn’t smile. I just tilted the phone slightly.
A glass of champagne on a table | Source: Midjourney
“Did you go back home?” he asked, hope shining in his eyes.
“I’m home,” I said simply. “But isn’t it funny?”
“What, Sloane?” he asked, sighing like he was very tired.
“That you disappeared faster than the supposed flood in my apartment. Well, everything’s fine. There was nothing wrong with my apartment. I just wanted to see if you really cared about me… but I guess you don’t.”
A woman on a penthouse balcony | Source: Midjourney
His mouth opened, then closed.
“I also got promoted, by the way,” I added. My voice was steady, but my heart was pounding.
The time had come.
This was the moment to end things with Ryan. All those months of getting to know each other, spending time together… it was over.
“Anyway,” I continued. “The CEO offered me the European expansion. I’ll have Paris at my doorstep. A big win for me, Ryan.”
A view of the Eiffel Tower | Source: Midjourney
A flash of shame crossed his face. Or maybe guilt. They often wear the same skin, don’t they?
“But thanks,” I went on, bringing the glass to my lips, “for showing me what ‘forever’ means to you. Clearly, we have different definitions of the word.”
“Sloane, wait… I—”
“No,” I said, my voice breaking on the word. I didn’t soften it. I let him hear the pain in my voice. “You can’t talk to me. Not now, not ever.”
Here’s the English translation:
⸻
A tired man with his eyes closed | Source: Midjourney
“You had your chance, Ryan. You had me. Before the views, before the stories, before the rushed proposal… And you let go as soon as it didn’t seem easy.”
I held his gaze long enough to make it hurt.
Blocked. Deleted. Gone.
Side profile of a woman on a balcony | Source: Midjourney
Jules came over that night with Thai food and zero judgment.
She didn’t ask questions. She took off her shoes, handed me a container of spring rolls, and collapsed on the sofa like she’d lived there in another life.
“I really thought he played you,” she said, unwrapping the chopsticks. “Meanwhile, you were three steps ahead, glass in hand.”
Takeout Thai food on a coffee table | Source: Midjourney
I gave her a half-smile, eyes fixed on the horizon. It looked the same as always—endless and radiant—but somehow… brighter. Maybe it was just me finally seeing clearly.
“It’s strange,” I murmured. “I’m not even heartbroken, maybe a little. But I’m… disappointed. I wanted it to pass the test, Jules. I really did. I was rooting for Ryan.”
“Girl,” she said, mouth full of noodles. “He didn’t even bring an umbrella to the storm. You called and he ran like you were on fire. That man was in it for the perks, not for you.”
A takeout box of noodles | Source: Midjourney
I laughed, really laughed, but still a lump formed in my throat. Not for Ryan.
More for what I thought we could have been. For who I thought he might be.
“I think the worst part,” I said slowly, “is knowing he wouldn’t have survived the real storms. Like… if things had actually gotten hard.”
Jules put down her container and looked me straight in the eyes.
“He’s not your shelter from storms, babe,” she said. “He was just the weak roof you hadn’t tested yet.”
A thoughtful woman sitting on a sofa | Source: Midjourney
And somehow, that hit harder than anything else.
People love to say, “You’ll know it’s real when things get tough.”
So I made things tough.
A woman sitting with her head down on a sofa | Source: Midjourney
Because it was clear Ryan wasn’t in love with me. He was in love with the idea of me, the lifestyle, the comfort, the curated illusion. But as soon as that cracked, even just a little, he pulled away.
Not everyone can handle the truth behind the shine.
But me? I’d rather be alone in a penthouse with my peace than hand the keys over to someone who only wanted the views.
A close-up of a man | Source: Midjourney
True love isn’t about who stays when the lights are on. It’s about who holds you during the flicker. Ryan left before the first thunder.
I still have the view. The job that promises to take me places and the fridge that talks.
So here’s to the champagne, the closure, and never mistaking potential for promise again.