I rarely test people. Honor, openness, and the benefit of the doubt are my values. Something about Nate’s abrupt proposal felt… I rarely test people. Honor, openness, and the benefit of the doubt are my values. Something about Nate’s abrupt proposal was strange. Too perfect. Too timely. Like he skipped a few chapters and went directly to the finish, expecting I’d quit without reading the tiny print.
Yeah, I said yes. Not for the purpose he thought.
A mutual friend hosted a rooftop party where we met eight months ago. Nate had the confidence of a popular kid who never had to try to be liked. He amused people. While listening, he appeared thoughtful. I accepted his late-night trek to my car.
He kissed me under a flickering streetlight, and I wondered whether this was it.
So it was. For a while.
Charm from someone with anything to gain may be hazardous, I’ve discovered.
By month three, I saw patterns. We simply visited his messy apartment, which smelled of stale pizza and ambition. He dubbed it “vintage.” It was “water damage and no insulation.”
Nate always paid for dinner if we had paper plates or happy hour sushi. He gave a long lecture about how women today were too materialistic and money-focused. He frequently stated that he didn’t want someone who “used men for lifestyle upgrades.”
Without the rehearsal, it might have been heroic.
Two years before we met, I sold my tech company to a health data corporation for seven figures. From my living room, I created a burnout-prevention app. It expanded, scaled, and paid off. Quietly.
A startup accelerator has employed me as an advisor since then. I stay occupied, low-key. I drive an ancient Corolla, wear jeans and shoes, and have never disclosed my penthouse or the investments that make my bank account comfortable.
Why?
Because I wanted to be seen for myself, not my possessions.
I was ready to know Nate by month six.
So I invited him over.
He brought red wine with a $12 sticker and gas station roses. His eyes widened when the doorman called me by name.
“Whoa,” he murmured, looking up at the edifice. “You live here?”
I grinned. “Yep.”
Silent elevator trip. He shifted. He stopped when we entered my top-floor flat with floor-to-ceiling windows, skyline views, and bespoke paintings.
He was silent for a minute. Just surveyed the scene like a billionaire.
“This is incredible,” he exhaled. “You live alone?”
“Just me,” I responded, casually placing his coat next the imported Italian credenza.
That night, he scarcely touched me. He didn’t complement me like normal. Neither my view nor my books were questioned. Instead, he toured the apartment like a realtor, taking in the nuances. The smart fridge. The espresso bar. Private terrace.
That look seemed familiar. Not love.
It calculated.
Nate proposed exactly one week later.
He brought a little, quick-grab ring and spoke about “fate” and “not wasting time” and how he had “never met anyone like me.”
I grinned. Kissed him. Yes, I said.
Next, I called my best buddy Kat.
“You were right,” I muttered into the phone. “He proposed.”
Kat didn’t seem surprised. “Girl. He proposed to the condo after seeing that penthouse, not you.”
We laughed. I felt chilled inside. I wondered if he loved me. My package was all I knew he liked.
I decided to investigate.
I cried when I called him next week.
“Baby,” I sniffled. Lost my job. Restructuring eliminated my team. Not only that… Apartment leaks occurred. All-around water damage. Current conditions are unlivable.”
Holding breath.
He never asked, “Are you okay?” What can I do to help?
After pausing, he said, “Damn… that sucks.”
The silence was too lengthy. I heard him thinking. Calculating.
“I’ll be staying with Kat for a while,” I said. “Until I figure things out.”
“That might be a good idea,” he responded hesitantly. “You need time to recover.”
Suddenly, he pulled away.
Our supper was canceled the next day.
He didn’t answer my calls the next day.
On day three, he texted, “I think we moved too fast. We need time to regroup.”
I glanced at the message, astonished yet unsurprised.
After seeing the palace, he proposed to the queen. He fled when the crown fell.
3 days later, I video-called him.
He replied guiltily, pallid, unshaven.
“Sylvie,” he said, smiling. “Hey. Just thinking about you.”
Didn’t smile. I turned the camera to show him the skyline behind me. Clear, dazzling, unharmed.
“Are you back home?” Asking with narrowed eyes.
“I never left,” I said.
He appeared bewildered.
There was no layoff. Non-water damage. No need to ‘regroup,’” I said. “I just wanted to see what you’d do if the apartment disappeared.”
He remained silent.
I said, “You proposed the day after seeing my place. You abandoned me when things were uncertain. I wondered if you loved me or just the lifestyle.
I—Sylvie, wait—
“No,” I said. “You responded.”
He appeared desperate. “I didn’t mean to imply that. It was possible that we weren’t ready. I panicked.”
“You panicked when money was gone.”
I laughed dryly.
Want someone to take you to the top. Someone who fakes a step down is unmanageable. Nate, what happens in real storms? You bail again?
He tried again. “Can we talk? In person?”
“No need,” I answered. “This call is our last.”
It ended.
Blocked. Deleted. Gone.
Kat brought wine and jokes that night, and I laughed for hours.
“He failed the test with flying colors,” she added, lifting a glass. “At least you know.”
“I was hoping he’d pass,” I said.
“I know,” she said. But he was a tourist in your world, not a partner. He came for the view, not rent.”
Something hit harder than any insult.
Not that he didn’t love me.
He never noticed me—only my privileges.
Love isn’t about who stays for an amazing view. Who holds your hand when the elevator breaks down.
I prefer alone, quiet, and a skyline than a life with someone who simply loves the address.
And that? I’ll never forget that lesson.
