He knew my parents were rich — so I tested him by saying they lost everything.
“You can’t even imagine what happened,” I said, gripping the phone, trying to stay calm. “Dad just called… Everything’s gone. A complete collapse.”
There was silence on the line. Almost thirty seconds.
“What… do you mean by ‘collapse’?” Denis’s voice was unusually tense and high-pitched.
“The business failed. Loans. They’re even putting the apartment up for sale.”
Another pause. Then he spoke again — quickly, too quickly:
“Oh, come on, that’s nothing. The important thing is that they’re healthy, right? Money — money can always be fixed.”
I closed my eyes. He was clearly lying.
We had met at a contemporary art exhibition. I was there with a friend, and he, as he said, had just “decided to check it out.” An hour later, we were having coffee. A month after that, he told me he was in love.
Denis seemed perfect — polite, smart, handsome. But there was one strange thing: he asked about my parents a little too often.
“Your dad owns a restaurant chain, right?” he asked once.
“Yes,” I answered.
“And your mom — is she a co-owner too?”
“No, she’s an interior designer.”
He nodded, as if mentally filing that information away.
Then came the “random” questions: “Where do they usually go on vacation?” “Is it true they have a house in Spain?” I laughed them off, but inside, the anxiety kept growing.
Six months later, he proposed. It was perfect, romantic, with a ring that — as I later learned — cost half his annual salary. I said yes… but that very evening, I decided to test him.
My friend Katya, a lawyer, helped come up with the plan: a sudden bankruptcy, debts, lawsuits — a complete financial collapse.
“If he’s real, he’ll stay,” Katya said.
“And if he’s not…” I started.
“Then he’ll disappear,” she finished for me.
“Are you really sure things are that bad?” Denis asked nervously over dinner, forcing a smile. “Maybe it’s just temporary?”
“Temporary?” I feigned sadness. “Denis, they owe millions. I’m even thinking… maybe we should postpone the wedding.”
“Postpone?” He noticeably paled. “Well… if we have to…”
“And there’s something else,” I looked down. “I’ll have to sell my car. And move into a rental.”
He froze, staring at me.
“Move? But you said the apartment was yours!”
“It was. But now it’s been pledged as collateral.”
Suddenly, he got very focused on cutting his steak.
The next morning, no call. Nothing during the day either. That evening, I got a text:
“Olga, we need to talk. I’m leaving on a work trip for two weeks. We’ll discuss it later.”
I knew exactly what that meant.
Three days later, Katya sent me a screenshot: Denis had changed his relationship status to “Looking for someone.”
I didn’t call. Didn’t cry or demand explanations. I just deleted his number and returned the ring through a mutual friend.
A month later, I heard he was dating a girl whose father owns a construction company.
And six months after that, I met Andrey. He asked me if I liked the art exhibition. Not a single question about my parents.
When I jokingly told him the “bankruptcy” story, he just shrugged:
“So what? I’m dating you, not your parents.”
The wedding is in three months. No tests. No doubts. Just trust.