**The Greed Test**
“So, you’re testing Laura, eh?” Makar’s friend smirked. “Smart move. Last thing you need is another gold digger who cares more about your bank balance than you.”
“Don’t remind me,” Makar muttered. His last girlfriend had bled him dry before he wised up and ditched her. “Laura seems different—down-to-earth, not exactly chasing fame and fortune. But better safe than sorry. Pass the test, and she gets the wedding of the century—spa days, shopping sprees, luxury holidays, the lot.”
Makar had planned everything meticulously. He rented a dingy flat (a “hovel,” in his words), leased a battered old hatchback (which made him shudder just looking at it), and bought clothes straight off the high street. The goal? Blending in so thoroughly that Laura wouldn’t suspect a thing. Not that she seemed to notice—or if she did, she played it cool.
“Laura thinks I’m some middle-management grunt saving up for a mortgage deposit,” Makar said, grinning as his friend laughed. The truth? He could buy a penthouse in Mayfair tomorrow. Perks of being born into wealth. “Oh, and she’s convinced I’m an orphan.”
“Brilliant. How’ve you not slipped up yet? You wouldn’t know ‘normal life’ if it hit you with a Tesco bag—private schools, chauffeurs, maids…”
“Got a mate from security to fill me in. Paid him a fiver for the insider scoop.” Makar checked his watch. “Right, time to change and fetch Laura. Promised to pick her up from uni. Might grab a bite at some greasy spoon on the way.”
“Try not to give yourself food poisoning,” his friend teased. “That’s a far cry from your usual Michelin-starred rubbish.”
—–
Makar waited outside the university gates, clutching the cheapest bouquet the corner shop had to offer. The price was laughable—he’d spent more on a latte—but maintaining his “budget boyfriend” act meant enduring the cashier’s judgmental stare without complaint.
Then he spotted Laura. Something was wrong—she looked ghostly pale, on the verge of tears.
“What’s happened?” he asked, alarmed. Had someone upset her? “Love, what’s going on?”
She crumpled against him, sobbing. Then it hit him: her dad’s illness. The doctors had downplayed it, but maybe things had taken a turn.
“Is it your dad?” She nodded mutely. “Come on, let’s talk over a cuppa.”
Sure enough, it was about her father. A routine operation, but his age made it risky. The consultant had helpfully mentioned—off the record, of course—that a “donation” of £10,000 would “improve his chances significantly.”
“Ten grand! Ten!” Laura was distraught. Makar almost laughed—he’d drop that on a night out without blinking. “Where are we supposed to get that? Every penny goes on his meds!”
“I’d help if I could, but pulling it from savings now would slaughter the interest,” he said, feigning regret. “Are you even sure you should pay? Sounds dodgy.”
“Of course we should! His life’s worth more than money!”
“Think it through,” Makar pressed. “Pay now, and suddenly nothing’s free—nurses, meds, the lot. Report it to the NHS! Don’t let them profit off this!”
“We can’t prove anything, and Dad might not make it without it.”
Laura realised then: he wasn’t going to help. Not that she’d expected him to—they weren’t even serious. But she’d seen the wads of cash in his wallet. He was lying.
Fine. One option left. She’d defer uni, work full-time—whatever it took. So what if she was top of her class? Family came first.
—–
Three weeks later.
Laura was floating. Her dad was recovering, and she’d landed a decent job. She’d graduate eventually—just not yet. No way was she throwing her future away.
Then Makar texted: *Got a surprise for you.*
Her good mood evaporated the moment she saw him. Designer suit, a watch worth more than a house, and a car so flashy it made passersby gawk.
“You passed the test,” he announced. “Knew you weren’t after my money. So… marry me?”
No knee, just a red velvet box. Inside, a diamond ring sparkling like a disco ball. Laura’s fists clenched.
“This bad boy’s worth half a mil,” he bragged. “You deserve it. Fancy wedding, no more worries—”
A slap cut him off. Laura was shaking. This ring was *five times* what her dad needed. If he’d been serious, why not help sooner? She could’ve stayed in uni!
“What the—?” Makar gaped, holding his cheek. He’d expected squealing, hugs, not a stinging palm.
“Oh, sod off. As far away as possible.”
She never spoke to him again.
