THE PROPOSAL:

The most powerful man in the city just burst inside my flower shop, and locked himself inside.

Moments later, news vans and paparazzi swarmed the streets.

The power's been out for days because I can't afford the electricity bill, and the bank is about to take the last thing my family left me.

I'm working by candlelight when the door slams open and a man in a black suit locks it behind him.

Through the window, I can see news vans pulling up to the curb, cameras already getting set up outside.

He turns around, and his eyes land on the bank notice sitting on my counter.

Then he looks at me.

He reaches into his pocket and sets a small velvet box between us, then opens it and says,

"I need you to put on this ring."

THE CONFESSION:

I’m a struggling real estate agent and I accidentally just sent a dirty text to my client instead of my best friend.

And the text was about him.

Last week, I was giving my client a tour of a huge mansion that could save me from losing my home.

I couldn’t close that day, and I thought I’d never hear from him again, until I accidentally sent that text to the wrong person thirty seconds ago.

I tried to delete it, but the message showed “read” and three dots were already pulsing on my screen.

Suddenly, another notification dropped down with my bank flashing red, “Final Notice: Foreclosure begins on Monday.”

I was about to watch everything I’d worked for disappear with one message.

That’s when my phone lit up with his response,

“I’ll buy the mansion, if you prove every word of that text.”