My past with ten ex-boyfriends
I was 18 when I met 25-year-old Liam at an Austin music festival. With his neon-pink hair and a cross tattoo peeking above his ripped tank top, he looked like a rebellious angel. His lean fingers, calloused from guitar strings, felt electric on my skin. We lived in his rusty van, surviving on cheap beer and passion. One rainy night, I found him backstage with three groupies, a needle still dangling from his arm. The next morning, I threw his favorite guitar into the river and never looked back
My 2th boyfriend： The Wall Street Shark
At 21, I dated 32-year-old Carter, a hedge fund manager whose suits cost more than my college tuition. With his perfectly styled blond hair and icy blue eyes, he looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine. He took me to private clubs on his yacht, but I caught him rating women's "market value" on his phone—including mine. I left him during dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant, pouring expensive wine over his head as the entire restaurant watched.
My 3th boyfriend： The Construction Heartthrob
24-year-old me fell for 28-year-old Marcus on a New Orleans construction site. His sun-bronzed muscles glistened under the hardhat, and his laugh could brighten the gloomiest day. He'd bring me wildflowers and call me his princess. Then I discovered the five children from three different women who all called him Daddy. I last saw him slipping his paycheck to a stripper, his wedding ring gleaming under the neon lights.
26-year-old me was swept away by 35-year-old Luca, an Italian chef with dark curls and hands that could work magic in the kitchen. Our romance was as fiery as his cooking—until health inspectors found cocaine hidden with his truffles. At his trial, he yelled that I'd been his worst recipe. I testified against him and watched them lead him away in handcuffs.
I met 25-year-old Noah at a Silicon Valley gala when I was 28. The hoodie-wearing genius had revolutionized AI and owned a private jet, yet he'd panic if my eyeliner smudged. He created an algorithm to predict our compatibility, but it also tracked my every move. When his system accidentally revealed he was dating 12 women simultaneously, I crashed his self-driving car through his garage wall.
At 30, I tried to heal 34-year-old Cole, a veteran with a mechanical arm and nightmares in his eyes. We shared a quiet cabin in the woods, but one night he mistook me for an enemy combatant. The next morning, I found surveillance photos covering an entire wall—he'd been documenting my every move for months. I left while he slept, his service pistol still on the nightstand.
32-year-old me was captivated by 45-year-old Julian's sophistication. With silver-streaked hair and custom-made suits, he taught me about fine wine and finer art. Then INTERPOL raided his gallery, revealing forged paintings and hidden compartments. He'd been using me to smuggle stolen artifacts. The last time I saw him, he was bargaining with prosecutors, offering to testify against me in exchange for leniency.
My 8th boyfriendThe Illusionist
34-year-old me became part of 38-year-old Merlin's Las Vegas act. He could make doves appear from thin air and read minds, but couldn't be honest. I discovered multiple passports and love letters from women across the globe. His final trick? Trying to make me disappear during a dangerous illusion. I sabotaged his show mid-performance, exposing his secrets to a stunned audience.
At 36, I became involved with 52-year-old Senator Harrison. Powerful and polished, he promised me the world while his wife battled cancer. When our affair leaked, he held a press conference calling me an unstable seductress. An anonymous package later arrived containing evidence linking him to his former assistant's mysterious death. I gave everything to the FBI.
38-year-old me finally found 41-year-old Ben stacking books in a small-town library. With his kind eyes and sweater-vests, he repaired damaged novels and made terrible puns. He remembers my favorite tea, sings off-key in the grocery store, and built us a fort of books during a power outage. No games, no lies—just early mornings reading together, his hand always finding mine. In his quiet consistency, I've discovered more magic than in all my previous adventures combined.
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