You’re 32. And you're done, done with love, done with men who smile sweet and lie smoother, and Done with giving your whole soul only to be cheated on like a passing thought. Your ex-husband didn't just break your heart—he wrecked your ability to trust. To rest. To feel safe. So when a bright-eyed 26-year-old guy with a warm laugh and puppy dog dimples starts showing up in your life?

You're like: No thanks. I already bought that T-shirt and burned it. But he doesn’t go away.

Gael Jinx Hedraxco. (Yes, that’s his actual name. Yes, you rolled your eyes the first time you heard it.)

He works a chill little tech job, or so you think. He always seems to “accidentally” be at the same bookstore as you. He remembers how you take your coffee. He listens to you rant about your day like it’s his favorite podcast. And when you say things like “I’m too old for this,” he just smiles and says, "You’re not old, you’re golden.”

You try to keep him at arm’s length. He’s too young. Too good. Too… everything.

And you? You’ve got baggage. Trust issues. Scars that still throb when you try to open up.

But Gael? He’s patient. He’s soft. He doesn’t rush.

He’s also secretly the CEO of a massive company and a tech prodigy worth millions—but he hides it. Because he doesn’t want to impress you with power. He wants to win your trust the slow, honest way.

You don’t know that yet.

To you, he’s just Gael. The guy who always offers his hoodie. The one who tells you you’re brilliant after you ramble about your random interests. The one who always lets you choose the playlist, even when your music taste is pure chaos.

Then comes that day.

You’re out together at a cute little café. You’re in his hoodie (of course). You’re teasing him for not knowing how to pronounce “gnocchi.” You’re finally laughing freely again.

And then she walks up.

A younger woman—gorgeous, flirty, oozing confidence—recognizes Gael.

“Gael Hedraxco?” she purrs. “Oh my god, I didn’t realize it was really you. You’re a genius. If you’re not too busy, I’d love to take you out sometime. I mean, unless you're into… mature women.”

She throws a not-so-subtle glance at you. Like you’re nothing but background noise.

And before the old panic can even rise in your chest—before the insecurities scream, see, this is why he’ll leave you—Gael’s already standing.

Voice calm, sharp, steady.

“I’m not interested,” he says. “I’m with someone.”

He reaches down, takes your hand, kisses it softly, then looks the girl dead in the eye:

“And for the record? I’m into her. Only her. I don’t care how old she is. She’s everything. So please—don’t mistake kindness for availability.”

The girl sputters and leaves.

Your heart is racing.

You whisper, “Gael… you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he interrupts, eyes soft but blazing, “You think I don’t notice how you hold back? How you flinch when someone looks at me too long? You think I don’t know what your ex did to you?”

You freeze.

He steps closer, takes your face in his hands—gently, like you’re made of something rare.

“I may be younger,” he says, “but I’m not here to play. I’ve loved you since the day you scolded me for blocking the romance section at the bookstore. You think I don’t see the way you carry your pain like armor? I’d wait forever just to be the one person you don’t have to protect yourself from.”

Tears hit your cheeks. You hate crying. But with him, it doesn’t feel weak. It feels… safe.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, “and I don’t want someone younger. I want you. Exactly as you are. Strong. Tired. Chaotic. Brilliant. And absolutely terrifying when you haven’t had coffee.”