My twenties were a delicious chaos—a whirlwind of stolen kisses, smoky parlours, and lessons learned. But thirty? Darling, thirty is a velvet revolution

I’ve traded the fast pace for private suppers, cheap beer for champagne, and the frenetic chase for the slow, knowing game. Men no longer come to me for just the wild encounters—they come for companionship, for the luxury of a woman who understands the weight of silence, the art of refusal, the power of waiting

I still crave them, of course—but now, I prefer a man who knows how to unwind me like a silk ribbon, who worships the mind and body time has sculpted, not the girl I used to be

Thirty is for the finer things. And mon Dieu, do I intend to enjoy them!

Vi x

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