He Called Me an Old Woman, So I Replaced Him With a Billionaire

I was five years older than him. When we first got together, Kyle would wrap his arms around my waist with a bright, boyish grin.

"Older women are mature," he’d say. "You really know how to take care of a guy."

When his friends teased him about dating an older girl, he pulled me behind him protectively.

"What’s wrong with a few years? I like her exactly the way she is."

Then Mia joined his company. She was his age—twenty-six—bubbly, wild, and always ready to party.

Kyle started complaining that I was a nag: "Can you stop suffocating me? You sound just like my mother."