Some stories have villains.
Some stories have heroes.
But in this love story—the one I lived—Gucci is both.
Expensive car.
Designer shoes.
Neck decorated with heavy gold chains.
And rocking Gucci from head-to-toe.
He came into my life like the storm I’d never expected, forcing his way into my life with all the cocky arrogance that a man who built his way up from the bottom could possibly have. Like a god in human form, he seduced me with ease, and though I tried to play hard to get, he knew from the beginning that he would be getting me.
There are a million and one reasons why I shouldn’t love him. A million and one reasons why I shouldn’t want him. And tons more for why I should’ve ran in the other direction the moment I saw him walking my way. Gucci is intoxicatingly toxic; a devil in designer shoes. He’s the last man on Earth that I should ever want.
But I want him anyway.
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