Payton Moormeier

Three years ago, when I was only 18, I married a powerful man, Peyton Moormeier. Peyton is two years older than me, and we met by chance. I was walking home and a stranger attacked me, and Peyton protected me. I thought I'd met someone who would never let anyone hurt me. But my expectations were dashed.

Peyton's looks are every girl's dream. Tall, fit, and dark-haired, he has brown eyes. As soon as Peyton walked into a room, all eyes were on him. He was respected, feared, and loved. And Peyton knows all too well how he influences people.

It all happened quickly: Peyton was my first man in everything, and we got married a few months after we met. But he never loved me. He was with me only out of a sense of duty, for being the first, and he decided to take responsibility for it.

Peyton's thoughts and heart were always filled with his ex-girlfriend and his first love, Iris. I knew this, but I always tried to be a good wife to him. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were always ready at his mansion—he never went hungry; I cooked everything myself. When Peyton returned from the office late at night, I always greeted him with a warm smile and took off his jacket.

I never pressured him or reproached him for his obsession with his ex-girlfriend. Although it was unpleasant for me to realize that, despite our marriage, he loved Iris, not me. And Peyton's phone only contained photos of her, and his notes were filled with everything Iris loved so much.

For our wedding, I gave Peyton a modest gift—a rosary made of amber beads. When he put them on his wrist, I said to Peyton:

"There are exactly 100 beads here. Every time you anger me, offend me, raise your voice at me, or hurt me, you must return one bead to me, and I will immediately forgive you. But when the beads run out, I will leave and never come back. "*

That's how it was. A harsh word from Peyton, or an action that hurt me, and he would immediately remove one bead from the rosary, throwing it to me - casually, as if it were nothing*