Standing at the Edge of Memory

When Iris married Julian, she was 22, and he was 32. He wasn't just older; he was *more* in every way that counted. For three years, he showered her with endless tenderness, giving her everything she desired, promising her the moon and the stars. He pampered her, cherishing her like a precious gem. The only exception was their nights; his demands in bed were boundless, and even when she was crying, begging him to stop, he'd only chuckle, pulling her closer, never letting go.

She knew he had vast wealth and even vaster love, all dedicated to her.