The redhead turned to Linda, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Are you waiting for an invitation to carry those boxes or what?"

Linda didn't hesitate. She scurried toward the man struggling with the heavy boxes, her head bowed as she assisted him. Ingrid watched the head-maid's frantic retreat with a look of smug satisfaction. Without so much as a glance at Layla, she walked past her toward Dave.

Dave, who formerly looked so composed, was now beaming like a child who had been given his favorite candy. "Ingrid," he called out, his British accent smoothing over the name with practiced affection.

Layla stood frozen as the lady she now knew as Ingrid climbed onto Dave's lap, draping her arms around his neck. Dave's hands found her waist instantly, pulling her against him. They sat there, framed by the expensive upholstery, giving Layla a front-row seat to their display. 

"Hi, Dave," Ingrid said like someone who was out of breath. Then, she leaned in to kiss him. 

It wasn't a brief kiss on the lips. It was a conquest. Their lips met in a feverish, desperate tangle, an intense display of tongue and lips that seemed to go on forever. Layla watched, her mouth slightly agape, her mind reeling. 'What on earth is happening?'

Watching her husband's lips tango with another woman's triggered memories of an ex she thought she had buried years ago. She blinked twice, forcing herself back to the brutal reality of the present. 

"What on earth is going on here?" Layla finally found her voice, her scream echoing off the high ceilings.

The pair broke apart slowly, looking more irritated than guilty. It was as if Layla were a fly buzzing around their heads, a nuisance they had forgotten was even in the room. Ingrid wiped the corner of her mouth where there once was bright red lipstick, but was now all smeared across Dave's mouth.

She shifted on his thigh and sneered, "What does it look like, dummy?"

Dummy? The word stung like a physical slap. 'Did she just call me a dummy?' Layla asked herself, turning her gaze to Dave, expecting and hoping for a shred of remorse. But he only smirked.

"Dave, I think I deserve an explanation," Layla said, her voice trembling. "I am your wife, for goodness' sake."

Ingrid and Dave looked at each for a split second before the room became filled with the sound of their mocking laughter. It lasted for two agonizing minutes before Dave lifted Ingrid from his body and rose from the sofa. He sauntered toward Layla, his presence suffocating.

"You don't deserve shit," he hissed, stopping inches from her face. "You are my wife only on paper and nothing, absolutely nothing will ever make this marriage real."

Ingrid slithered up beside him, and Dave instinctively snaked an arm around her. Layla could feel her heart thumping frantically against her ribs.

"Ingrid is staying as long as she likes," Dave declared, lifting Ingrid's hand to his lips. He kissed her knuckles, his eyes locked onto Layla's with cold defiance. "And there is nothing you can do about it."

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Layla standing in the wreckage of her dignity. She wanted to scream, to fly at Ingrid and claw that smirk off her face, but she refused to fight dirty for a man who had just embarrassed her in front of the help.

She caught Linda and the driver's eyes. They looked away instantly, fumbling with the boxes in a desperate attempt to be invisible. Layla clenched the fabric of her dress, her knuckles white. She wouldn't break. Not here. Not in front of her.

Ingrid stepped closer, the height of her heels allowing her to look down her nose at Layla. "Don't let those few moments of affection Dave showed you get to your head," she whispered venomously. "That man is mine. Get that through your thick skull."

She turned toward the staff and barked, "What are you waiting for? Get my bags to the master suite!"

As the room emptied, the strength that had held Layla upright evaporated. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the cold floor. The tears she had fought so hard to suppress began to sting her eyes.

'This is going to be hell on earth.' She told herself.

Memories of the night they met played in her head like a cruel joke. He had saved her from thugs, but in exchange, she had given him what was left of her. She thought of the documents explicitly stating her late father owed him ten million dollars. She remembered her mother's wailing, the hollow stare of her twenty-one-year-old sister, and the innocence of her fifteen-year-old sister reading the legal paperwork.

She had sold herself to save them. She had married a demon to pay off their debt. A soft tap on her shoulder startled her. She wiped her eyes and looked up to see the driver. He was holding out a silver purse, a "wedding gift" Dave had sent earlier. As she took it, the phone inside began to vibrate.

She pulled it out, her hands shaking as she answered the unknown number.

"This is a reminder," a female voice said on the other end. "You have a doctor's appointment tomorrow at 1 p.m. Please don't be late."