Inside Sheikh Khaled’s sprawling marble hall, preparations for the reception were in full swing. Staff moved nonstop, arranging tables, decorating the columns, and draping crystal garlands everywhere.

Leila, the housekeeper — a quiet, full-figured woman in her forties — went about her duties unseen as usual. No one ever acknowledged her presence.

But today, something in the center of the hall drew the eye: a mannequin draped in a lavish red gown. It was tight, sculpted, and trailed behind in a long train.

Sheikh Khaled had purchased it for his new lover. The dress was so expensive it could easily buy a home. He had ordered it from an elite couturier to impress his guests that night.

As Leila walked by with a tray of glasses, she found herself stopping without meaning to. The dress looked like artwork—sleek, lustrous, impossibly stunning. She didn’t even realize her fingers had brushed the fabric.

That was when the sheikh stepped into the room.

“What are you doing?!” His voice cracked through the air, furious.

Leila jolted; the tray wobbled, and one glass nearly slipped.

“I… I’m sorry… I just…”

“You’re just touching a dress worth more than your entire life?” he snarled, stepping closer. His friend and a couple of the women behind him were already giggling, covering their faces as they tried not to laugh outright.

“I didn’t mean to… it’s beautiful…”

“Beautiful?” he scoffed. “You’re staining it with your hands. Do you have any idea what it costs to fix a single crease in this fabric?”

Leila lowered her gaze.

Then the sheikh, basking in the attention, decided to turn it into a performance.

“You know what? You have two choices. ONE: you give me the cost of the dress. Right now.”

The women burst into laughter. To them, it was entertainment.

“Or the SECOND option…” he said loudly enough for the whole room to hear, “you wear this dress tonight at the party.”

The women were already bent over from laughing.

He raised his voice even more:

“And if you actually dare show up in this dress, I’ll marry you! Tomorrow morning!”

The laughter exploded.

Leila’s face turned so red it looked like her skin might burn. The dress was at least three sizes too small for her. She wouldn’t even be able to get her arm through it. It was clear, brutal humiliation.

“Well?” the sheikh asked smoothly. “Either you put it on, or you’ll owe me for the rest of your life.”