When your husband invited his mistress to be the flight attendant on his private plane, she greets him, “Here’s your sparkling water and black coffee, Mr. Volkov.” She leans forward, offering him a seductive smile as she places the drinks in front of him.

“I remember your exact preferences,” she purrs, her voice heavy with suggestion. You roll your eyes. This woman has zero subtlety. Your husband gives her a disapproving look, though you can’t figure out why—he’s the one who invited her. “You forgot my wife’s drink,” he admonishes.

“I’m so sorry,” she chirps. “I’ll be sure to get you another water right away. Or a Coke.” She gives you a condescending smile. Even though you don’t care about your husband—your marriage is nothing more than an arrangement—you say, “I’d love a coffee: half-caff, triple shot, no foam, soy milk, one pump vanilla, two pumps hazelnut, extra hot macchiato with a dash of cinnamon.”

Your husband lets out a low, amused snicker, the fine lines at the corners of his gorgeous blue eyes deepening. “Don’t you usually take your coffee black?” he asks as his mistress stomps away.

“Was it really necessary to bring your mistress with us?” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Are you jealous?” he asks, grasping your jaw and guiding your gaze to meet his intense stare.

“I don’t care what you do,” you hiss, shaking free from his grasp. His jaw tightens, and he remains quiet for a moment. Then, as if coming to a decision, he gets up from his seat and walks off.

Before you can compose yourself, his mistress places the coffee you ordered in front of you. You stand up and head to the bathroom, but as you do, her hand wavers, and the cup of coffee she’s holding wobbles and spills all over you. “Oops, sorry,” she says mockingly.

You just walk inside the bathroom, hot tears streaming down your face. It’s all too much.

Suddenly, the muffled voices of your husband and his mistress seep through the door, and you’re stunned by what you hear.