Inside a women's prison in Dubai, a woman is carried into prison by two guards. They both have a grapple on her arm, as one holds the right and the other the left. She is wearing an abaya, and her face is covered with a niqaab. The police put her in a room and forced the woman to sit at a table. Dubai's chief of police walks into the room and slams a document in Arabic on the table.

"Sign!" the Chief replied.

"What is this," the woman whimpered.

"SIGN!" the Chief demanded in a louder tone.

"I am not signing anything! I can't read this!"

"This is a confession for committing fornication."

"I am not signing this. I am married."

Upon her refusal, the chief backhands the woman. The woman starts crying. "You better sign, or it will get worse for you!" The chief replied in an emotionless tone.

"I have done nothing wrong." The woman replied. The chief walks over to the woman and buries his fist into her stomach. The blow causes the woman to hunch over as she attempts to gasp for air.

"I have short patience with Godless women," The woman cries with silent whimpers as she grabs the pen. Her hands are shaking with fear, making it difficult to keep a steady hand for a signature.

The Chief says something in Arabic to the police under his command at the door. They both once again grab the woman by the arms and drag her out of the room. They both speak Arabic until they reach a cell that is decrepit and not fit for human occupancy. One police stood at the prison cell, holding the door open. The two guards throw the woman into the cell, causing her to tumble onto the floor. The guard slams the jail doors, giving the bars a loud metallic sound. She quickly gets up and runs to the jail doors.

"I have not done anything wrong?"

"You will be charged for prostitution and fornication."

"Call my husband."

"What we heard, you have no husband," The guard replied as he walked away. The woman sits on the floor and starts crying.

-KANDI APPLE-

I never thought that I would end in some decrepit prison half a world away. My name is Kandi Apple, by the way. Well, that is not my real name. My real name is Candice Redd. I am an American-born woman from Detroit, Michigan. How I ended up in the situation is a long story.

(Three months earlier)

Before I began, let me say that I have not always been a Muslim. I am an escort. Three years ago, I used to work in a strip club. Kandi Apple was my stage name. I worked there for a year, but swinging on a pole, ass clapping, and twerking was too much work. Especially when broke dusty-ass men just wanted to throw one-dollar bills on the stage. Not to mention shady club owner taking 30 percent for his cut and paying a Deejay $100 to play a song of my choice for my solo dance number; it was just not worth it.

I needed something bigger and better. That is when I met a woman named Carmen Knight. Carmen was this Jamaica madam who ran an escort business. I was glad when I met her. I worked for her for two years. Her cut was 45% of my earnings for fucking and being an arm piece for rich men; yet, my payout was higher. I still was able to take home $30,000 a month. Carmen had retired from the business to focus on building her wine company in Jamaica.

My journey to Dubai began a few months ago. Carmen's successors, "Solstice and Equinox, " set me up with a wealthy tycoon named Mujahid Ibn Abbasi. His father owned a global food export called Salaam Foods Inc.

Solstice and Equinox expressed that they had a new client looking for some discreet fun. I said yes without hesitation. $5000 was immediately transferred into my bank account.

That very night I was in Mujahid's hotel room at the Hyatt Regency in Dearborn. After asking the reception for a key card as Mujahid instructed me. I went to the hotel room, and I found the room empty with a few exceptional suits, a suitcase, and a duffle bag. Apparently, he had not made it back to the hotel room due to his busy schedule. So I did what I normally would have done. I waited. I went to the bathroom to make sure my makeup was on point. The dark red matte lipstick matched my dress, which gave my honey skin tone the desired contrast. It was about an hour before Mujahid arrived. When I heard Mujahid use his keycard, I presented myself on the bed like a dinner centerpiece. I could tell Mujahid was tired, and he needed me to relieve some stress.

Every Saturday night, Mujahid made sure he was on my schedule. Within two months, Mujahid was infatuated with me and coveted to have me to himself. So there I was, standing in the mansion's office with Solstice and Equinox. They both sat next to each other as they presented an offer to me.

"Are you serious? I can't leave the county. I have responsibilities here!"

"It would be good business for us."

"And this is an opportunity for you to make more money than you can ever imagine," Equinox replied.

"What does Mujaheed expect from this arrangement?"

"He wants you to live with him. He seems to be a lonely rich man."

"And you know how lonely rich men are good customers."

"How much is he paying?"

$3000 a week. You'll be getting half of that." Solstice replied.

"I want to meet with him."

"Why!?"

"Do you think I should be allowed to negotiate my own terms?"

"If you like, we will arrange a meeting."

I met with Mujahid in the secluded part of the mansion, where no eyes were privy to see. Mujahid sat at the garden patio that was in the backyard. I arrived at the mansion after spending the night with a customer. Once I split my earnings with Solstice and Equinox, I went to one of the empty rooms to freshen up. Once I went through my hygienic ritual of a shower and change of clothes, I sashayed to the patio. I made sure I gave my hips an extra sway of motion to catch his attention. When he looked up, he smiled as if he won the freaking lottery.

"Hello, Mr. Abbasi," I replied.

"Hello!" He replied with an Arabic accent. Once we traded formalities, I took my seat across from Mujahid and wasted no time getting to the point.

"I hear you want me to travel with you out of the country!"

"I do. I travel a lot, and I would like to have some company."

"Where are you going?"

"South Africa."

"Why me? I am quite sure other women would jump at the opportunity."

"I have already invested time with you."

"I don't know about leaving the country with someone I don't know."

"But you sleep with men you don't know."

"Yes, I do, but I am with them for a few hours at the most, then I go home."

"I thought about that. That is why I am willing to pay you a monthly dowry of $10,000."

"What is a dowry?"

"A dowry is a price a man pays a woman when he wants to marry her."

"You want to marry me?"

"Yes. Well, temporarily!"

"Temporarily!" I scoffed. "What do you mean temporarily?"

"It's called a Muk'tah marriage. We marry for a certain time, and then we divorce."

"How long is this marriage to last?"

"Four months maybe."

"I have to think about it."

"You have a week before I leave the country!"

After I met with Mujahid, I went home that night and did my research on Muk'tah marriages. I found it degrading to the sanctity of marriage. However, I could not judge since I am a call girl. I read more; I find out that since he wanted to marry me, I am entitled to a marriage contract. I am going to have to split the dowry with Solstice and Equinox.

So like a businesswoman that I am, I opened the Word app on my laptop and started typing, which was only one demand, and it was simple. I wanted $10,000 upfront and $12,000 every month for my dowry. The $10,000 would go towards the escort business, while $12,000 a month will be all mine.

I immediately called Mujahid and presented the list to him. He added a few demands of his own. I convert to Islam. I get on birth control as condoms would not be used in this marriage. Understandable, it would be unprofessional to get pregnant by a client. Once we agreed on the terms and money was exchanged, he took me shopping for the wedding.

Usually, I would have been excited to shop. That was not the case. He bought a long Islamic garb that covered me from neck to toe. The design of the dress was beautiful, but it was not my style. A Muslim woman in the store came to me with a headscarf she called a hijab. She helped me wrap it around my head. When I looked in the mirror, I looked like a real Muslim woman.

Mujahid and I drove to a mosque in Dearborn, where a religious leader had performed the ceremony. After five minutes, Mujahid and I were married. I could not believe I did it. A few days ago, I was a single woman hustling to make money to have a roof over my head. Now I am a Muslim convert, married to a man I don't know, and on my way to an estranged country.