My name is Luna. I'm the youngest daughter of the Carpio family.

Today I turn nineteen.

And like every other day, I leave the house late, heading to work, making sure no one sees me. Ever since my stepsister arrived a month ago, everything has turned into a living hell. Before, I only had to dodge my stepmother. Now I have to avoid both of them, as if walking among vipers has become routine.

They're in the living room, as always, sipping tea and talking about marriages like they're bank transactions.

"Mother, I have so many marriage proposals," Estrella says with a triumphant air.

"I'll give you one week. If Fernando doesn't send his proposal by then, you'll marry one of the men who already have," my stepmother replies, in that cold tone of someone who's never known love — only power.

"I'm not about to clear the path for some other woman with Fernando. If I marry someone else, I won't be able to marry him," Estrella says, making it clear that for her, marriage is a trophy.

"That won't happen. You're the most beautiful woman among all the powerful families. The ladies fight to have you in their circles."

"I know. Today at the shoot, the views went up just because they announced I'd be the lead. I've barely been back and everyone's already flocking to me. I'm not going to waste my beauty on someone like Limber. He's a bitter recluse who never leaves his house. The only reason I'd marry him would be so Luna could watch the love of her childhood propose to me... and not to her."

"You were always more beautiful than her," my stepmother declares with that venomous smile I know so well.

"Thank you, Mother. With Fernando, I'll have everything: fame, money, and a man who gives me status. I want people to envy me for having him. If he hasn't married anyone yet, it's because he was waiting for me."

Her words sting. Though I'd never admit it out loud, Limber was more than a neighbor to me. He was my friend, my confidant, my first love. But now he's a powerful man, influenced by his parents... and a far cry from the person I once knew.

I come down the stairs carefully, but there's no avoiding being seen.

"Luna, where are you going?" my stepmother asks, as if my very existence is an inconvenience.

"Just heading out, Stepmother," I reply, keeping my voice flat.

"Look, Mother — the clothes she's wearing," Estrella says with a sneer, eyeing my pants, long-sleeved shirt, and sneakers.

"Go change. You're not leaving my house looking like that," my stepmother orders, as though she still has any moral authority.

"And change into what, exactly? Which of the clothes you've bought me?" I shoot back without flinching.

She stands up, furious, and walks toward me. Her eyes are daggers.

"I tolerate you only because of the love I had for your father. If it were up to me, I'd have thrown you out the first day I set foot in this house."

"Love? Don't kid yourself. It's that... or because I haven't reached the required age yet and my father's will can't be read until I do."

"How insolent! I've given you a roof, food, clothes... and this is how you repay me?"

"What food? What clothes? I work to support myself. I've never depended on you — even though you spend my father's money on your daughter."

She tries to grab my arm, but I pull free before she can get a grip. My skin burns just from her attempted touch.

"Let her go, Mother. She's just in the way here," Estrella adds, as if her opinion matters.

I say nothing. I just walk out without looking back. I follow the path to the double gate at the front of the house. I push it open just enough to slip through, remembering how as a little girl I used to love watching it open automatically. I chose that gate. And now I feel like I don't even have the right to touch it.

It's been exactly one year since my father died of a heart attack. And even though I try not to blame him... I do. He left me alone with these two snakes. I know he's in heaven now, beside my mother, and it hurts to admit it... but I resent him. For leaving me with them. For trusting the wrong person.

I walk several blocks to catch the bus. I get to work late — again, because of them. I slip in through the back door of the club and change quickly: uniform, apron, hair pulled up. I knock on the door of one of the private rooms.

"Good evening, gentlemen. I'm Lulu, your server, and I'll be taking care of you tonight."

Nobody uses their real name here. The clients don't need to know who we are. "Lulu" was the first thing that came to mind the first time I stammered trying to say my real name. And it stuck.

The men order bottles. I write everything down and step out. I pass by the girls who keep the clients company. Some are friends, others are just coworkers. They get called in for parties, celebrations, or important business meetings. I head to the bar, take a deep breath, and go back with the bottles.

I pour the drinks; the girls do their thing. Then I excuse myself and head to the common area — the terraces across the three levels. That's where I work the rest of the night.

When the club closes, the boss calls us in for the end-of-night meeting. We get paid weekly. He hands me an envelope thicker than usual.

"Why is there more money?" I ask, surprised.

"Same client as always left you a tip. Said you took good care of him."

One of the girls gives me a knowing smile.

"Lulu, why don't you switch positions? You'd make more. And if you don't want anyone touching you, just say so. Sleeping with clients isn't mandatory. It's just companionship. You're really pretty — they always ask about you."

"Thanks... but I'm fine where I am," I answer, same as always.

I change and leave in the same clothes I wore that morning. I walk along the sidewalk and, as has become my habit, detour to the park a block from the club. I sit on the same bench as always.

It starts to rain. I don't move. I let the drops soak my clothes, my hair, my soul.

I think about how I used to read "Cinderella" and wonder if anyone could really be that cruel to another woman's daughter. And yes — yes, they can. A year ago, I couldn't take the house anymore. I went out and found a job. Estrella left to study theater abroad on my father's money. I found this job, paid for my last year of high school, and I save every penny for when I turn twenty and the will is finally read. Until then, I can't leave. If I go... they'll take everything.

"Oh, Dad..." I whisper to the sky. "Marrying her was the worst mistake you ever made. And giving your last name to the daughter of my mother's sister was even worse."

You always said you did it because they were a mother and daughter who'd been abandoned, but all you did was complicate my life. You said I needed a mother figure... but I would've rather gone without one.

I remember the day my aunt showed up asking for a place to stay. Her husband had left them. My mother had just died. I was only four... and I still remember her. I thought my aunt could take her place. I was wrong. She'll never be my mother. She never was.

And now, one year after you left, I'm the one who has to endure them. I'm the one waiting to turn twenty so I can reclaim what little you left behind. In the meantime, I hold on to the only thing no one can take from me: my dignity.

I get home soaked. The rain is still coming down hard as I climb the stairs, water dripping from my clothes and leaving a trail on the floor. I step into my room... and freeze. Sitting on my bed, legs crossed and wearing that smug grin of hers, is Estrella.

"Just look at you," she says with contempt, eyeing me up and down. "You'll never find a husband like that. Me, on the other hand — I already have several proposals... but there's one that's worth more than all of them: Limber. He fought over me. Can you believe it? When before, he only ever looked at you... only ever came looking for you."

"Good for you. Now get out of my room. I want to rest."

She stands with that theatrical flair of hers, passing too close to me on purpose.

"When Fernando proposes to me, I'll leave Limber free for you," she whispers. "That way you can at least say you were with the only man who ever wanted you... though I doubt he'd give you the time of day. You're not in his league."

She walks toward the door and — like some cruel joke of fate — slips on the water dripping from my clothes. She screams as if she's fallen from a second story.

Within seconds, my stepmother appears, her face twisted with rage.

"I only came to tell her my good news and she pushed me," Estrella whimpers in that sugary voice of hers. "Look at her! Who knows who she's been with or what she's been doing to come home like that?"

"Estrella, I couldn't care less whether you marry a prince or a beggar. I don't care about your life. As far as I'm concerned, you can get out of this house that my parents built with everything they had," I tell her, my voice steady but fierce.

Then comes the slap. The sharp crack turns my face to the side.

"This house is mine now," my stepmother snarls, stepping toward me with that look that's made me want to run so many times before.

But not this time. I stand my ground. Estrella gets up with a crooked smile, enjoying the show. Without thinking twice, I shove her toward the door and push her out.

"Not for long," I shout before slamming the door shut. I lock it. I know they'll try to open it, but what they've forgotten is that I changed the lock while they were out. This is my room. My only boundary. My sanctuary.

I go to the bathroom, change out of my wet clothes, and take out the little I earned today. Tomorrow I'll go to the bank and put it away. When I lie down, my eyes land on the photo on the nightstand. I look at my parents — smiling, young... and today is one of those days when I can't stand the sight of my father. I cover his face with the edge of the frame and let myself fall onto the bed, trying to sleep with the knot in my throat.

I wake to the alarm. I dress quickly, stuff my work clothes into a backpack, and leave without making a sound. Since Estrella's been here, I've decided not to come back in the afternoons anymore. Better to go straight from school to work.

After classes, I stop by the bank and deposit what I have. The money isn't much, but to me it means everything. I walk to the club, change, and head into the service area. The place is packed, as usual.

I carry an order to a table and feel a heavy gaze on me. After setting down the bottles, I hurry out and accidentally bump into someone tall.

"I'm sorry, sir," I say, looking up.

"Fernando Linares. Nice to meet you," he says, and I freeze. I've heard his name so many times... always on Estrella's lips.

"Nice to meet you. My name's Lulu."

"I just gave you my real name. Why won't you tell me yours?"

"That is my name."

"It doesn't suit you. Not with a face that beautiful."

I grip the tray harder. I don't have the time or the energy for this kind of game.

"Have a good night, Mr. Linares."

I walk toward the bar, but before I can leave, I'm called back: I need to bring another bottle to "Mr. Linares." When I enter the private room, he's alone.

"What bottle would you like?" I ask.

"Whatever you'd recommend. And I want your company."

"There's staff for that. I only serve tables."

"Name your price. I just want to talk."

"That's not possible," I reply flatly. "I'll have the bartender send you the best bottle we have."

I go get it, bring it back, and pour it quickly, avoiding eye contact. He must not recognize me. He must not remember me if he ends up marrying Estrella. If he does, those two will never leave the house.

"Are you very young?" he asks suddenly.

"When you're in need, age doesn't matter much."

"Are you underage?"

"No."

"Do they give you the tips I leave here?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"I've been coming here for years, and it wasn't until last year that I first noticed you. I thought you were the daughter of one of the workers."

"My shift's over. If you'll excuse me."

"Am I boring you?"

"My boyfriend's waiting for me outside."

"Is that so? Where is he?"

"Thank you for the drink. Good night."

I leave. I change, say goodbye to the boss, and step out onto the street. A light drizzle. No taxis in sight. I walk a few blocks. A car slows down beside me. I don't need to look to know who it is. I take off my earbuds when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Can I give you a ride? I'm the one who held you up, after all."

"Thanks, but no. I live nearby."

He laughs. The sound of it tells me he doesn't believe me.

"Around here? Only rich people live around here. And your boyfriend — did he vanish into thin air?"

I stop. I turn around.

"I didn't want to be rude, but I see you're not going to quit. You're a stranger. I'd never get into the car of someone I don't know. I was polite, but that's enough. And if you want to complain to my boss, go right ahead."

A taxi pulls up as if luck itself answered me. I get in without looking back.

When I get home, something's off. A car I know all too well is parked out front. The lock has been changed. I circle around to the hidden side of the house where an old ladder covered in vines sits against the wall. Dad left it there in case anyone ever needed to get in without making noise. I climb up and slip through the window.

My room is a wreck.

The door has been broken open. They forced their way in.

My chest burns.

I storm downstairs, but the voices in the living room stop me cold.

"Mr. Linares, we've been so looking forward to your visit. My daughter has been talking about you for days," my stepmother says in that fake voice that turns my stomach.

"Mother, how embarrassing — don't say that," Estrella says, letting out a coy breath of false modesty.

"I'll go get the appetizers," my stepmother says, but on her way out, she runs into me. We lock eyes. She grabs my arm, but I don't give in. I wrench myself free.

"We need to talk."

"About what? About how you kicked me out of my own home? About how you broke into my room and smashed my door?"

She looks at me — desperate, for the first time.

"Keep your voice down. I'll give you the new key. I'll call the locksmith... okay, sweetheart? Don't make a scene..."

Her sugary tone leaves me stunned.

And then I understand.

Estrella and Mr. Linares are standing in the living room doorway. They're watching us.

My stepmother's mask has slipped... right in front of the man who could decide her future.

And in that moment, Fernando Linares stares at me... as if he's just seen a ghost.

I avoid looking him in the face. I don't want him reading my eyes or discovering how broken I am inside. I just exhale in resignation.

"If you'll excuse us? I'll take my daughter to her room," my stepmother says with a kind smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"I didn't know you had two daughters," Mr. Linares remarks, in that voice of his that always sounds like he's passing judgment on everything he sees. And it infuriates me. My blood boils at the way they talk about me as if I'm not standing right here, as if my life is just some irrelevant detail.

"She doesn't," I reply without looking at any of them, my voice steady. "I'm her stepdaughter."

Without another word, they head back to the living room, laughing at some stupid comment from Estrella. I go upstairs with my stepmother. I sit on the bed, still damp, still trembling. She stays on her feet, as if coming any closer might contaminate her. She tosses the keys at me. I catch them and pocket them without meeting her gaze.

"Don't ruin this for your sister. Do you think your father would've allowed it?"

The words make my skin prickle. I feel a hollowness, a sharp ache in my chest.

"Don't even mention him. If he were alive... believe me, the one attending the best schools would be me. Not Estrella."

She crosses her arms, feigning calm.

"Is that what upsets you? You have nothing to throw in my face. Your father was the one who froze everything until the reading of the will. All we have is this house."

"Don't give me that. Working the way you do, the two of you live like millionaires. You hired a maid just to keep up appearances."

"That's so Mr. Linares thinks we have money. All of it comes from my savings. Soon we won't even have enough to eat. That's why I want Estrella to get married. And if she does... maybe we'll leave this house to you. All yours."

I go quiet, processing that last sentence.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. But don't ruin anything."

She lets out a long breath. And for a moment, there's something in her eyes that unsettles me. Pity? Regret?

"You look so much like her... like your mother."

And then it all makes sense. I squeeze the keys in my fist.

"It must've been awful for you," I say, "seeing me every single day and being reminded that my father loved someone else. A woman you could never be."

She stands frozen, lips parted.

"If you ever wondered why I hate you so much... there's your answer," she says, turning to leave.

I already knew. I'd always known. But hearing her say it out loud is like being slapped with a truth that burns.

When she's gone, I sit in silence. My books are scattered across the floor. I pick them up carefully, but it doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters. I close the door and wedge a chair against it. Even so, I can't sleep well. I feel vulnerable. Exposed. Watched.

The next morning, the house is silent. As always.

I walk farther than usual to catch a cheaper bus. I want to save more. I need to get out of here. My backpack is heavy, but what weighs on me most is the uncertainty of my future.

I get to school. At the break, I pull out a container of steamed vegetables. Everyone else eats like they haven't got a care in the world. Some play around like kids; others make out in dark corners. One group has a table spread like a buffet. I sit in a corner with my cheap container. I eat without looking at anyone. Without talking. Invisible.

I finish eating. I pack everything away. I put in my earbuds, but no music plays. I just need silence. I walk toward the nightclub.

I change in the locker room, same as every day. I put on the clothes that hide the real me and bring out the character of Lulu. I start my shift. At least Mr. Linares didn't report me. If he had, I'd already be out on the street.

Then I'm called to one of the most exclusive rooms. A private lounge. The moment I step inside, something tells me this place is different from the rest.

The light is dim. There's a thick, uncomfortable silence. Three men sit in the room. One smokes. Another scrolls through his phone. The third... doesn't move.

I ask what they'd like to drink. I jot down their orders quickly.

"Do you need company?" I ask, as protocol requires.

"No," one of them answers, his voice commanding.

It's him. The one in the corner. I can't see him clearly, but his presence fills the room. My skin prickles.

I step out to prepare the drinks. My hands are shaking. Something tells me I need to be careful. This is the kind of client who, if you anger him, doesn't just cost you your job. He can make you disappear.

I return with the tray. I set the drinks down with care. The two men on either side take their glasses. The one in the corner doesn't. He just watches me. His eyes follow me like blades.

"If that's everything... I'll take my leave," I murmur, turning to go.

"Out."

The word hits my back like a shockwave. I pick up my pace. But it wasn't meant for me. The other two men file out quickly, as if they understood without question. They leave me alone with him.

Then I hear it.

A voice I know. Dark. Inescapable.

"Who would've thought a Carpio would be working in a nightclub?"

And then, the killing blow.

"Does your father know his precious daughter works in a bar?"

The air drains from my lungs. My legs nearly buckle. I turn around slowly...