Read carefully, Principessa.

IF YOU LOOK AT HER, I'LL GOUGE YOUR EYES OUT.

IF YOU TOUCH HER, I'LL RIP OUT YOUR HEART.

IF YOU MAKE HER CRY, I'LL ERASE YOUR NAME.

They say I have no heart.

They lie.

I have one.

And it bears her name.

THAT'S WHY NOBODY TOUCHES HER.

Adrian Ferraro

Rule #1:

If you touch her, you die.

I wake up like I do every morning. For some people, having a family is a source of joy — coming home to a kiss, a hug, a "Congratulations" when you do something right. That's not how it works for me.

For as long as I can remember, I've never been shown affection. They've always made it clear that I was a mistake, something that shouldn't have come into this world, that shouldn't have been born. But they've squeezed every drop of use out of that mistake.

I went to school like any other kid. I have records, papers, good grades — but I only made it through high school. They wouldn't let me go further. Since I was little, my mother taught me to do everything around the house. Always cleaning, organizing. Anything out of place, anything I didn't get done — punishment. No food, no going out, not even time to study.

Today I'm nineteen years old, and I know the routine by heart. Clean, organize. Every assignment from my brother's college courses — I'm the one who does them. He gets good grades because of me, and I always hear my mother say:

"You want an education? Your brother gives you the chance."

They just deny the fact that he passes because of me. I always scored nines and tens; he scraped by with sixes and got praised. In my case, they said I copied, that it wasn't an achievement. They always find something wrong with what I do, and I've gotten used to it.

My name is Ambar Acosta. I'm nineteen years old — a person who would've preferred to have no family at all and grow up alone rather than end up with the one I got.

I get up like every morning. Breakfast is ready and on the table. I watch them come downstairs — Estela, my mother; Norberto, my father; and Pablo, my brother.

"I hope breakfast tastes decent," Estela said.

"Don't expect too much from the idiot," Norberto said.

"Let's try it," Estela said.

All three took a bite. My mother and father spat it out. The only one who swallowed was Pablo. He and I used to be close — he always helped me — until he stopped. He doesn't treat me badly, but his indifference hurts.

"You're an idiot. You can't do anything right," Estela said. "I hope the house is at least clean when we get back."

"I want lunch to be better," Norberto said. "The house spotless. And you're not allowed to eat. If I find out you've eaten, you know what happens."

Of course I know. Beatings. Belt strikes. Locked in the attic — which is how I became claustrophobic. Pablo moved toward me, but my mother stopped him.

"I saw a paper on your nightstand," Estela told him. "Have her do it."

Pablo looked at me, sighed, and nodded.

"It's on my nightstand," he said. "Do it for me. Make sure it's good — you know the drill."

He left without another word, along with my mother. Off to go shopping, to eat — as if that were possible for me. I put the laundry in the machine, washed the breakfast dishes. This is my life. It's always the same. Everything I do is wrong, and I've come to believe it myself. The floors, the furniture — everything has to look perfect and shine. I brought Pablo's assignment to the table and worked on it while I cooked.

I have to match his handwriting. No one can know I do his work. According to my mother, women should only do this kind of thing, and besides, her son is an example. She always tells me:

"You want to study? Your brother helps you by letting you do his assignments so you can feel useful. He doesn't actually need you."

The truth is different. Without me, he wouldn't have even gotten into college. Once, because I was in a rush, I didn't copy his handwriting. The professor caught it and he failed. My punishment was no food, beatings, locked away. It's always the same. But after so much practice, his handwriting comes to me naturally now.

I finished his assignment and the cooking just in time. The three of them arrived — my father from work, my brother and mother from their shopping. Pablo walked to the table and picked up his paper.

"Good job," he said with a smile.

"Was this sitting here?" Norberto said, pointing at the pages.

"I didn't have time to put it away. I was cooking and—"

A slap silenced me. My father struck me hard enough to split my lip. My mother just smiled. My father nodded.

"You're an ungrateful, irresponsible brat," Estela said. "He lets you help him, and this is how you repay him."

"Leave her alone, Mom," Pablo said. "She's not worth the trouble."

"This food better be good," Norberto said.

All three tasted it. I never sit at the table or eat with them. I have to wait for permission to eat — after they've had their fill, sitting in a corner of the kitchen with whatever scraps they leave behind. Nothing more is allowed. Norberto savored the food, searching for a flaw. He seemed to find one, because he spat it out.

"It's—" Pablo started, giving me a small smile that my father made him drop.

"Needs salt," Norberto said.

"Seasoning. This is disgusting," Estela said.

"You're such an idiot!" Norberto said.

He threw the plate at me, and it left an angry red welt on my right arm. I was burned.

"You can't do anything right, stupid," Norberto said.

"As punishment, you'll clean the basement," Estela said.

"No... not the basement."

Norberto grabbed me by the hair and dragged me down the stairs. He shoved me inside and tossed me a rag.

"You'll clean this basement with that rag," he said. "I want it spotless, or your punishment will be worse next time."

He left without another word and locked the door behind him. I hate the basement. It's closed in like the attic. I feel like the air is running out, like the walls are closing in, like everything is going dark. But I have to obey. So I just started cleaning.

I don't know what time it is. The basement is gleaming. The door opened — Estela stood there.

"You did a good job, stupid. Here."

She threw a bag at me. Inside was a dress.

"For me?"

"We have guests tonight. You're off the hook for cooking — you're so bad at it we'd rather buy. Tonight you'll be our daughter. Decent, refined, well-behaved. You won't speak unless spoken to. You'll dress properly and make yourself presentable. You'll attend to the guests. Afterward, you'll clean everything up. And if you misbehave, you don't sleep. Now — what do you say?"

"Yes, Mom."

"And the rest?"

"Thank you, Mom."

"Now go get yourself cleaned up. You stink."

I went upstairs to my room and started getting ready. The dress was actually nice.

I pulled my hair into a ponytail. Light makeup, but enough to cover the dark circles and the signs of neglect. My hair took a while, but it turned out decent. I looked in the mirror and didn't recognize the reflection. I'd never seen myself like this before.

"Wow — if I actually put in the effort, I look pretty."

"Too pretty," Pablo said, leaning against the doorframe.

I turned to look at him and lowered my head.

"You don't deserve to be at this party," Pablo said. "If it weren't for the fact that you clean, cook, and do my homework, I'd have already suggested selling you. You're not good for much else, honestly."

I stayed quiet. I wouldn't cry. I'd been hearing the same things since I was a child, and I'd gotten used to being seen that way. Even I saw myself that way — a girl who couldn't do anything right.

"You know what occurred to me today?" he said. "I'm going to go through with it. Sell your virginity."

I lifted my gaze. He stepped closer with a grin and touched my cheek.

"Yeah, that's what I'll do. I'll get money out of it, and besides — what do you need it for? You'll never be free of us."

He laughed and walked away. I dropped to the floor, holding back the urge to cry. I'd known this day would come. I wouldn't even have a say over my own body.

I pulled myself together and went downstairs before someone came looking for me. Straight to the kitchen. I started arranging the trays for serving.

"Don't let me catch you eating," Estela said. "This food isn't for you. You don't deserve it."

"Yes, ma'am."

She grabbed my hair and yanked, forcing me to look at her.

"Tonight, unfortunately, I'm your mother. Show some respect, brat."

"Yes, Mom."

She let go and went to the living room.

Adrian Ferraro

I'm twenty-eight years old. I'm in the business — the boss of this territory. Crossing me is like stepping into a tornado. I level everything in my path. I've got a problem: I need a wife or I don't inherit my uncle's fortune. But I don't want just anyone. I want someone beautiful, well-mannered, obedient. I doubt I'll find that.

Tonight I have a meeting at the Acosta residence. They're a well-known family — not exactly wealthy, but they own a textile company. I'm their silent partner. So here I am.

I stepped out of the car. Acosta was at the front door, greeting everyone.

"Welcome," Norberto said. "I hope you enjoy the dinner."

"Thank you."

I walked in, greeted the other guests, and sat down on one of the couches. That's when I noticed a beautiful girl approaching — well-dressed, tending to the guests — until she stopped in front of me with the tray. I took something out of courtesy.

"Thank you."

She smiled. A faded smile, you might call it. Then she moved on to serve the others. Acosta sat beside me. She headed to the kitchen, her brother following behind.

Ambar

I walked into the kitchen and started setting up the next round. Pablo appeared beside me.

"I talked to my friends," he said. "Tonight you lose your virginity. Mom and Dad will be out. The winner gets to come to your room. Wait for him looking your best. Not that it matters much, but I think this'll be the only time anyone actually pays attention to you."

He laughed. A voice pulled him away — our father's.

"Go introduce yourself to my associates, Pablo," Norberto said. "Your future depends on it."

"Sure, Dad."

He walked off. Norberto picked up a glass of wine and handed it to me.

"Taste it. I want to make sure it's good."

"Dad, you know I don't drink."

"Do you want me to ruin that face of yours while we have guests?"

I took the glass, had a sip, and immediately chased it with water. He tasted it himself.

"Delicious. You wouldn't know — almost forgot, you're not from this world. Bring out the next round."

He walked away. I went out with the tray and caught their conversation.

Narrator

While Ambar served the next round, the men talked.

"Mr. Ferraro," Norberto said, "how's business been?"

"Is it true you have to get married to inherit your uncle's estate?" one of the men asked.

"That's right," Adrian said.

"Seems unfair," another man said. "He had no heirs — why not just leave it to you outright?"

"Wanted to make sure Adrian produced an heir of his own," the first man said.

They laughed.

"You have plenty of women of good standing to choose from," Norberto said. "Any of them would be happy to marry you."

"Speaking of business," Adrian said, "when are you going to pay what you owe me?"

"This is a celebration," Norberto said. "We'll discuss that another day."

"Sweetheart, sit down next to your brother," Estela said.

Ambar sat down. Pablo leaned in and whispered in her ear.

"How about a two-for-one deal? The pairs are tied so far."

He laughed. Ambar lowered her head and trembled, fidgeting with the hem of her dress, trying to hold it together and not let it show. Adrian noticed — and made a decision.

"Let's make a deal, Norberto," Adrian said.

"I'm listening."

"Give me your daughter, and I'll forgive your debt."

Pablo choked on his drink. Estela smiled. Ambar trembled harder. A wedding? Leaving with a stranger? Could that possibly be worse than staying with her family?

"My daughter is worth a great deal," Norberto said. "She's a virgin."

Ambar's face flushed. Having her father announce that in front of everyone, as if she weren't even in the room — she hated it.

"Your debt is substantial too, Norberto," Adrian said. "I won't be giving you any more money. Your daughter for your debt. Nothing more."

"Let me discuss it with the family," Norberto said.

Adrian nodded. The evening continued until every guest had left. Ambar sat in the same spot, frozen, not having moved a muscle. The three of them sat across from her.

"And here I was planning to auction her off," Pablo said.

"Cancel that," Norberto said. "Having Adrian forgive our debt is already a windfall. Besides, could we really ask more for her?"

"He's right — she's not worth that much," Estela said. "But maybe we could squeeze out a little extra, or at least try."

"Have her prove to him she's a virgin and willing to do whatever he wants," Pablo said.

"Ambar," Norberto said.

Ambar looked up.

"You won't be sleeping tonight," Norberto said. "You'll clean everything — floors, windows, furniture, dishes. You'll have breakfast ready for us. You won't eat — you're not allowed. Tomorrow morning, after you've set breakfast out, you'll make yourself up as best you can. Attractive, not trashy — but enough to tempt him. You'll go to his office. I want you to seduce him, to entice him. I want money on top of the deal. And if you don't pull it off, Pablo will auction you — and not just once. Every weekend. So choose: one man forever, or a different one every day."

"I hope you clean up well tomorrow," Estela said.

"If you don't get it done tomorrow," Pablo said, "the winner of the auction comes in the afternoon."

The three of them stood and left Ambar alone. The lights in their bedrooms went out, and Ambar broke down. She cried with rage, with anger. She was about to lose her dignity — the one thing they hadn't taken from her yet. They wouldn't even let her choose who she married. Without a word, she began to clean before one of them came downstairs to scold her.