[La Estrella]

La Estrella means the Star in Spanish, and oh, how fitting that name is. I couldn't find a more perfect word to describe her even if I tried. She isn't just pretty, pretty is common, boring. She is a breathtaking vision, radiant, emanating light from the inside out. 

The Star. It is a stage name that holds a weighty promise, as if she can shine bright and make the deepest wishes of everyone in attendance come true.

When Isabel takes the stage, her presence is an electrifying current that sweeps over the crowd. She steps into the spotlight that casts a tantalizing glow over her, her silhouette briefly teasing the crowd before she emerges like a moon goddess, a celestial being draped in allure and confidence.

The dim lights cast shimmering halos on her, as if the heavens themselves have cast their gaze upon her. A leotard, adorned with a constellation of glistening crystals, clings to her every curve, and her hair - a cascade of midnight waves dusted with silver glitter or stardust - flows like a river of silk down her shoulders.

My jaw drops and all I can do is look on with admiration.

As the first notes of the music swell, a haunting melody begins. I know this song. It seems to flow through my veins, connecting me to her in an almost primal way. We've danced to it, we've practised together. It's ours. Hers and mine.

La Estrella moves with an ethereal elegance. It draws me in, like gravity. She executes each step with a precision that bespeakes countless hours of practice, her body a manifestation of dedication and raw talent. I am proud of her.

I'm also a little tipsy. Okay, a lot. I can't help myself.

I feel ensnared by her performance, and as the beat courses through me, I find myself mimicking her movements from the dancefloor. One, two, a twirl, a sway - it is a clumsy attempt to join her in this performance, to bridge the gap between her world and mine. I move closer to the stage, my gaze locked onto hers.

She winks.

I smile.

The world around us seems to hold its breath, as if even the universe acknowledges her as its luminous heart. Her every movement is an invocation, a bewitching spell that casts everyone under her thrall. And yet, as I watch, a shadow taints the edges of this enchantment.

Two men nearby engage in a conversation, their voices dripping with a toxic cocktail of lust and entitlement. Their words seep into my ears, a venomous reminder of the darkness that can infiltrate even the most radiant moments.

"I wonder how much Victor would sell her for," one of them remarks, his tone as slimy as his intent.

His companion chuckles, a sound that grates against my nerves. "Probably enough to buy half the city. You know how these things go."

The man leers, his eyes hungry and objectifying. "It's a price I'd gladly pay, amigo."

"'course you would, Leopoldo. You're the only one who can afford it."

My heart clenches, a mixture of anger and nausea roiling within me. How dare they reduce her to a price tag? How dare they diminish the brilliance that is La Estrella to a mere transaction? This is my sister they are talking about! My fists tighten and I have to move and put a significant distance between them and myself, to make sure I won't punch them in their nasty faces.

Isabel wouldn't like that, but then again, I don't like the notion that my sister is pimped by Victor, her boss.

Is she?

The words the men exchanged hung heavy in the air like a storm cloud threatening to blot out the brilliance of our starlit night. A sharp pang of fear and concern pierces my heart.

Can it be? Can my sister, my Isabel, be caught in a web of exploitation that I can't fathom? Have I been blind all this time?

No, no. I refuse to accept that narrative.

Isabel is not a victim. She is not a pawn. She is La Estrella, a true force of nature, a tempest of beauty and strength. Her resilient spirit works tirelessly to provide for us, for our father. His treatments, his pills, all the tests and the diagnostics, all the doctors... they cost a fortune. But Isabel Ferreiro was never one to back down when it came to him. Or to me.

Underneath all her glitter, I know her body bears bruises from all her training, her knees are marked by the hard stage floor, her wrists pained by the constant twisting, her back aching from endless hours in high heels. These are no symbols of surrender. My Isabel is a warrior covered in battle scars. She refuses to be defeated. She wouldn't let them break her.

She loves us too much to let herself be consumed by darkness.

And I, her sister, love her too much to let her fall.

As the music soars to its crescendo and the crowd erupts in applause, I feel a renewed sense of determination. With a heart heavy yet resolute, I step away from the stage. No matter the challenges ahead, I will stand by her side. For the world might see her as La Estrella, a star in the dark expanse, but I know her for who she truly is - a beacon of strength and hope, lighting up my world with her brilliance.

I move past the crowd heading for the club's rear end and then climb up the dimly lit staircase that leads backstage. Anticipation grips me and I can't wait to be around my sister again now that the first part of her show has ended. The next one will begin soon, but in the meanwhile, Isabel is mine. Each step feels like a heartbeat, quickening as I near the backstage dressing rooms. I long to share in her triumph, and to make sure she's the same girl I grew up next to. Not the woman those men suggested they could have for the right price.

There's no right price for that.

As I reach the top of the stairs, a soft exhale escapes my lips, and I push open the door to the backstage hallway. The narrow passage stretches ahead of me, shrouded in shadows cast by the dim bulbs lining the walls. My heart races as I move forward, following the delicate notes of distant laughter and muffled conversations that hint at the presence of people. A half-open door at the end of the hallway beckons me, its soft light spilling onto the floor like an inviting carpet.

But, as I draw closer, the timbre of voices reaches my ears, and brings me to an unintentional halt. My instincts sharpen, and I hesitate, one foot poised to enter the room. I am caught between curiosity and the urge to pull back, a mere observer at the threshold.

I wait, listening to Isabel say: "Muchas gracias, Victor."

"No need to thank me, guapa," a man answers. I've heard so much about Victor.

Not all good.

Not all bad.

Fine, mostly bad.

His voice is deep and smooth, weaving through the air like a silk thread, entwined with Isabel's soft tones. "You truly were phenomenal. So much so that Cortez asked for your company tonight."

An unspoken tension curls around my heart.

Cortez did what?

Could the important client Victor kept talking about be the man I saw?

Did he... did he buy my sister?

"El Palacio Hotel, the blue suite," Victor continues nonechalantly. "It's where he likes to hold his VIP parties every other month. Lots of luxury. Opulence. They reserve it just for him."

I peek through the crack between the door and its frame. Isabel turns her back to him and leans over the vanity. "Fancy," she says, flatly, uninterested.

Victor cocks his head to the side. "I sense some sarcasm."

"You do?" Isabel raises an eyebrow at him provocatively through the mirror. "You must be a psychic. Tell me, does it run in the family?" Bathed in the soft light of the vanity, she tends to her earring.

"Sarcastic indeed. A whole lotta sarcastic. Need I remind you not to use this tone with me?"

"I'm sorry," Isabel murmurs. Her voice is tinged with something unusual to her. Fear. How has Victor managed to instil it inside my sister?

"You're going," he says. Not an offer anymore, nor a question. It's a decision already taken on her behalf. "It's all been arranged for you, of course. Get ready after the show. Go to El Palacio and have your fun. Oh, and make me some money while you're at it."

Isabel looks at him with pleading dark eyes. "This isn't my idea of fun, Victor. Lo sabes."

Victor inches closer to her and she tenses up, but she has nowhere to go, no place to escape. His moves are deliberately slow, torturous and foreboding. His presence is looming.

And then, a shift - his hand on her waist, a forceful gesture, turning her to him. "Si, lo se. Cortez is a fat and ugly old bastard. I doubt his prick even works. How about I show you a good time, huh?"

The moment grows more vivid as Victor's aggression escalates. He pushes Isabel down before him, his actions far from gentle, undoing the belt of his pants.

No.

No, no, no.

Nonono, stop! I think. My heart races, pounding in my chest, as a rush of fear and anger intertwines within me.

Isabel shakes her head. "Not tonight, Victor. My baby sister has come to see me, and my next dance starts in five minutes."

"I won't even take that long," he insists, getting his cock out. A vulgar thing, small and soft and pale and wrinkled like a writhing worm somebody stepped on.

I think I will throw up. Isabel isn't anywhere as shocked as I am. Why? Why isn't she? How many times has she seen it before?

"Less," she offers back defiantly, despite her fear. "I don't doubt that." Among her gifts, Isabel can count remaining sassy even at the gloomiest of times.

"What did ya say?" Victor barks, holding Isabel's head so roughly between his hands I fear he will rip it off. He's pulling her towards his exposed parts like a madman. The room cracks with tension. It is as if the consistency of the air itself has changed, making it impossible to breathe. I am suffocating. "What did you say to me, bitch?"

A shattering sound, like a crescendo of glass breaking, echoes through the room as I involuntarily drop the empty tequila glasses I have been holding.

The world around me, the door, the hallway, everything feels distant as the gazes of Victor and Isabel shift toward me. A moment of revelation crashes over me, raw and unfiltered. My presence, my unintentional intrusion, a witness to a scene that should have remained hidden.

Isabel's eyes go wide. This is the moment she never wanted to live. "Mijita?"

I either think it or I say it, I am not sure, but the only thing in my numb mind is: "Fuck."

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