The late afternoon sun cast long, skeletal shadows across the parking lot of Rent-A-Hand Cleaning Services. For Star, fresh from the suffocating lectures of Crestfall University, this place wasn't just her father's workplace; it was the stage for a mission she'd been planning for weeks. Today, the evidence would be hers.
She paused at the entrance gate, her gaze fixed on the security guard. His presence was an obstacle, his baton a symbol of the authority she needed to bypass. Her eyes landed on a large stone by the path. A plan, sharp and immediate, formed in her mind.
With a determined stride, she walked directly into it, letting the impact jar her leg. A loud, piercing scream ripped from her throat, echoing across the concrete. The guard's head snapped up. He was at her side in seconds.
"Are you alright, ma'am?" he asked, genuine concern tightening his voice.
Star let out another cry, louder this time, and feigned a collapse, clutching at the guard's chest for support. She let her weight sag against him, her other hand moving with a life of its own.
"Can I get you to the nurse?" he asked, trying to steady her.
"Non… no," she whimpered, her voice trembling with practiced pain. "I'm fine. It's just a bruise. I'm… used to those." She offered a weak, polite smile, the very picture of a clumsy, embarrassed student. "I'm here to wait for my father… Tomas."
The guard's stern expression softened. "Ah, Tomas. It's almost knock-off time. Just head inside and wait on the benches in the lobby." He gestured toward the main building, his eyes lingering with residual concern as she limped away.
The moment she was past him, her gait smoothed. She glanced down at her palm, where his pass card now lay nestled against her skin. A cold smirk touched her lips.
She used the card to slip through the lobby door, shutting it silently behind her. The receptionist was already packing up, oblivious to the intruder. Star moved with a predator's grace, staying low, crawling past the desk until she was out of sight. Once in the corridor, she rose, wiped the dust from her knees, and slipped into the women's locker room.
The air inside was thick with the scent of cheap soap and steam. Lockers clanged, women chatted, and water ran in the showers. Star navigated the rows of lockers, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
"Jeez, you're going home, why put on make-up?" she muttered, irritated by a woman preening in a nearby mirror.
She spotted it. Locker 147. A small, triumphant "Gotcha!" escaped her lips. She knelt, pulling a small clipper from her jacket pocket. She inserted it into the lock, her fingers working with a quiet, practiced skill.
"Hey, can I grab some soap? Mine's finished."
The voice, close and casual, froze Star's blood. Footsteps were approaching. She retracted her hand and slid behind the edge of a neighboring locker column, pressing herself against the cold metal, holding her breath.
The woman whose locker she was breaking into—Frieda—appeared, a colleague trailing behind her. Frieda stopped, frowning at her locker. "Did I leave this open?" she asked, confused.
"I don't know," the colleague replied, crossing her arms over her chest. "I just want soap."
Frieda handed over a bar, waving off the incident. "It's payday, you know. You have to pay me back for that," she said.
This evil woman is stingy, Star thought, rolling her eyes. It's just soap.
The two women lingered for what felt like an eternity, their conversation a torturous hum in Star's ears. Finally, with a click, Frieda's locker closed, and her footsteps faded toward the showers.
Star waited a beat, then emerged. The locker room was almost empty now. From the corner of her eye, she saw the back of Frieda's figure disappearing into a side room. She wore a skirt so short it was barely there, and the sight made Star's lip curl.
She crouched back at Locker 147, re-picked the lock, and rifled through the contents. A wallet, makeup, keys—but no phone. Frustration boiled over. She slammed the locker lid shut and leaned against it, her mind racing.
She didn't leave with anything. Where is her phone?
A flash of the image she'd just seen—Frieda in that skimpy skirt—seared into her mind. A cold realization dawned on her. She took slow, deliberate steps from behind the locker rows, her eyes scanning for any remaining staff. Peering around the final corner into the small break room, her blood turned to ice.
There, on the communal lunch table, was Frieda. And on top of her, a man Star knew better than anyone in the world.
Her father.
A wave of disgust so potent it nearly choked her washed over her. Her hand moved on autopilot, pulling out her phone, the camera app already open. She took picture after picture, the silent shutter a staccato beat of betrayal.
"You're so delicious, Frieda," her father's voice, thick with drunken pleasure, drifted across the room. He was fingering her, and Frieda's moan was a low, ugly sound.
Star felt a heavy rock drop into the pit of her stomach. She instantly regretted being there, seeing this.
"Better than your wife?" Frieda purred.
A cruel laugh. "Far better than that useless maid."
Star's knuckles turned white around her phone. Useless maid.
He bit her neck playfully. "I love you, Frieda… so much."
This wasn't just a fling. This was an affair. Star switched her phone to record, the red light a silent witness to the destruction of her family.
"When are we moving in?" Frieda asked, her voice a breathy whisper. "The twins want their rights."
The twins? The words were a knife twisting in Star's gut.
"Soon, babe… soon," Tomas murmured, his voice dripping with false affection. "And once you move in, Louise and her daughter will be our maids."
Star's vision blurred with rage. Frieda. Her mother's best friend. This was Crestfall. Every man, every woman, for themselves. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain still, to keep recording.
Suddenly, a door slammed somewhere in the main lobby. Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor. Tomas froze. He scrambled off the table, looking for a place to hide, and bolted toward the locker room.
He rounded the corner and came to a dead stop.
Star was standing there, phone in hand.
"Star?" he choked out, his face draining of all color.
Before he could react, the locker room door burst open. The security guard from the gate stood there, his face a mask of fury.
"Gentlemen, this is the ladies' room!" Frieda shrieked from the break room doorway, half-hidden, her head the only thing visible.
"Did you see a girl… yay high, with a backpack?" the guard barked. "She stole my pass card."
Frieda shook her head innocently. "Everyone's gone. I'm all alone here."
The guard's eyes swept the room. They passed over the locker row where Tomas and Star were hidden like a deer in the headlights. After a tense moment, he grunted and left.
Frieda shut the door with a sigh of relief. "Babe, let's finish what we…" Her voice trailed off as Tomas emerged from the lockers, dragging a girl by the collar of her jacket.
Frieda's face contorted in shock and embarrassment. She clutched her bra, trying to cover herself.
"Who is this?" she demanded.
"No one," Star spat, her voice dripping with contempt. She yanked herself free from her father's grip. "I was just leaving."
She was out the door before Tomas could form a coherent thought, leaving him to face the mistress he'd just been exposed to.
Star arrived home to the familiar, comforting scent of her mother's cooking. Louise stood at the stove, humming softly, lost in her work. A wave of love and fierce protectiveness washed over Star. She smiled, leaning against the doorframe.
It was just a matter of time now. She would free her mother from that abusive, inconsiderate man. From the man who was cheating on her with her best friend.
"Hi, Mom," she said, her voice soft as she entered the kitchen.
Louise turned, her tired face lighting up. "Oh, you're back! I was just making your favorite."
Star moved to lift the pot lid, but a gentle knock on her head stopped her.
"Undress first," Louise chided.
"Ouch, Mom!" Star laughed, rubbing her head. "I thought making my favorite meant I got a taste."
"Go," Louise laughed. "We don't have enough soap to wash clothes every day."
Star retreated to her room, the laughter fading as she closed the door. She fell back onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. She pulled out her phone and replayed the recording.
"...the twins want their rights."
The twins? The word echoed in her mind. A new, terrible puzzle piece.
A message buzzed onto her screen.
In the alley. Now.
She didn't even stop to change, sprinting out the front door.
"I'll be right back, Mom!" she called.
"Dinner will be ready soon!" Louise's voice followed her out.
In the dim alley, her childhood best friend, Lucian, leaned against his car. He lived uptown, in a world of privilege, but he always made time for her here. She threw her arms around him, hugging him hard. He inhaled the scent of her hair, a secret he held close to his heart.
To Star, he was her best friend. To Lucian, she was everything. A love he couldn't bring himself to confess, terrified of losing what they already had.
"Why are you late?" she asked, pulling back.
"Got caught up with work," he said, handing her a plastic bag. "Here's the stock you asked for."
"Thank you. I don't know how I'll ever repay you," she said, her smile genuine.
That smile. For him, it was the sun breaking through the clouds. "Don't worry about it," he said softly. "Come on, let me buy you dinner."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, her smile faltering with genuine regret. "Mom made my favorite. She'd kill me if I didn't eat it."
Disappointment flickered in his eyes, but he masked it. "It's okay. Tomorrow, then?"
"Yes, tomorrow for sure."
He kissed her forehead. "Greet Ms. Louise for me."
She watched his car disappear into the flow of traffic before turning toward home, the plastic bag swinging from her hand.
She opened the front door, and the world tilted.
Her father was on top of her mother, his fist raised. He brought it down with a sickening thud, shoving her to the floor. Louise cried out in pain.
A primal rage, hotter and more focused than anything she'd felt in the locker room, exploded inside Star. She didn't think. She moved.
She grabbed her father by the arm, yanking him off her mother with a strength born of fury. Before he could react, she drew back her fist and drove it into his face with every ounce of her being. He staggered back, crashing against the living room floor, blood spurting from his nose.
Star knelt beside her mother, helping her up. Louise winced, leaning on her daughter, her body trembling.
"Just look at your stupid daughter!" Tomas spat, clutching his bleeding nose. His eyes burned with fury and disbelief. Lately, she'd grown a spine. Lately, she fought back. He had no idea what had gotten into her. Becoming stupid and disrespectful.
Star looked at him, her face a mask of cold hatred. Her knuckles were white, not from the punch, but from the evidence she held in her pocket.