Betrayed by my Stepsister, Saved by Love

The bar pulsed with life, loud, raw, and wild. The crowd moved with reckless energy, and the echo of "With You" by Omah Lay and Davido thundered through the high-mounted speakers, shaking the dimly lit room.

Dull green lights bounced off the chrome surfaces, while alcohol flowed as freely as the sweat on dancing bodies.

Girls in miniskirts, bump shorts, and see-through tops walked up and down, hips swaying, faces caked in layers of makeup that made them look like mannequins under the neon lights.

Their eyes scanned the crowd hungrily, hunting for a good catch. Some wore no bras. Others, probably no underwear. The way they flirted and whispered into men's ears made Star cringe.

 "Silly bitches," Star muttered to herself, wiping a glass absentmindedly as she watched from behind the bar.

But then she paused, sighing inwardly.

"Why am I even insulting them?" she thought.

"They're proud prostitutes. Yes, they break homes… but if men didn't chase them, would they be here in the first place?"

She shook her head. "Life moves on… everyone's playing survival."

Her thoughts were interrupted.

"Bar attendant! A shot of whisky," a voice barked from across the counter.

Star looked up and met the eyes of a young man, clean-cut, dark-skinned, maybe in his early twenties. He looked angry. Or maybe exhausted. His jaw was clenched, and his fingers tapped impatiently on the counter.

"That's a thousand naira," she said calmly, reaching for the bottle.

The man didn't argue. He slapped a note on the counter.

"Here. Keep the change."

Star poured him a shot and slid it across. The man picked it up and downed it in one gulp. No flinch. No, thank you. Just pain and some ego.

She watched him briefly, sensing something was off, but said nothing. She had other customers to attend to, she was grateful for the tip, but before she could say thank you, the man was nowhere to be seen.

Since the burial of Peace, life had changed dramatically for Star. The house no longer felt like home. Her mother was gone, taken too soon by drugs and depression. And now, all she had was herself.

At seventeen, Star had been thrown into the deep end of adulthood. Chike, her stepfather, made it clear: he had done enough by giving her a roof over her head. Sponsorship? Out of the question.

 "I'm not sponsoring another man's daughter," he had said coldly, barely glancing in her direction, after she announced her admission into the university.

She knew that was out of Jealousy as his beloved daughter was yet to get one, and definitely there was no hope that she could ever pass her entry examination.

Star didn't argue. The shelter alone was a blessing. She knew better than to expect love or support from Chike. Or Purple. Her stepsister remained the same, flashy, self-centered, and determined to outshine everyone around her.

But Star had something she lacked: brains and grit. She had scored seven A's in her WAEC examination, the highest result ever recorded in her school's history. Her academic record was flawless. From JSS1 to SS3, she maintained first position every term.

When Mr. Williams, the British principal of her school, saw her WAEC result, he was stunned.

"Melvin Star, this is brilliant, beyond anything we've seen here. In my twelve years as the school principal, no one has ever come close," he said, eyes wide with pride.

Mr. Williams was a kind, refined man who read his PHD programme in England, in his early forties. He often spoke fondly of the place, the land of Fish and Chips, red buses, and black cabs, also famous for its educational institutes.

During a history lesson, Star once asked curiously

"Sir, why is it called Great Britain?"

He smiled thoughtfully.

 "Because it is the largest of the British Isles and includes England, Scotland, and Wales. It's not just a country. It's a symbol of historical power and influence."

That evening, Star couldn't sleep. She kept staring at the ceiling, her mind running wild with thoughts.

"How does the white man's land look?"

"What would it feel like to be a student of Oxford or Cambridge University?"

"Could someone like me ever reach there?"

She whispered to herself again, "The day I will set foot on the white man's land, that day…sure would be great."

On the final day of school, a day meant to be her happiest, was the day the tragedy struck. That was the day Peace died. It was a blow she wasn't ready for. It shattered her heart and stained the memory of her achievement. 

Yet, there was one light left in the tunnel.

That day, Mr. Williams, in the presence of everyone on her sendoff day has offered to sponsor her in the university for having the best result. Star couldn't believe it. She cried, not because she was sad, but because someone still believed in her. Someone saw her worth. She accepted it with a thankful heart and thanked the principal so much. 

That was the secret she was rushing home to share with her mother first, but unfortunately, fate was quick to deny her the joy.

Chike, using his influence and money, secured admission for Purple into the same university, and Star got admitted to study Biology Education, while Purple was in the Mass Communication department.

The thought of schooling under the same roof as Purple left a sour taste in Star's mouth. But she swallowed it. She was used to pain. Used to pretending everything was fine.

Now, with September around the corner and school resuming soon, Star worked tirelessly at one of Chike's clubs, the very same bar where broken men came to drown their regrets and pretty girls sold their bodies behind red curtains.

She served drinks, cleaned counters, dodged sleazy comments, and hid her pain behind forced smiles. Every naira she earned was saved. She had a dream, and no amount of noise, loss, or rejection was going to stop her.

But at night, when the bar emptied and the music stopped, reality hit her like a cold slap. Her mother was gone, and her birth was wrapped in mystery, as her stepfather barely acknowledged her. And Purple, her stepsister, treated her like filth.

Star would often sit alone in the staff changing room, staring at the mirror. Sometimes she whispered,

 "Will my story ever change?"

Other times, she wiped her tears and whispered something stronger:

 "One day, they will all see me and remember what they threw away."