Probably this looks like yet another fanfic based on one of the buzzworthy—if you can even call it that, haha—stories on DeviantArt by NewBeeTSF, which only just recently came to an end.
Well, I don’t know why, but I felt like marking the occasion somehow and, among other things, showing my personal respect to the author, with whom I had the honor of talking for a while. To be honest: as someone who creates similar stuff myself, I was really struck by the sheer amount of resources he pours into his works (and in that I saw myself, haha—well, as they say, if you don’t praise yourself, nobody will, but that’s not the point right now).
Anyway, so this intro doesn’t turn into yet another story, I’ll just say it simply: my congratulations on finishing this grand project, and I wish you success not only here, but in life as well 
'Damn it, wipe it up already!' furiously scrubbing the spilled milk off the tiled floor, Elena bent lower and lower, pressing the rag with such force as if she was trying to erase the very fact of her existence here. Sweat gathered on her temples, loose strands of hair fell forward, tickling her face, and her breasts, heavy under a tank top that gave her no support at all, swayed noticeably with every movement.
She paused, bracing herself against the floor to give her fingers a brief rest, though they already ached mercilessly, almost as much as her back. At that moment something rustled softly to the side, as if sliding over the tiles.
Elena whipped her head around: across the white squares of the floor a thin stream of milk stretched, running toward the refrigerator. And by the table, guiltily hiding his face in his paws, sat her striped old cat — Robert. The only inheritance from her past life.
— Mfffhhaydiooo… — she exhaled through her teeth, breaking into a whiny growl. — Damn you, Robert!
The cat pressed his ears flat but didn’t run away.
— Are you messing with me? — she went on, throwing the rag down and flailing her arms in despair. — We barely have any milk at all… and now it’s all on the floor!
A hoarse chuckle came from the next room.
— Fighting with the cat again, Lena? — the voice belonged to Lucia, a plump woman of about thirty-five, the “senior” in the blockhouse where Elena rented a room. She often liked to tease her with her “lessons,” playing the role of a mother.
Elena lifted her head and snapped back irritably:
— What else can I do? He knocks everything over!
Lucia, lazily leaning on the doorframe, measured her with a look from head to toe.
— You should’ve put him down already, — Lucia drawled, eyeing the cat with a crooked grin. — Old, useless, nothing but trouble. You barely have food for yourself, and you’re spilling milk for him.
Elena shot to her feet, and her tank top immediately stretched tight across her breasts. She caught Lucia’s gaze as it slid downward and came back up with a smirk.
— Don’t you dare say that, — Elena snapped, clenching her fists. — He… he’s the only one I have left.
— Left? — Lucia let out a chuckle. — God, the way you talk sometimes, like you had another life. What life, Lena? You’re just some girl from a filthy neighborhood who barely scrapes enough for food. And who soon owes Mister Alvarez.
She opened her mouth to argue. To say it wasn’t true, that just a year ago she sat in a leather chair with a glass of cognac, scolding subordinates for missed deadlines. Her voice then was steady and commanding, and even in an old body it made people tense up. But the words stuck in her throat. Her breasts rose heavily, reminding her of themselves, the straps of her tank top pressed against her shoulders, and instead of an angry tirade all that came out was a stifled sigh.
'Who am I going to prove this to? Lucia? Alvarez? Or the whole damn block… all they see in front of them is a cheap maid with a rag in her hands.'
Lucia snorted, as if she had read her thoughts.
— Exactly. And it’s stupid of you not to let Santiago get close to you. While you’re young you should use what nature gave you.
Elena felt something tear inside.
— What nature? I’m not… — she exhaled, feeling heat rush to her cheeks, but stopped herself, remembering just in time that no one here knew anything about her real past, nor about that mysterious doctor Pavel, nor about that strange operation where she was sure she’d wake up in a young male body. Nor about the traitor who screwed her over, slipping her instead of long-awaited strength and male energy this… Latina body in a poor barrio, offering her the humiliating job of his personal maid-mistress as a kind of “help.”
Elena clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached. A lump rose in her throat. If only then… if only I had realized it was a trap…