Chapter 3: The Family That Wanted Me Silent
“Take it down,” Richard repeated.
I stood beside my sewing table, staring at the phone.
“Why?””
“Because this situation has gotten out of control.””
“Someone accused me of stealing a design I made myself.””
“Vanessa says you copied her sketches.””
“She is lying.””
“Emma, enough.””
His voice had that familiar warning in it.
The one that meant I was expected to apologize before he even heard my side.
I glanced at Lily.
She shook her head.
“Richard,” I said carefully, “I have dated sketches and photographs proving when I made the dress.””
“Then why is there a complaint?””
“Because Patricia submitted one.””
Silence.
Then he sighed.
“Your stepmother wouldn't do that without a reason.””
I closed my eyes.
“Did you even look at the evidence?””
“I'm at work. I don't have time for teenage drama.””
“I'm not creating drama. I'm defending myself.””
“Listen to me. Vanessa has worked hard for this opportunity. Don't ruin it because you're jealous.””
The call ended.
I lowered the phone.
Lily stared at me.
“He didn't even ask to see your evidence.””
“No.””
“Emma, you can't let them do this.””
I sat down.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Richard had married my mother when I was fourteen. After she died, he had promised to take care of me.
He had sat beside my hospital bed when I caught pneumonia.
He had helped me move my mother's belongings into storage.
He had told me I would always have a home.
But over the past three years, every promise had slowly become conditional.
I wasn't allowed to complain.
I wasn't allowed to disagree.
And I certainly wasn't allowed to compete with Vanessa.
Lily pulled out a chair.
“Listen to me. You didn't steal anything. You don't owe them an apology.””
I nodded.
Then I noticed the time.
10:18 a.m.
The scholarship portal closed at noon.
I turned back to the computer.
“I need to submit everything.””
We worked quickly.
I uploaded the original sketches, dated photographs, receipts from the fabric store, and pictures of the dress during construction.
Lily helped organize everything into a timeline.
At 11:42, I clicked submit.
A confirmation appeared.
<badge color="success">Submission received</badge>
For the first time that morning, I could breathe.
Then Lily noticed something.
“Emma, look at this.””
She had opened the academy's public scholarship page.
There were five finalists.
My name wasn't among them.
Vanessa's was.
The caption beneath Vanessa's photograph read:
Vanessa Collins — The Scarlet Garden. An original exploration of strength, femininity, and transformation.
I stared at the screen.
The design was mine.
Not just similar.
Mine.
Even the little silver crystals arranged in the center of the roses were there.
Lily zoomed in.
“That's your dress.””
I felt sick.
“She photographed my dress last night.””
“Before she destroyed it?””
I nodded.
“She must have taken the picture when she came into my room.””
Lily leaned back.
“So she used a photograph of your dress to recreate the design and submitted it as her own?””
I looked at the image again.
There was something else.
The background showed a white wall with a gold-framed mirror.
Vanessa's bedroom.
The photograph had been taken after she poured the paint.
She hadn't simply wanted to ruin my dress.
She had wanted evidence that she had created something similar first.
A plan.
A deliberate one.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Vanessa.
Vanessa: I hope you enjoyed your little sewing project.
Another message appeared.
Vanessa: The academy loves my design. You should have stayed in your lane.
I stared at the screen.
Then I typed:
Me: You stole my work.
Her response came immediately.
Vanessa: Prove it.
A photograph followed.
It showed my sewing table.
My sketchbook.
And my mother's old sewing machine.
I recognized the angle.
Vanessa had taken it while standing in my bedroom doorway.
Then she sent another message.
Vanessa: You really think anyone will believe you over me?
I locked my phone.
Lily was watching me.
“What did she say?””
I handed it over.
Lily's jaw tightened.
“She's enjoying this.””
“She's always enjoyed making me feel small.””
“Not anymore.””
At noon, we decided to visit the academy.
The building stood downtown, a beautiful old brick structure with enormous windows and a glass entrance.
Students were already arriving for the prom fashion exhibition.
Some carried garment bags.
Others posed for photographs beside the entrance.
I held my gown carefully over my arm.
Lily walked beside me.
“Whatever happens,” she said, “you belong here.””
We approached the reception desk.
A woman with silver-framed glasses looked up.
“Can I help you?””
“My name is Emma Carter. I submitted evidence regarding a plagiarism complaint.””
She checked her computer.
Her expression changed.
“Ah. Yes. Please wait.””
She disappeared through a door.
A few minutes later, a tall woman in a navy suit emerged.
“I'm Director Helen Whitmore,” she said.
“I reviewed your submission.””
My heart pounded.
“Did you believe it?””
“I believe there are serious questions that need answering.””
She looked at the gown.
“Is this the design?””
“Yes.””
She studied the roses.
Then she stepped closer.
“May I?””
I nodded.
She examined the stitching, the fabric, and the silver embroidery.
“How did you create the flowers?””
I explained how the paint had damaged the original material and how I had used the raised sections to sculpt the petals.
She listened carefully.
When I finished, she looked at me.
“Did you know your stepsister's submitted design contains an almost identical arrangement?””
“Yes.””
“And do you have evidence that she had access to your work?””
I showed her the messages.
Her expression became serious.
“This is important. We'll need to investigate.””
I felt a small wave of relief.
Then the front doors opened.
Vanessa walked in wearing a sparkling champagne-colored dress.
Patricia followed her.
Richard was behind them.
Vanessa saw me immediately.
Her smile disappeared.
Then she looked at Director Whitmore.
“Why is she here?””
Director Whitmore turned.
“Miss Collins, we're reviewing a complaint involving both your submission and Emma's.””
Vanessa laughed nervously.
“That's ridiculous. Emma copied me.””
“That's what your mother stated,” Director Whitmore replied.
“However, we've received additional evidence.””
Patricia stepped forward.
“This is a misunderstanding. Emma has always been fascinated by Vanessa's designs.””
I looked at her.
“I've never seen Vanessa design anything.””
Vanessa crossed her arms.
“That's because you steal ideas and pretend they're yours.””
Director Whitmore raised a hand.
“Ladies, we'll discuss this privately.””
Then a man entered from the hallway carrying a large portfolio.
He approached the director and whispered something.
Her expression changed.
She opened the portfolio.
Inside were several printed photographs.
She looked at Vanessa.
Then at me.
“Miss Collins,” she said slowly, “would you care to explain why your submitted sketch appears to be copied from a published collection by an established designer?””
Vanessa's face went pale.
Patricia stepped forward.
“That's impossible.””
Director Whitmore placed the original designer's photograph beside Vanessa's sketch.
The resemblance was undeniable.
Then she turned to me.
“Emma, there's something else you should know.””
She lifted another photograph.
It showed my ruined dress.
But this time, the photograph had been taken from a security camera.
And the timestamp was visible.
It showed Vanessa entering my bedroom with the bucket.
May you like
Director Whitmore looked at her.
“Would you like to explain this?””
