Chapter 1: The Dress They Thought They Stole
"Smile, Nia. At least pretend you're happy for your sister.""
My mother's voice cut through the studio.
I looked at Brianna standing in front of the mirror, wearing the gown I had spent three months creating. My mother was adjusting the neckline, brushing imaginary wrinkles from the fabric, and smiling as though she had personally designed every stitch.
I raised the phone.
Click.
Brianna tilted her head.
"Another one. This angle makes my waist look smaller.""
I took another picture.
Click.
"Perfect!"" she exclaimed, grabbing the phone from my hands.
"Mom, look at this. I need to post it tonight.""
My mother leaned over her shoulder.
"Use the caption I suggested. Something about discovering a talented new designer.""
I almost laughed.
A talented new designer.
My sister hadn't threaded a needle in her life.
But I didn't say anything.
Instead, I watched Brianna zoom in on the photograph, examining the red flowers painted around the wine stain she had created three days earlier.
"Actually, Nia," she said suddenly, "you should remove that little silver thing near the waist. It looks like a loose thread.""
My stomach tightened.
"What silver thing?""
She pointed toward the side seam.
"There. It's poking through.""
I moved quickly.
"Don't touch that.""
Brianna raised both eyebrows.
"Excuse me?""
"That's part of the construction. Leave it alone.""
My mother folded her arms.
"There's no reason to speak to your sister like that.""
"Then she should stop touching things she doesn't understand.""
The room went silent.
Brianna's expression changed immediately.
She looked at our mother.
"Did you hear that?""
My mother stepped toward me.
"Apologize.""
I stared at her.
"For what?""
"For embarrassing your sister.""
"She's wearing my dress.""
"And your sister is giving you exposure. Do you understand how valuable that is?""
I glanced at Brianna's phone.
She was already composing a social media post.
"Mom, I think we should tell people it's my dress," Brianna said.
"That would make the pictures more interesting.""
My mother nodded.
"Of course. We can say you collaborated with an emerging designer.""
I felt my fingers curl around the paintbrush in my hand.
"You're not doing that.""
My mother gave me a tired look.
"Nia, don't make this difficult.""
"That gown is registered under my name. The sketches, patterns, construction photographs, and design documentation are all mine.""
Brianna laughed.
"Nobody cares about paperwork.""
"People in the fashion industry do.""
"Well, nobody in the fashion industry knows you.""
That hurt more than I expected.
Not because it was true.
Because my sister knew exactly where to aim.
My mother picked up her handbag.
"We're taking the dress.""
"No.""
Her heels stopped.
"What did you say?""
I stepped between her and the mannequin.
"I said no.""
For the first time that afternoon, my mother looked genuinely surprised.
Then her expression hardened.
"After everything I've done for you, this is how you treat me?""
I swallowed.
"You're taking something that belongs to me.""
"You're my daughter.""
"And?""
She stared at me.
"Family shares.""
I looked at Brianna.
"Does family also steal?""
Brianna's mouth fell open.
My mother moved closer until I could smell her expensive perfume.
"Listen carefully. Your sister has opportunities. She has a future.
You have a hobby in a garage. If this dress can help her, then you should be grateful.""
I felt something inside me settle.
Not anger.
Not sadness.
Something colder.
"Fine," I whispered.
Brianna immediately smiled.
"See? That wasn't so hard.""
My mother nodded approvingly.
"Good. Now help us pack it.""
I stepped aside.
They carefully removed the gown from the mannequin and placed it inside a garment bag I had purchased with my own money.
Brianna hugged it against herself.
"Thank you, Nia. I knew you'd come around.""
I watched her walk toward the door.
Then I spoke.
"One more thing.""
They turned.
"Don't remove the inner lining.""
Brianna frowned.
"Why?""
"It's delicate. If you damage it, the entire waistline could collapse.""
My mother rolled her eyes.
"Everything with you is so complicated.""
They left.
The door slammed.
For several seconds, I stood motionless.
Then I walked to my worktable, picked up my phone, and opened the security camera application.
The recording showed everything.
My mother taking the dress.
Brianna claiming it.
Their conversation about posting the photographs.
Even the moment Brianna pointed toward the silver detail hidden beneath the embroidery.
I saved the footage to three separate locations.
Then I called Maya.
She answered on the second ring.
"Please tell me you're ready.""
"They took it.""
Silence.
"Who took what?""
"The gown.""
"Nia, what?""
"My mother and Brianna. They walked into the studio and took it.""
Maya's voice became sharp.
"Did you call the police?""
"Not yet.""
"Why not?""
I looked at the empty mannequin.
"Because they didn't take everything.""
"What does that mean?""
I reached beneath the worktable and pulled out a flat black envelope.
Inside were copies of the original design registration, dated photographs, and a small document bearing a signature I had spent months waiting to obtain.
"Maya," I said quietly, "do you remember the additional condition in my submission?""
"The confidentiality clause?""
"Yes.""
"What about it?""
I looked toward the door.
"Tomorrow, the foundation will see the gown.""
Maya exhaled.
"How? Your mother just stole it.""
"Because I have the original construction records. And because the most important part of the design isn't the fabric.""
She was silent.
Then she asked, "Nia, what did you put inside that dress?""
I touched the silver pendant around my neck.
Before I could answer, my phone vibrated.
A notification appeared.
Brianna had posted a photograph.
The caption read:
Three months of hard work finally paid off. My first original couture creation. Big things coming.
My stomach dropped.
She had tagged a famous fashion stylist.
And beneath the photograph, someone had commented:
Isn't this Nia Carter's Bellamy submission?
Brianna's reply appeared seconds later.
No idea who that is. I designed this myself.
I stared at the screen.
Then another notification appeared.
A direct message from an unfamiliar account.
Miss Carter, this is Adrian Bellamy. We need to speak immediately. Your sister has just made a very serious mistake.
I read it twice.
Maya's voice came through the phone.
"Nia? What's happening?""
I looked at the message.
Then I smiled.
"Apparently," I whispered, "the right people are finally paying attention.""
May you like
But I had no idea that by the following morning, my sister would be begging me to take back something she had stolen.
And my mother would be standing in a room full of people, realizing exactly what she had done.
