Chapter 1: The Dress They Thought They Owned
"Smile, Nia. At least pretend you're happy for your sister.""
My mother's voice sliced through the studio.
I lowered her phone.
Brianna was still standing in front of the mirror, admiring the white evening gown I had spent three months creating. She turned sideways, lifted the skirt, and ran her fingers over the embroidered flowers.
"Actually, Mom, I think this needs a little adjustment around the waist.""
My mother immediately stepped forward.
"You're right, sweetheart. Nia, bring your sewing kit.""
I stared at her.
"Excuse me?""
"Your sewing kit. Brianna needs the waist taken in.""
"That dress isn't yours to alter.""
My mother's smile disappeared.
"Are you deliberately trying to embarrass your sister?""
Brianna sighed dramatically.
"Mom, don't worry. I'll just have someone professional fix it.""
I almost laughed.
Someone professional.
As if the woman standing in front of her hadn't designed the dress, selected every bead, embroidered every leaf, and painted every flower by hand.
As if I hadn't spent countless nights working until my fingers cramped.
As if the little red flower near the waist wasn't the result of rescuing the gown from the wine Brianna had deliberately knocked over.
I folded my arms.
"Take it off.""
Brianna turned toward me.
"What?""
"Take my dress off.""
My mother stepped between us.
"Don't you dare speak to her like that.""
"Mom, it's my design.""
"And she's your sister.""
"That doesn't make her the owner.""
Brianna rolled her eyes.
"God, you're exhausting. It's just a dress.""
I looked at her.
"Then take it off.""
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Brianna smiled.
It was the same smile she had used since childhood whenever she wanted to make me look unreasonable.
"Fine. I'll buy it.""
I blinked.
"What?""
"Name your price.""
My mother nodded.
"That's fair. You're always complaining about money, Nia. Here's an opportunity.""
I looked at the woman who had raised me.
She genuinely believed this was a generous offer.
"I can't sell it.""
"Why not?"" Brianna asked.
"Because it's registered for the Bellamy Fashion Foundation competition.""
My mother's expression changed.
For the first time that afternoon, she seemed interested.
"The Bellamy Foundation?""
"Yes.""
Brianna glanced at her.
"That's the competition with the quarter-million-dollar investment, right?""
I nodded.
Her eyes returned to the gown.
"Wait. This is the dress you're submitting?""
"It's the centerpiece of my collection.""
She laughed.
"Seriously?""
I didn't answer.
My mother studied me with an expression I knew too well.
It was the look she used whenever she thought I was becoming too ambitious.
"Nia, sweetheart, let's be realistic.""
I hated that word.
Realistic.
She had used it when I wanted to study fashion design. When I wanted to open my own studio. When I wanted to enter my first competition.
She had called every dream unrealistic until someone else succeeded at it.
"You're competing against established designers," she continued.
"People with money, connections, and actual businesses.""
"I know.""
"And you think one dress will change your life?""
"I think my collection deserves a chance.""
Brianna laughed.
"Mom, she really believes she's going to New York.""
My mother gently touched her shoulder.
"Don't tease your sister.""
Then she turned toward me.
"But Brianna is right about one thing. You need to understand your position.""
My position.
I glanced around my studio.
The old sewing machine.
The shelves of fabric.
The sketches taped to the walls.
Everything I owned had been purchased with money I earned myself.
Yet my mother spoke as if I were a child playing dress-up in her backyard.
"Give me the gown," I said.
Brianna tightened her grip.
"No.""
"Brianna.""
"Mom gave it to me.""
My mother lifted her chin.
"And I am your mother.""
Something inside me finally settled.
I stopped arguing.
I stopped explaining.
I simply reached for my phone.
"What are you doing?"" my mother asked.
"Calling someone.""
"Who?""
"My lawyer.""
Brianna burst out laughing.
"Your lawyer? You have a lawyer?""
I looked directly at her.
"Yes.""
My mother shook her head.
"This is ridiculous. Put the phone down.""
I didn't.
I called Maya instead.
She answered immediately.
"Nia? Is everything okay?""
"No.""
Her voice changed.
"What's happened?""
"My mother and Brianna took the gown.""
There was a pause.
Then Maya asked quietly, "Did they touch the inner lining?""
I looked toward the mannequin.
"No. I don't think so.""
"Good. Don't let them take it out of the building.""
I glanced at my mother.
"That's going to be difficult.""
"Listen to me. The submission agreement is already signed. The gown has been photographed, documented, and insured. If they remove it without authorization, we have a problem.""
Brianna overheard.
She laughed loudly.
"Tell your little business partner to calm down. We're borrowing a dress.""
Maya heard her.
"Is that Brianna?""
"Yes.""
"Put me on speaker.""
I did.
Maya's voice filled the studio.
"Brianna, this is Maya Collins. I am Nia's business partner and co-director of her design company. The gown is registered under her name. You have no permission to remove, alter, or publicly present it as your own.""
Brianna rolled her eyes.
"Nobody asked you.""
"Then consider this a formal notice.""
My mother snatched the phone from my hand.
"Young lady, I don't know who you think you are, but this is a family matter.""
Maya replied calmly.
"Mrs. Carter, intellectual property doesn't become family property because you gave birth to the designer.""
My mother went silent.
Then she ended the call.
"That girl is a terrible influence," she snapped.
Brianna giggled.
"Honestly, Nia, you need better friends.""
I reached for the gown again.
This time, Brianna stepped backward.
"Don't touch me!""
"I want my dress.""
"You're acting crazy.""
My mother grabbed her handbag.
"We're leaving.""
She turned toward the door.
Brianna followed, carrying the gown over one arm.
I stood in front of them.
"You're not taking it.""
My mother stared at me.
Then she said something I would remember for the rest of my life.
"If you make this difficult, don't expect me to help you when your little business collapses.""
I moved aside.
Not because I agreed.
Because I suddenly understood something.
They believed the gown was valuable because of its fabric, its beads, and its appearance.
They had no idea what made it irreplaceable.
As Brianna passed me, she whispered, "You should be grateful I even want something you made.""
The door slammed.
I watched through the window as my mother opened the passenger door of her Mercedes.
Brianna carefully placed the gown inside.
Then she took a picture.
A few seconds later, my phone buzzed.
It was an Instagram notification.
Brianna had posted a photograph of herself wearing my creation.
The caption read:
Sometimes the universe gives you exactly what you deserve. Custom couture, made just for me.
I stared at the screen.
Then I noticed the next photograph.
It was a close-up of the red flowers near the waist.
And beneath it, she had tagged a designer.
Not me.
Her own fashion consultant.
My phone rang.
It was Maya.
"Nia, don't panic.""
I swallowed.
"What?""
"I just received an email from the Bellamy Foundation.""
"What does it say?""
Her voice dropped.
"Someone has submitted photographs of your gown under Brianna Carter's name.""
My stomach turned.
May you like
Then Maya added something worse.
"They're claiming she designed it.""
