Chapter 2: The Price of Jealousy
Brianna stood in my doorway, holding her phone in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other.
For several seconds, she didn't speak.
Her gaze moved from the sculpted shoulders to the painted bodice, then down the flowing skirt and its shimmering train.
"What happened to the dress?"" she finally asked.
I stepped between her and the garment rack.
"I redesigned it.""
She set her glass on my desk and moved closer.
"Let me see.""
"No.""
Her eyebrows rose.
"Excuse me?""
"You heard me.""
Brianna reached around me, pinching a fold of satin between her fingers.
"Wow. You actually made the paint look intentional.""
I pulled the fabric away.
"Don't touch it.""
She studied my face.
For once, she wasn't laughing.
"How did you do that overnight?""
"Practice.""
"That's not an answer.""
"It's the only one you're getting.""
Her eyes narrowed.
Then she pulled out her phone.
"Mom needs to see this.""
"Brianna, don't.""
She was already taking pictures.
One from the front. One from the side. One of the train spread across my bedroom floor.
I lunged for the phone, but she stepped backward.
"Relax! I'm not stealing it.""
The lie came so easily that I almost believed she had rehearsed it.
She sent the pictures to someone.
Then she smiled.
"You know what? Maybe this isn't as embarrassing as I thought.""
She left before I could ask whom she'd messaged.
I locked my bedroom door.
For the next two hours, I worked on the finishing details, carefully stitching tiny gold beads along the neckline. Every few minutes, I checked the email from the competition.
The exhibition invitation included strict rules: finalists had to arrive with their original garments, design sketches, and proof of authorship. The dress had to remain in the designer's possession until judging concluded.
I printed the email and tucked it into my sketchbook.
Then I hid the sketchbook beneath a loose floorboard under my bed.
At lunchtime, Dad called me downstairs.
Vanessa sat at the dining table, arranging expensive skincare products into a gift basket. Brianna stood beside her in a fitted black dress, her hair curled into glossy waves.
On the table lay a glossy brochure.
*THE REGAL ROSE YOUNG FASHION SHOWCASE.*
Brianna tapped it with a fingernail.
"This is the competition I'm entering tomorrow.""
I froze.
"What competition?""
"The one where I told you I was wearing my designer gown.""
Vanessa smiled.
"The winner gets a feature in a major fashion magazine and a professional modeling contract.""
I looked at the brochure.
It wasn't the competition from my email.
But the event was being held at the same hotel.
"Good luck," I said.
Brianna tilted her head.
"You're not going to enter your little homemade dress?""
"I have other plans.""
"Really? Like what?""
"None of your business.""
Vanessa placed a jar of cream into the basket.
"Nia, don't be rude. Brianna is trying to include you.""
"By asking questions she has no right to ask?""
Dad lowered his fork.
"That's enough, both of you.""
Brianna folded her arms.
"Fine. I was only going to offer her a chance to help me.""
"Help you do what?"" I asked.
"Get ready for the showcase. Your sewing skills might actually be useful.""
Vanessa nodded approvingly.
"That's a lovely idea. You can make a few adjustments to Brianna's gown.""
I stared at them.
"You want me to work on her dress?""
"Just a few little things," Vanessa said.
"And you should be grateful. We could pay you.""
"With what money?""
Her expression hardened.
"Don't take that tone with me.""
"I worked three months to make my own dress. Brianna destroyed it, and nobody cared. Now you want me to sew for her?""
Brianna slammed her palm on the table.
"I said it was an accident!""
"And I said I don't believe you.""
She stood so abruptly that her chair scraped across the floor.
"You're obsessed with me!""
"No, Brianna. I'm tired of you.""
Dad pushed his plate away.
"Go upstairs, Nia.""
I looked at him.
"Why am I the one who always has to leave?""
"Because you're escalating the situation.""
I laughed once, without humor.
"Of course I am.""
I returned to my bedroom.
That afternoon, I went to the alterations shop and showed my employer, Mrs. Brooks, the finished dress.
She had worked in fashion for thirty years and rarely showed excitement.
But when I stepped out from behind the changing screen, she dropped the measuring tape.
"Oh, my goodness.""
I turned slowly.
"Is it too much?""
"Too much?"" She walked around me, examining the sculpted shoulders.
"Nia, this isn't too much. This is a statement.""
She ran her fingers near the gold detailing without touching it.
"Where did you learn to manipulate fabric like this?""
"My mother taught me the basics. I learned the rest from practice.""
Mrs. Brooks looked at me through the mirror.
"Your mother must have been extraordinary.""
"She was.""
I told her about the competition, the scholarship, and the exhibition.
When I finished, Mrs. Brooks took both my hands.
"Then you are going.""
"What if my family won't let me?""
"You're seventeen, not seven. And I will drive you myself if I have to.""
A warmth spread through my chest.
For the first time in days, I felt less alone.
Mrs. Brooks helped me pack the dress carefully into a garment bag. She also gave me a pair of simple silver heels from her stockroom.
"These will work better than the shoes you usually wear," she said.
"I can't afford them.""
"Consider them a loan until your first paycheck as a famous designer.""
I laughed.
"You're impossible.""
"I'm experienced. There's a difference.""
Before I left, she made me promise to call her if anything went wrong.
I promised.
I should have called her sooner.
When I arrived home, Vanessa was waiting outside my bedroom.
"Where have you been?""
"Work.""
She held out her hand.
"Give me the dress.""
I stared at her.
"What?""
"The dress you made. Brianna wants to borrow it for tomorrow.""
"No.""
Vanessa's face changed.
"You don't refuse me in my own house.""
"It's my dress.""
"And your father and I provide the roof over your head.""
"I paid for every inch of that fabric.""
"With money you earned while living here. Don't pretend you're independent.""
She stepped toward me.
"Give me the dress, Nia.""
I tightened my grip on the garment bag.
"No.""
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then Vanessa grabbed the bag.
I held on.
"Let go!"" she snapped.
"You're not taking it!""
She yanked hard enough to tear the zipper.
The dress slipped halfway out, its train brushing the floor.
Brianna appeared behind her mother.
"What's going on?""
"Your sister is being selfish," Vanessa said.
"She refuses to let you borrow her dress.""
Brianna looked at the gown.
Something hungry flickered in her eyes.
"Oh, my God. It would look amazing with my heels.""
"It's not yours," I said.
Brianna reached for the bodice.
I slapped her hand away.
She gasped as if I'd struck her.
"Mom!""
Vanessa released the garment bag and raised her palm.
The slap landed before I could move.
My cheek burned.
I stumbled backward, striking the edge of my sewing table. A tin of needles toppled to the floor, scattering silver points across the wood.
For a second, I couldn't hear anything except the ringing in my ears.
Vanessa leaned over me.
"You will not humiliate me in my own home.""
I pressed one hand against my cheek.
"You hit me.""
"Because you left me no choice.""
Brianna bent down and picked up the garment bag.
"Come on, Mom. Let's not waste time.""
I struggled to stand.
"Give it back!""
Brianna lifted the dress out of the bag, careful not to let the train touch the floor.
"No," she said.
"I'm wearing it tomorrow.""
"You can't!""
"Watch me.""
I reached for the gown, but Vanessa shoved me against the table again.
"One more word, Nia, and you can spend graduation somewhere else.""
They left my room carrying the dress.
I heard Brianna laughing on the stairs.
I heard Vanessa telling her to be careful with the beading.
Then the front door slammed.
I remained beside the sewing table, one hand pressed to my cheek.
My eyes filled with tears.
But underneath the hurt, something else was growing.
A quiet, steady certainty.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened the competition email.
At the bottom was a number for the event coordinator.
I called.
A woman answered on the second ring.
"Regal Rose Young Designers' Exhibition. This is Olivia.""
"My name is Nia Carter," I said.
"I'm one of your finalists.""
"Of course, Nia. We've been looking forward to seeing your work.""
I swallowed.
"I have a problem. Someone has taken my original design without permission.""
There was a brief silence.
"Who took it?""
"My stepsister.""
"Do you have proof that the design belongs to you?""
I glanced at the empty garment rack.
"Yes. My sketches, my receipts, my photographs, and the original submission.""
"Good. Bring everything tomorrow morning. Don't confront anyone before you arrive.""
"Why?""
Olivia's voice became more serious.
"Because the woman sponsoring this year's exhibition takes intellectual property very seriously. If your claim is verified, there may be consequences far beyond disqualification.""
I looked toward the staircase.
My stepsister had stolen my dress.
My stepmother had struck me.
My father had done nothing.
But for the first time, I wasn't asking them to believe me.
I was going to let the truth speak for itself.
May you like
Then Olivia added one more thing.
"Nia, there's something you should know. Your stepsister's name isn't on our finalist list. So if she's planning to present your dress tomorrow, she may have no idea whose attention she's about to attract.""
