Chapter 3: The Girl Who Wore My Name
At seven the next morning, I stood outside the bathroom door while Brianna examined herself in the mirror.
She had my dress spread across the bathroom counter.
My dress.
The gown I'd spent three months planning and one sleepless night transforming into something extraordinary.
She'd paired it with diamond-shaped earrings, silver heels, and a crystal clutch. Vanessa was fastening a necklace around her daughter's throat.
"Turn around, sweetheart," Vanessa said.
Brianna spun slowly.
The skirt flared, catching the bathroom light. The blue and violet patterns shimmered across the satin, and the gold details glinted near her shoulders.
For one painful second, I forgot how to breathe.
It looked beautiful on her.
Not because she deserved it.
Because I'd made it beautiful.
Vanessa adjusted the neckline.
"Perfect. You'll be the best-dressed girl there.""
Brianna smiled at her reflection.
"I know.""
I stepped into the doorway.
"Take it off.""
Brianna's smile disappeared.
Vanessa turned.
"Not this again.""
"That dress belongs to me.""
Brianna lifted her chin.
"You heard Mom. I'm borrowing it.""
"You don't borrow something after stealing it.""
"Prove I stole it.""
I held up my phone.
"I have photographs of myself wearing it yesterday. I have my sketches and the receipts for the materials. I have the competition submission.""
Brianna laughed.
"Congratulations. You made a dress. That doesn't mean you own the whole idea of colorful fabric.""
"I designed every detail.""
"Then you should be proud that someone prettier is wearing it.""
Vanessa stepped between us.
"That's enough. Brianna has an important event today, and you will not ruin it.""
"Then give me back my dress.""
Vanessa pointed toward the stairs.
"Get out of our way.""
I didn't move.
For a moment, I thought she might hit me again.
Instead, she leaned close enough for me to smell her expensive perfume.
"Listen carefully, Nia. Your father and I have done everything for you. You have a room, food, electricity, and an education. If you want to keep enjoying those things, you will stop making this family look bad.""
I looked past her at Brianna.
"Do you really think wearing my dress will make you talented?""
Her face flushed.
"At least I know how to present myself.""
"Then present yourself in something you made.""
Brianna grabbed her clutch.
"Mom, let's go. I don't want to stand here listening to her jealousy.""
Vanessa picked up the garment bag.
"You can clean up this mess after we leave.""
They brushed past me.
I stood in the hallway, listening to their heels strike the stairs.
Then Dad appeared from the kitchen, holding a travel mug.
He looked at my cheek.
The mark from yesterday had faded, but it hadn't disappeared completely.
"What happened to your face?"" he asked.
I stared at him.
"You know what happened.""
His eyes dropped.
"Vanessa said you two had an argument.""
"She slapped me.""
He exhaled slowly.
"Your stepmother was upset.""
"So that makes it okay?""
"No. That's not what I said.""
"Then say something else, Dad. For once.""
He set his mug on the windowsill.
"Nia, I know things have been difficult since the wedding. But Vanessa and Brianna are part of this family now.""
"I know. You remind me every time I ask for something.""
"That's unfair.""
"Is it?""
I pointed toward the stairs.
"They took my dress. The one I made with my own money. The one I entered into a national competition. And you let them walk away with it.""
Dad blinked.
"What competition?""
I almost laughed.
Of course he didn't know.
I had spent months creating something that might change my life, and he hadn't noticed any of it.
"I'm a finalist in the Young Designer of the Year competition," I said.
"The exhibition is today.""
His expression shifted.
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"Because I knew you'd ask whether there was a cheaper way to do it.""
"Nia—"
"I don't need you to fix this anymore.""
I picked up my backpack.
He reached for my arm.
"Where are you going?""
"To the exhibition.""
"How?""
"Someone who believes in me offered me a ride.""
I walked past him.
For once, he didn't tell me to come back.
Outside, Mrs. Brooks was waiting in her small blue car. She had brought coffee, a paper bag containing two breakfast sandwiches, and a spare sewing kit.
When she saw my face, she lowered the window.
"Oh, sweetheart.""
"I'm okay.""
She studied me.
"Don't insult me by pretending you're okay.""
My throat tightened.
She unlocked the passenger door.
"Get in. We've got a future to claim.""
As we drove toward the city, I told her about Brianna taking the dress.
Mrs. Brooks gripped the steering wheel.
"I wish I'd gone home with you last night.""
"You couldn't have known.""
"I knew enough to worry.""
I watched the houses blur past.
"What if everyone believes her?""
Mrs. Brooks glanced at me.
"Then we'll show them the truth.""
She tapped the steering wheel with one finger.
"Remember something, Nia. A person can wear a designer label without understanding design. They can carry a beautiful bag without knowing how it's made. And they can steal a dress without stealing the talent that created it.""
I looked down at my hands.
"What if the judges don't care?""
"Then the judges will be wrong. But I doubt they will be.""
The hotel appeared around a bend, its glass doors shining in the morning sunlight.
A row of luxury cars lined the entrance. Young models in elegant gowns stepped onto the carpet while photographers called their names.
Mrs. Brooks pulled into the parking garage.
"Ready?""
I took a breath.
"No.""
She smiled.
"Good. Courage is showing up when you're not ready.""
Inside, the exhibition hall smelled of fresh flowers, coffee, and polished wood. Tall display panels divided the room into individual design stations. Dresses of every color stood beneath carefully arranged lights.
At the registration desk, a woman with a tablet looked up.
"Name?""
"Nia Carter.""
Her expression brightened.
"Oh! You're our ocean-inspired design finalist.""
I nodded.
"My dress has been taken.""
The woman lowered her tablet.
"Taken?""
"My stepsister is wearing it at the Regal Rose showcase next door.""
She frowned.
"That's a serious allegation.""
"I know.""
"Do you have evidence?""
I opened my backpack and laid out my sketches, receipts, and photographs. I showed her the original submission email and the timestamped pictures I'd taken of the dress before the paint incident.
The woman's expression grew more serious with every page.
"Please wait here.""
She disappeared through a set of double doors.
Mrs. Brooks squeezed my shoulder.
"You did the right thing.""
A few minutes later, a woman in a navy suit emerged. She had silver hair, sharp eyes, and the kind of composed presence that made everyone nearby stand a little straighter.
"I'm Olivia Bennett," she said.
"I oversee the exhibition.""
I shook her hand.
She examined the photographs carefully.
"These details are distinctive. Especially the asymmetrical sleeve and the gold stitching along the left shoulder.""
"I designed them.""
"Your original sketches support that.""
Olivia looked at me.
"Do you know whether your stepsister has registered as a designer for the neighboring showcase?""
"No. But she's planning to present my dress as hers.""
Olivia's expression hardened.
"Then we need to act before the judging begins.""
She handed my documents to an assistant.
"First, we verify your submission. Then we'll contact the showcase organizers.""
"What happens if they don't believe me?""
"They will have to explain why a gown submitted by one of our finalists appeared on someone else's runway without authorization.""
She paused.
"And if the dress is presented as original work, the consequences could be substantial.""
My stomach tightened.
I didn't want revenge.
I wanted my dress back.
I wanted my work recognized.
I wanted one adult to look at me and see something other than a problem.
Olivia seemed to understand.
"Your job today is to tell the truth. Let the organizers handle the rest.""
She led us into a small office and opened a secure folder on her laptop.
A photograph of my original design appeared on the screen.
Then she opened another file.
It showed the same dress hanging on my bedroom rack before the paint incident.
The date was visible beneath the image.
Olivia studied it.
"There's one more issue," she said.
"What?""
She turned the laptop toward me.
The neighboring showcase had just uploaded its official program.
Brianna's name appeared beside a photograph of my dress.
Under the heading *DESIGNER AND CREATOR*, someone had typed:
*BRIANNA VALE — ORIGINAL COLLECTION, OCEAN REVERIE.*
My hands went cold.
She hadn't merely stolen my dress.
She had stolen the name I'd given my design.
Olivia picked up her phone.
"Please stay here. I'm contacting the showcase director.""
She stepped into the hallway.
Through the office window, I watched staff members hurry between the exhibition spaces.
Then Olivia returned, her expression unreadable.
"The showcase director has agreed to review the evidence," she said.
"But there's a complication.""
"What complication?""
She closed the office door.
"The woman who commissioned the private judging panel for that event has personally requested to meet your stepsister.""
I swallowed.
"Why?""
Olivia looked directly at me.
"Because she believes Brianna may have stolen a design from someone very close to her.""
My pulse quickened.
"Who is she?""
Olivia hesitated.
Then she gave me the name.
"Victoria Sinclair. She's the founder of Sinclair Atelier, one of the most respected couture houses in the country.""
I had seen Victoria's work in fashion magazines. Her gowns were worn by celebrities, royalty, and people whose names appeared on magazine covers.
But I couldn't understand why she would care about a seventeen-year-old girl's dress.
Olivia opened another document on her laptop.
It was a photograph of my mother.
Elena Carter stood beside a younger Victoria Sinclair at a fashion exhibition nearly twenty years earlier. Both women were smiling. Between them hung a stunning white gown with sculpted shoulders and a flowing train.
My breath caught.
The silhouette was unmistakable.
It was the inspiration behind my design.
I looked at Olivia.
"How did you get that photograph?""
"Victoria supplied it when she reviewed your entry. She recognized your mother's name immediately.""
"She knew my mother?""
Olivia nodded.
"Apparently, Elena Carter was the first person who ever taught Victoria how to construct a couture bodice.""
I stared at the photograph.
My mother had never told me she knew someone like Victoria Sinclair.
Before I could ask another question, Olivia's phone rang.
She answered, listened, and slowly straightened.
Then she looked at me.
"Your stepsister has just arrived at the neighboring showcase.""
My heart pounded.
Olivia ended the call.
"She's wearing your dress.""
I closed my eyes.
"And Victoria Sinclair is waiting to meet her.""
Outside, the first cameras began flashing.
Brianna was about to walk into a room full of people who believed she had created my work.
But the woman waiting at the end of that runway had known my mother.
May you like
And she was about to ask Brianna one question that could destroy everything.
"Tell me," Victoria Sinclair said, according to Olivia's message, "who taught you to make this dress?""
