Chapter 4: The Question Brianna Couldn't Answer
Brianna had never been good at handling questions she hadn't prepared for.
I knew that because I'd spent two years watching her turn every mistake into somebody else's fault. She could cry on command, invent an excuse without blinking, and make Vanessa believe that even a broken vase was somehow evidence of my jealousy.
But Victoria Sinclair wasn't Vanessa.
And the question waiting for Brianna at the end of that runway wasn't one she could answer with a pout.
"Tell me," Victoria said, her voice carrying across the private showcase, "who taught you to make this dress?""
Brianna stood beneath the spotlights in my ocean-inspired gown, her silver heels planted on the polished runway. Photographers crowded behind a velvet rope. Guests in expensive suits and evening dresses leaned forward in their seats.
For one second, Brianna looked exactly as she had always wanted to look.
Important.
Then she opened her mouth.
"My mother taught me the basics," she said.
"I've been designing clothes since I was little.""
Victoria didn't smile.
"Really?""
"Yes.""
"Then perhaps you can explain the construction of the left shoulder.""
Brianna's fingers immediately went to the sculpted curve.
"Well, I wanted something different. Something that would express the movement of the ocean.""
"An interesting description."" Victoria stepped closer.
"What technique did you use to create the asymmetrical structure without making the satin buckle beneath the lining?""
Brianna blinked.
"I used special stitching.""
"What kind?""
"The expensive kind.""
A few guests exchanged glances.
Somebody in the second row coughed to hide a laugh.
Victoria remained perfectly still.
"Expensive stitching isn't a recognized technique, Miss Vale.""
Brianna's cheeks reddened.
"I mean, I used a combination of hand stitching and machine work.""
"Which machine?""
"The one at home.""
"Which model?""
Brianna stared at her.
"I don't remember.""
Victoria turned toward the audience.
"Design is more than choosing colors and arranging fabric. It requires understanding the structure of a garment, the behavior of materials, and the decisions that make a design possible.""
Then she looked back at Brianna.
"Who created the original sketches?""
Brianna lifted her chin.
"I did.""
"Where are they?""
"They're at home.""
"May I see them?""
"I didn't bring them.""
"How unfortunate.""
Victoria held out her hand.
An assistant placed a folder in it.
I recognized the folder immediately.
It was the same one I'd hidden beneath the loose floorboard in my bedroom.
My sketches.
My measurements.
My handwritten notes.
My hands curled into fists.
"Where did you get that?"" I whispered.
Olivia stood beside me near the entrance to the showcase.
"Your father delivered it to the event organizers this morning," she explained.
"He said it contained materials supporting Brianna's claim.""
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"My father gave them my sketchbook?""
"Apparently, yes.""
I stared through the open doors at the stage.
Even after everything, Dad had found another way to choose Brianna.
Victoria opened the folder and examined the first page.
Then the second.
Her expression changed.
She lifted a sheet toward the light.
"Interesting," she murmured.
Brianna seized the opportunity.
"Those are my early sketches. I sometimes write things down in a hurry, so the handwriting isn't always neat.""
Victoria looked at the page again.
"These notes mention the fabric's response to heat, the precise angle of the shoulder supports, and three alternative methods for reinforcing the train.""
She paused.
"Can you explain why you rejected the second method?""
Brianna's lips parted.
"I just preferred the other one.""
"Why?""
"Because it looked better.""
Victoria closed the folder.
"Thank you, Miss Vale.""
Brianna relaxed visibly.
She turned toward the audience and arranged her face into a practiced smile.
Then Victoria said, "I'd like you to meet someone.""
The doors opened.
Olivia stepped forward and motioned for me to enter.
My knees felt weak, but I walked anyway.
The room grew quiet as I crossed the floor. Several people glanced at my simple black dress, my scuffed shoes, and the faint mark still visible on my cheek.
Brianna saw me.
Her smile vanished.
"What is she doing here?""
Victoria looked between us.
"Miss Carter, would you please tell us who designed this gown?""
I stopped a few feet from Brianna.
"I did.""
Brianna laughed sharply.
"She's lying! She's been obsessed with my clothes for years.""
I looked at the dress.
"Then explain why the gold thread is slightly darker on the left shoulder.""
Brianna frowned.
"What?""
"Why the inside seam has three small blue stitches near the waist. Why the train is reinforced with a second layer of lining that ends exactly four inches before the hem.""
I took a breath.
"Because I made it. I know every stitch.""
Victoria nodded toward the gown.
"Would you mind demonstrating?""
Brianna stepped backward.
"She can't touch my dress!""
"Your dress?"" I repeated.
"Yes!""
I looked directly at her.
"You stole it from my bedroom.""
"Mom said I could borrow it!""
"Borrowing isn't the same as claiming you designed it.""
Brianna turned to the audience.
"She's doing this because she's jealous. She couldn't afford a real designer dress, so she made something herself and now she's angry that I look better in it.""
Victoria's expression turned cold.
"Miss Vale, beauty is not the issue. Ownership is.""
She handed the folder to Olivia.
"Please display the original submission.""
A large screen behind the judges lit up.
My sketches appeared first, followed by the photographs I'd taken during construction. One image showed the original white satin covered in blue paint. The next showed the first stage of the redesign. The final photograph captured the completed gown hanging beside my sewing machine.
The timestamps were visible.
So were the receipts.
A murmur swept through the audience.
Brianna looked at the screen, then at me.
"You planned this!""
"No," I said quietly.
"You did.""
Victoria turned to the organizers.
"Has Miss Carter's submission been verified?""
"Yes," Olivia answered.
"The original entry was received three months ago. All supporting documents match the submitted design.""
"And Miss Vale's submission?""
The director cleared his throat.
"Her entry was submitted yesterday afternoon.""
"Yesterday?"" Victoria repeated.
Brianna swallowed.
"I had the design ready. I just hadn't submitted it.""
Victoria looked at her.
"Then why did you register yourself as the original creator?""
Brianna's eyes filled with tears.
"I didn't think it would be a problem.""
"You didn't think claiming another person's work would be a problem?""
Vanessa suddenly appeared beside the runway.
"Excuse me. This is a family misunderstanding.""
I turned.
She had arrived wearing a cream suit and carrying her designer handbag. Dad stood behind her, looking uncomfortable.
Vanessa smiled at Victoria.
"My daughter has been under a great deal of stress. Perhaps we could discuss this privately.""
Victoria didn't return the smile.
"Your daughter is presenting someone else's design as her own. This isn't a private family matter anymore.""
Vanessa's jaw tightened.
"With respect, you don't understand our circumstances.""
"I understand the evidence.""
Vanessa reached for Brianna's arm.
"Come on, sweetheart. We're leaving.""
But Victoria raised one hand.
"Not yet.""
She turned to me.
"Nia, would you be willing to explain the original design concept to the judging panel?""
I glanced at Brianna.
She was staring at the floor, her fingers gripping the gown's skirt so tightly that the satin wrinkled.
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her.
Then I remembered the paint.
The slap.
The way she'd smiled while carrying my work down the stairs.
"Yes," I said.
I stepped onto the runway.
I explained how the blue paint had become the foundation of the design, how I had layered color to create the illusion of moving water, and how the sculpted shoulders represented waves rising before a storm.
As I spoke, my fear began to disappear.
I wasn't asking anyone to believe I was talented.
I was showing them.
When I finished, the room was silent.
Then Victoria began to applaud.
One judge joined her.
Then another.
Within seconds, the entire room was on its feet.
Brianna stood beneath the lights wearing my creation while everyone applauded the girl she'd tried to erase.
Victoria waited for the noise to fade.
"Miss Carter, your design will remain eligible for the competition. Miss Vale's entry, however, is suspended pending a formal review.""
Vanessa grabbed Brianna's wrist.
"This is ridiculous!""
Victoria looked at her calmly.
"No. What's ridiculous is expecting a stolen dress to become an original design simply because someone wealthy is wearing it.""
Vanessa's face went white.
Then Victoria turned toward the audience and announced something nobody expected.
"There is another reason I requested this meeting. Elena Carter, Nia's mother, once created a design that changed my entire career.""
She held up an old photograph.
"And I believe Nia may have inherited more than her mother's talent.""
I stared at the photograph.
Because the gown beside my mother wasn't just an old design.
May you like
It was almost identical to a sketch I'd found hidden in her sewing box years ago.
And Victoria was about to reveal why she'd spent nearly twenty years searching for it.
