Chapter 3: The Dress That Was Never Hers
I reached home twenty minutes later.
The front door stood open, and Vanessa's voice carried from the living room.
“I'm telling you, Marcus, this is nonsense! The girl has been filling her head with fantasies.””
Dad answered in a low voice.
“You said you only found a sketchbook.””
“I found more than that.””
I stepped inside.
Brianna sat on the sofa wearing my mother's old silk scarf around her neck. A stack of papers rested on the coffee table, weighted down by a crystal vase.
My sketchbooks.
Vanessa stood beside the fireplace, holding a folded document between two fingers.
“There she is,” she announced.
“Our little fashion designer.””
I walked toward the table.
“Put those back.””
Vanessa raised her eyebrows.
“Excuse me?””
“Those books belong to me. Put them back.””
Brianna laughed and leaned against the sofa.
“Wow. Someone met an important person and suddenly thinks she owns the place.””
I ignored her.
“Dad, why did you let them take my things?””
Dad stood near the window, looking exhausted.
“I didn't let anyone do anything. Vanessa found them while cleaning.””
“You were searching my bedroom,” I said.
Vanessa waved the document.
“Don't be ridiculous. We were looking for the paperwork you took from this house.””
“I didn't take anything.””
“Then explain this.””
She dropped the document onto the coffee table.
It was the agreement Isabelle had shown me, or at least a copy of it. My mother's signature appeared at the bottom, followed by Dad's.
Vanessa tapped his signature.
“Your father signed this years ago, apparently promising that you would inherit some imaginary fashion collection.””
“It's not imaginary.””
“Don't interrupt me!””
Her voice cracked across the room.
She picked up the paper and moved closer.
“Do you understand what this says? Your mother apparently believed she owned valuable designs. Yet your father has spent years supporting you, feeding you, putting a roof over your head. And now you want to accuse us of stealing?””
“I didn't accuse anyone.””
“Not yet.””
Dad finally stepped forward.
“Vanessa, give me the document.””
She turned on him.
“Why? Are you afraid she'll discover something?””
He froze.
I saw it.
The brief flicker of panic in his eyes.
“Dad?”” I asked.
He looked away.
Vanessa smiled without humor.
“Your father has done everything he can to keep this family together. And instead of being grateful, you bring strangers into our business and start digging up dead people's secrets.””
“Isabelle worked with Mom,” I said.
“She knows about the collection.””
Vanessa's face lost its color for a second.
Then she recovered.
“Isabelle Reed?””
I stared at her.
“You know her?””
“No.””
“You just said her name before I did.””
Vanessa crushed the paper in her hand.
“Your father told me about her years ago.””
Dad looked at her sharply.
“I did not.””
The words came out before he could stop himself.
For the first time, Vanessa looked genuinely afraid.
Brianna stood up.
“Can everyone stop acting insane? It's a few old dresses. Who cares?””
I turned to her.
“You care enough to destroy the one I made.””
She folded her arms.
“I didn't destroy anything.””
“You poured paint on it.””
“Prove it.””
“You admitted it was an accident!””
“Because it was!””
“You were smiling when I found you!””
Brianna stepped toward me.
“Maybe I was smiling because you finally had something worth crying about.””
“Brianna!”” Dad snapped.
She looked startled.
It was the first time in months that he had raised his voice at her.
But Vanessa immediately moved between them.
“Don't you dare speak to my daughter like that.””
Dad rubbed his face.
“Can we please settle this without another argument?””
I looked at him.
“Why did you sign this agreement?””
He stared at the floor.
“Your mother wanted me to.””
“Why?””
“She was working on something important.””
“What happened to the collection?””
He didn't answer.
“Where is the trust fund?””
Vanessa's head snapped toward me.
“What trust fund?””
I watched her carefully.
“Two hundred and eighty thousand dollars.””
Brianna's mouth fell open.
Vanessa laughed too quickly.
“That's absurd.””
“Is it?””
“Nia, you have no idea what you're talking about.””
“Then explain the withdrawals.””
Dad's face went gray.
Vanessa turned toward him.
“Marcus, what is she talking about?””
He swallowed.
“It's complicated.””
“No,” I said.
“It's actually very simple. Mom left money for me, and now it's gone.””
“Your mother was sick,” Dad replied.
“There were bills.””
“Then show me the bills.””
Silence.
“Show me the statements,” I continued.
“Show me where the money went.””
Dad's eyes filled with something I couldn't identify.
Guilt, perhaps.
Or fear.
“I was trying to keep this family afloat,” he said.
“By taking my money?””
“Don't speak to your father that way!””
Vanessa slapped the table so hard that the crystal vase rattled.
“You have been living under this roof for years. You eat our food. You use our electricity. And now you want to act like a victim because your mother left behind some papers?””
“Those papers are the only proof I have that she existed the way I remember her.””
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Vanessa's face hardened.
“Give me the original sketchbooks.””
“No.””
“Give them to me.””
“They're mine.””
She lunged toward the table.
I grabbed the books first and pulled them against my chest.
Vanessa caught my wrist.
“Do you think you're going to walk away from this with a fortune? You're a child!””
“I'm seventeen.””
“Exactly!””
She tightened her grip until my fingers hurt.
“Whatever your mother left behind belongs to this household until your father says otherwise.””
I pulled away.
“That's not what the agreement says.””
Her hand struck my cheek.
The blow sent me stumbling backward into the sewing table. A wooden ruler clattered to the floor, and several spools of thread rolled beneath the cabinet.
For a second, the room blurred.
Then I heard Brianna laugh.
“Oh my God. Look at her face.””
I pressed my hand against my cheek.
Vanessa pointed toward the stairs.
“Go to your room. And don't come out until you can behave like a normal daughter.””
I looked at Dad.
He stood motionless.
“Dad?””
He opened his mouth, but Vanessa turned toward him.
“Marcus, if you defend her after this, don't expect me to keep pretending everything is fine.””
He closed his mouth.
That was his answer.
I gathered my sketchbooks and walked upstairs.
Behind me, Brianna called out, “And don't forget, graduation is in two days! Try not to wear anything embarrassing!””
I shut my bedroom door.
For several minutes, I stood in the middle of the room, breathing through the pain.
Then I looked at my mother's sketches.
The Blue Horizon.
The dress was no longer on the rack.
I had left it there that morning, carefully covered with a protective garment bag.
Now the rack stood empty.
My stomach dropped.
I rushed to the closet and pulled everything aside.
Nothing.
I checked beneath the bed, behind the door, and inside the wardrobe.
The dress was gone.
I ran downstairs.
Brianna stood near the front door, holding a garment bag over her arm. Vanessa was beside her, carrying a designer handbag and a set of car keys.
The shape inside the bag was unmistakable.
My dress.
“What are you doing?”” I demanded.
Brianna smiled.
“Borrowing something pretty.””
“Give it back!””
Vanessa stepped between us.
“Brianna has an important competition this weekend. Your homemade gown is much more suitable for her than anything else she owns.””
“You can't be serious!””
“She's going to wear it tonight.””
“That's my design!””
Vanessa's eyes narrowed.
“It's fabric you bought with money you earned while living in this household. Don't make me explain how generous we've been.””
I looked at Dad, who had just entered the hallway.
“Tell them to give it back.””
He glanced at the garment bag.
“Maybe letting Brianna wear it will help everyone calm down.””
I stared at him.
“You're giving her my dress?””
“It's only for one evening.””
“You didn't make it. You didn't pay for it. You didn't spend three months creating it.””
“Nia, please.””
“No. You promised Mom you'd protect her work.””
His face tightened.
“Don't bring your mother into this.””
The words hit harder than Vanessa's slap.
I looked at him for a long moment.
Then I stepped aside.
“Fine,” I whispered.
Brianna blinked.
“Fine?””
“Take it.””
She glanced at Vanessa, clearly expecting another fight.
I gave her a small smile.
“Wear it wherever you want.””
Vanessa studied my face.
“What are you planning?””
“Nothing.””
“You'd better mean that.””
She grabbed Brianna's arm, and the two of them walked out.
The front door slammed.
I waited until their car pulled away before returning upstairs.
My cheek still burned, but I barely noticed.
I opened my laptop and searched for the event Brianna had been talking about: the Best Dress competition, held that evening at the prestigious Grand Meridian Fashion Showcase.
The event wasn't just a local competition.
It was a special exhibition sponsored by Laurent Atelier, with Vivienne Laurent herself serving as the chief judge.
And according to the official website, every contestant had to sign a declaration confirming that the submitted design was their own original work or that they had permission to present it.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Isabelle appeared.
Have you located your mother's original design agreement?
I typed back.
Yes. My stepsister has taken my dress and plans to enter it in the competition.
Her reply came almost immediately.
Do not confront her alone. I am contacting the event organizers.
Then another message arrived.
There is something else you need to know. Vivienne has reviewed your photographs.
My heart began to pound.
What did she say?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally, Isabelle sent a photograph of a letter bearing Vivienne Laurent's signature.
The message beneath it read:
If the gown is truly the Blue Horizon, Vivienne intends to stop the competition herself.
I stared at the screen.
Downstairs, I could hear Dad congratulating Brianna over the phone.
Vanessa's laughter followed.
They were celebrating as if they had won something.
They had no idea that the dress they had stolen was about to bring the world's attention to a design they had no legal right to claim.
Then Isabelle called.
I answered immediately.
“Nia,” she said, her voice urgent, “listen carefully. Your mother didn't just create that gown. She registered the entire collection under a protected design agreement.””
“What does that mean?””
“It means that if Brianna presents your dress as her own, the organizers may have to investigate.””
“And if they do?””
Isabelle paused.
“Then your father and stepmother may have to explain why your mother's designs disappeared in the first place.””
I looked at the empty garment rack.
For the first time, I understood why Vanessa had been so desperate to get her hands on my sketchbooks.
She wasn't afraid of my talent.
She was afraid of what my mother had left behind.
And tomorrow night, in front of hundreds of guests, Brianna was going to walk onto a stage wearing the one thing that could expose them all.
I closed my laptop and picked up my mother's sketchbook.
At the bottom of the final page, beneath the drawing of the Blue Horizon, I found a note I hadn't noticed before.
If anyone claims this design as their own, ask them one question: Where is the original signature hidden?
I turned the page over.
There, beneath the paper, was a tiny handwritten instruction.
Look inside the left shoulder.
My eyes widened.
Because Brianna had no idea what was stitched inside the dress she was about to wear.
May you like
And neither did Vanessa.
But Vivienne Laurent would know the moment she saw it.
