Chapter 1: The Dress That Was Never Hers
“Take the pictures from her good side, Nia. If you're going to be useless, at least make yourself useful.””
My mother's voice sliced through the room.
I stood beside the bedroom doorway, holding my camera, while Denise Carter fastened a diamond necklace around my younger sister's throat.
Brianna turned toward the full-length mirror.
The midnight-blue silk gown shimmered beneath the chandelier. Silver embroidery caught the light, and delicate red flowers cascaded across the skirt.
My flowers.
My embroidery.
My three months of sleepless nights.
My dress.
“Mom, do you think the waist needs to be tighter?”” Brianna asked, turning sideways.
Denise stepped behind her and adjusted the fabric.
“Not at all, sweetheart. You're perfect.””
Then she smiled at our reflections.
“You look like a real designer's model.””
I almost laughed.
Brianna had never designed anything in her life.
She couldn't sew a straight line without someone helping her. She had once glued a broken zipper together because she didn't know how to replace it.
But there she stood, wearing the gown I had created for the Bellamy Fashion Foundation competition.
The competition that could change my life.
The winner would receive $250,000, a private design studio in Manhattan, and an opportunity to present an entire collection during New York Fashion Week.
I had spent an entire year preparing for it.
I had sacrificed weekends, birthdays, relationships, and almost every dollar I earned.
And now my family was treating my biggest achievement like a free outfit for Brianna's next Instagram photoshoot.
“Smile, Nia,” my mother ordered.
I lifted the camera.
“That's better,” she said.
“At least you can do one thing right.””
The camera flashed.
Brianna examined the picture on my screen.
“Ugh. Delete that.””
“What's wrong with it?”” I asked.
“My arms look big.””
“You asked me to take the picture.””
“And you took it badly.””
Denise reached for the camera.
“Give it here. I'll show you the angle.””
I pulled it closer to my chest.
“Mom, can we talk?””
She didn't look at me.
“About what?””
“The competition.””
Brianna immediately sighed.
“Oh, here we go.””
I ignored her.
“The submission deadline is in two days. I need the dress back tonight.””
Denise finally turned around.
“Nia, don't start.””
“I'm serious. The dress has to be photographed, documented, and submitted with my design portfolio.””
Brianna laughed.
“Just submit pictures of it on me. I mean, I look much better wearing it than a mannequin does.””
I stared at her.
“You aren't entering the competition.””
“Maybe I should.””
“You don't even know how to construct a bodice.””
Her smile vanished.
“Mom, did you hear that?””
Denise stepped between us.
“Your sister has an opportunity to build her brand. You should be supporting her.””
“Using my competition gown?””
“It's just a dress.””
Those four words.
They hurt more than I expected.
Because to Denise, it really was just a dress.
She hadn't seen the nights I had fallen asleep at my sewing machine. She hadn't seen the blood on my fingertips after hours of hand stitching.
She hadn't watched me carefully restore every section after Brianna spilled red wine across the silk.
She hadn't seen any of it.
Or perhaps she had.
Perhaps she simply hadn't cared.
I lowered the camera.
“I need it back.””
Denise folded her arms.
“Your sister has a photoshoot tomorrow. The photographer has already been booked.””
“Then she can wear something else.””
Brianna walked toward the vanity.
“I'm not wearing something else. Adrian is introducing me to some important people tomorrow.””
Adrian Cole.
Her wealthy real estate developer boyfriend.
The man who had recently started funding her influencer business.
“What does Adrian have to do with my dress?”” I asked.
Brianna picked up a lipstick.
“Everything. He's helping me get into the fashion industry.””
I stared at her.
“You're getting into fashion?””
“Why not?””
“Because you don't design.””
She laughed.
“Neither do you, apparently. You spend three months making one dress, and now everyone has to worship you.””
My mother smiled faintly.
“Brianna, don't waste your energy arguing.””
Then she looked at me.
“Pack the remaining accessories and put them in the garment bag. Your sister has an early morning.””
I didn't move.
For a moment, the room became very quiet.
Then I said, “No.””
Denise's expression hardened.
“What did you say?””
“I said no. The dress belongs to me.””
She walked toward me.
“You're being selfish.””
“I'm protecting my work.””
“Your work?”” She laughed without humor.
“Who paid for the fabric?””
“I did.””
“Who helped you when you were struggling?””
“You gave me three hundred dollars eight months ago. I paid every cent back.””
“Don't raise your voice.””
“I'm not raising my voice.””
Brianna pulled out her phone.
“Mom, can you hurry? Adrian's waiting downstairs.””
Denise turned away from me.
“Take the dress off the mannequin, Brianna.””
I stepped forward.
“Don't touch it.””
Brianna stopped.
For a second, I thought she might actually listen.
Then she looked at my mother.
Denise nodded.
Brianna reached behind her and pulled the zipper down.
My stomach tightened.
“Brianna, stop.””
She shrugged the gown off her shoulders.
“Relax. I'm taking it off.””
The expensive silk slid down her body.
I rushed forward to catch the skirt before it touched the floor.
“Careful!””
She laughed.
“God, you're exhausting.””
I gathered the fabric into my arms.
Denise took the garment bag from the bed.
“Put it away.””
I looked at her.
“I'm not giving it to her.””
My mother stepped close enough that I could smell her perfume.
“If you loved this family, you would stop making everything a competition with your sister.””
I swallowed.
Then I remembered something.
The hidden compartment.
Three weeks earlier, while repairing the damage from Brianna's wine spill, I had discovered that the original lining of the gown contained a small section of fabric that had been replaced during an earlier alteration.
It wasn't part of my design.
It was a remnant from Grandmother Evelyn's old collection.
Inside it, I had found a tiny folded envelope.
I hadn't opened it immediately.
I had recognized my grandmother's handwriting on the front.
For Nia. When the time is right.
I had placed the envelope back inside the compartment and carefully resewn the lining.
Nobody knew it was there.
Not even my mother.
And suddenly, as Denise stood in front of me demanding that I surrender the gown, I understood something.
I didn't need to fight her for it.
I needed to know what my grandmother had left me.
“Fine,” I whispered.
Brianna smiled.
“See? Was that so hard?””
I placed the gown inside the garment bag.
Denise watched me zip it shut.
“Good girl. Now, take the accessories downstairs.””
They left the bedroom together.
Brianna was already talking about her photoshoot.
My mother was reminding her to tag Adrian's company.
Neither of them noticed that I had slipped my grandmother's old silver thimble into my pocket.
I waited until their footsteps disappeared.
Then I locked the bedroom door.
My hands trembled as I retrieved the dress.
I turned it inside out and carefully located the hidden compartment beneath the left side of the bodice.
Three small stitches.
A narrow seam.
A secret that had remained untouched for decades.
I picked up my grandmother's embroidery scissors.
And just as I cut the first thread, my phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
Miss Carter, this is Margaret Bellamy's office. We need to speak with you urgently about your competition entry.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
Please do not submit or transfer ownership of your gown until we have spoken.
My heart began pounding.
How did the Bellamy Foundation know my family was taking my dress?
And why were they warning me about transferring ownership?
I looked down at the silver thimble in my palm.
For the first time in three months, I wondered whether my grandmother had known something about the Bellamy family that I didn't.
I answered the call.
“Hello?””
A woman's calm voice came through.
“Miss Carter, my name is Margaret Bellamy. I believe your grandmother and I have something important in common.””
I stopped breathing.
“What does my grandmother have to do with this?””
There was a pause.
May you like
Then she said six words that changed everything.
“Your grandmother was our first winner.””
