Chapter 3: My Sister Announced Herself as the Designer

By noon, Brianna's announcement had been shared more than twelve thousand times.

By one, a fashion blog had reposted it.

By two, Adrian Cole's company had issued a statement congratulating her on her debut couture project.

And by three, my phone had received forty-seven messages.

Most were from people I barely knew.

Congratulations, Brianna!

The dress is incredible!

You were born for this.

One message came from a former coworker.

Wait. Isn't that Nia's design?

I stared at it.

Then another message arrived.

Girl, why is your sister claiming your dress?

I didn't reply.

I was sitting in Margaret Bellamy's office, looking at the photograph of Brianna wearing my work.

Margaret had already contacted the foundation's legal department.

They were preparing a formal notice.

But she had warned me that a public accusation without sufficient documentation could complicate the competition.

“We need to establish the timeline,” she said.

I opened my laptop.

“I have everything.””

“Everything?””

“Every sketch. Every fabric receipt. Every progress photograph. Every message about the gown.””

I began scrolling through my files.

There were hundreds.

The first design sketch was dated eleven months earlier.

The first fabric purchase was dated eight months earlier.

The first photograph of the finished bodice was dated four months earlier.

I had even recorded a video of myself explaining the embroidery technique.

Margaret watched quietly.

“That's excellent documentation.””

I nodded.

“There's something else.””

I opened a folder labeled GRANDMOTHER.

Inside were scanned photographs, sketchbooks, and documents I had collected over the years.

I showed Margaret the photograph of the silver pendant.

She examined it closely.

“That's the original Carter emblem.””

“What does it mean?””

“It was used on every design Evelyn created under her own label.””

I looked at the pendant.

“Why would Brianna have it?””

Margaret leaned back.

“That is a question your mother may be able to answer.””

I hesitated.

“Do you know anything about my mother?””

Margaret's expression changed.

“I knew Denise when she was young.””

I stared at her.

“You knew my mother?””

“Not well. But I remember her.””

“What was she like?””

Margaret chose her words carefully.

“Evelyn loved both her daughters. But Denise was never interested in fashion. She was interested in the life that came with it.””

I didn't understand.

“What life?””

“Money. Recognition. Invitations. Influence.””

I thought about my mother adjusting Brianna's necklace.

Her obsession with appearances.

The way she had always treated my sister's social life as an achievement.

Margaret opened another drawer.

She removed a thin folder.

“Your grandmother once told me that Denise had borrowed several of her original designs without permission.””

I looked up sharply.

“What?””

“She believed Denise had sold sketches to a private buyer.””

“Did she ever prove it?””

Margaret shook her head.

“Not publicly.””

I stared at the documents.

“Why didn't she tell anyone?””

“She was trying to protect her family.””

The words felt familiar.

My mother had used the same excuse my entire life.

Family.

Family was the reason I had to surrender my opportunities.

Family was the reason Brianna could take whatever she wanted.

Family was the reason nobody ever apologized when they hurt me.

I closed the folder.

“I'm done protecting people who don't protect me.””

Margaret studied me.

Then she smiled.

“Your grandmother would have liked that answer.””

At 4:30, I returned to my parents' house.

My mother was in the dining room arranging flowers.

Brianna sat at the table with her laptop open.

A ring light stood beside her.

She was recording a video.

“Hey, everyone! I'm so excited to finally share my first couture creation…”

I stopped in the doorway.

She looked up.

“Oh. You're back.””

I walked toward the table.

“Take the video down.””

Brianna blinked.

“What?””

“You heard me.””

Denise put down her scissors.

“Nia, don't start.””

I turned to my sister.

“You're claiming my design.””

Brianna laughed.

“It's my dress now.””

“No. It's my design, and you know it.””

She tilted her head.

“Can you prove that?””

I felt my jaw tighten.

“Yes.””

“Then prove it.””

I pulled out my phone and showed her the original sketch.

She barely glanced at it.

“That's just a drawing.””

I opened another photograph.

“Here's the finished bodice from four months ago.””

She rolled her eyes.

“So?””

“Here's the fabric receipt. Here's the embroidery progress. Here's the video of me constructing the gown.””

Brianna leaned back.

“Congratulations. You made a dress.””

I stared at her.

“You just announced that you designed it.””

“Because I did.””

“No, you didn't.””

Denise stood up.

“That's enough.””

I turned toward her.

“Did you know Brianna was going to claim the gown?””

My mother didn't answer.

I repeated the question.

“Mom, did you know?””

She walked to the kitchen counter and picked up her phone.

“Brianna is building a business. You need to stop trying to sabotage her.””

I laughed bitterly.

“I'm sabotaging her?””

“You're jealous.””

“Of what?””

“Her opportunities.””

I looked around the room.

The flowers.

The expensive furniture.

The framed photographs of Brianna at charity events.

Then I looked at my mother.

“You know what? You're right. I'm jealous.””

Denise seemed satisfied.

“Finally, some honesty.””

I continued.

“I'm jealous that she gets to fail without consequences. I'm jealous that she can destroy something I've worked on for months and still be treated like a genius. I'm jealous that I have to prove I'm talented while she only has to walk into a room.””

Brianna slammed her laptop shut.

“Shut up!””

I looked at her.

“No.””

She stood.

“You think you're better than me?””

“I think I made that dress.””

“Adrian says it's worth at least fifty thousand dollars.””

“Then Adrian should know who created it.””

Brianna stepped closer.

“Adrian doesn't care who made it. He cares about what it can do for my brand.””

I stared at her.

There it was.

The truth.

She didn't even care about the design.

She wanted the attention it could bring.

Denise moved between us.

“Brianna, go upstairs.””

“But Mom—”

“Now.””

Brianna grabbed her phone and left.

My mother waited until she disappeared.

Then she looked at me.

“What do you want?””

“I want my dress back.””

“It's already at Adrian's studio.””

My stomach dropped.

“What?””

“He took it this morning.””

“You gave him my dress?””

Denise sighed.

“Don't make it sound so dramatic.””

“Where is it?””

“Somewhere safe.””

“Mom, I need it for the competition.””

“You can make another one.””

I stared at her.

“There's no time.””

“Then perhaps you should have planned better.””

I felt something inside me go completely still.

I had spent my entire life trying to earn this woman's approval.

I had won awards.

Worked two jobs.

Stayed quiet when Brianna took credit for my achievements.

And still, somehow, I was always the problem.

I took a slow breath.

“Give me Adrian's address.””

“No.””

“Then give me his phone number.””

“No.””

I looked at her.

“Fine.””

She frowned.

“What does that mean?””

“It means I'm done asking.””

I turned and walked toward the front door.

“Nia!””

I kept walking.

“Nia Carter, get back here!””

I opened the door.

My mother shouted one final sentence.

“If you involve outsiders in this family's business, don't expect us to welcome you back!””

I stopped.

Then I turned around.

“Mom, you already made me an outsider. You just forgot to tell me.””

I left.

At 6:15, I was sitting in a coffee shop in Brooklyn when Adrian called.

I almost ignored it.

But then I remembered Brianna saying he had taken the dress.

I answered.

“Hello?””

“Nia?””

“Yes.””

“This is Adrian Cole.””

“I know.””

“I think we need to clear something up.””

I looked out the window.

“What exactly?””

“Brianna tells me you're upset about the dress.””

“I'm upset that she's claiming my work.””

He sighed.

“Look, I understand you're protective of your designs. But Brianna and I have already made arrangements.””

“What arrangements?””

“She'll be presenting the gown at a private industry event next week.””

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“Under whose name?””

A pause.

“Brianna's.””

“Then you need to cancel it.””

Adrian chuckled.

“That's not how business works.””

“It's not her design.””

“Can you prove that?””

I closed my eyes.

Why did everyone keep asking me that?

“Yes.””

“Then send the documentation to my lawyer.””

“I don't need to send anything to your lawyer. I need my dress returned.””

Adrian's voice became colder.

“Listen carefully. Brianna is my partner. I'm investing in her company. I don't appreciate you creating problems for her.””

“I'm not creating problems. I'm telling you the truth.””

“You should think carefully before making accusations.””

I almost laughed.

“Are you threatening me?””

“I'm giving you advice.””

“Then here's mine. Stop using stolen work to build a business.””

He hung up.

I sat motionless.

Then I opened my email.

A new message had arrived from Margaret.

The subject line read:

*URGENT — LEGAL DOCUMENTS REGARDING EVELYN CARTER*

I opened it.

There were three attachments.

The first was a scanned copy of my grandmother's original competition certificate.

The second was a document establishing the Evelyn Carter Trust.

The third was a handwritten letter.

I opened the letter.

To my granddaughter,

I hope you have found the courage to follow your own path.

If someone in our family attempts to claim your designs, do not argue with them. Do not beg them to understand.

Show them the documents.

I scrolled down.

There is a reason I asked Margaret to preserve the original ownership records. Many years ago, someone in our family attempted to sell my designs under another name.

My breathing became shallow.

I continued reading.

I discovered the truth too late to prevent the damage.

Then came the sentence that made my hands go numb.

The person responsible was your mother.

I stared at the screen.

I read it again.

And again.

My mother.

Denise.

The woman who had just helped Brianna steal my dress.

I looked at the attached document.

It contained a list of original designs and their registered owners.

Several had been transferred.

Several had been sold.

And beside the signatures authorizing those transfers was a name I recognized.

Denise Carter.

I sat back.

My grandmother hadn't simply been protecting her designs.

She had been protecting me from someone who had already stolen from her.

My phone rang.

Margaret.

I answered immediately.

“Is this real?””

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“My mother stole my grandmother's designs?””

“Your grandmother believed she did. The legal records support her concerns.””

“Why didn't she report her?””

“Because Denise was her daughter.””

I swallowed.

“What happens now?””

“That's why I sent you the third document.””

I opened the final attachment.

It was a sealed legal agreement.

At the top was a title:

*EVELYN CARTER CREATIVE LEGACY — SUCCESSION AND OWNERSHIP AGREEMENT.*

Below it was my grandmother's signature.

And beneath that, a paragraph naming me as the sole designated successor to her original design archive.

I looked at the date.

It had been signed twenty years earlier.

I was six years old.

“Margaret,” I whispered.

“What does this mean?””

“It means your grandmother legally transferred the rights to her original archive to you, subject to certain conditions.””

“What conditions?””

“You must independently establish yourself as a designer. Your Bellamy submission satisfies the first requirement.””

I stared at the screen.

“And the second?””

Margaret hesitated.

“Your work must be presented publicly under your own name.””

I almost laughed.

That was exactly what Brianna was trying to prevent.

Margaret continued.

“There's one more thing, Nia.””

“What?””

“Your grandmother's archive includes the original pattern for the midnight-blue gown.””

I looked toward the street.

“That's impossible. I created that design.””

“You created your version. But the original pattern was drawn by Evelyn in 1984.””

My heart pounded.

“Why would she hide it in my dress?””

“Because she wanted you to find it.””

I closed my eyes.

Suddenly, I remembered the hidden envelope beneath the lining.

The three stitches.

The old fabric.

The silver thimble.

I had almost opened it the night before.

Then I had stopped because Margaret told me not to remove the lining.

I swallowed.

“There's something inside the gown, isn't there?””

Margaret was quiet.

“Yes.””

“What?””

“A document that could prove the original design's ownership.””

I stood so quickly that my chair scraped against the floor.

“Where is the dress?””

“That's what we need to establish.””

“Adrian has it.””

Margaret's voice sharpened.

“Then we need to retrieve it immediately.””

Before I could answer, my phone vibrated.

A notification appeared.

Brianna had posted another video.

The caption read:

BIG ANNOUNCEMENT TOMORROW! My first original couture gown will be unveiled at the Cole Foundation Gala. This is only the beginning.

I tapped the video.

Brianna stood in Adrian's studio, smiling in front of a large black curtain.

Behind her was my dress.

The midnight-blue silk.

The red flowers.

The silver embroidery.

But something was different.

The lower lining had been cut.

The exact section where my grandmother's envelope was hidden.

I zoomed in.

My stomach dropped.

The hidden compartment was open.

And the envelope was gone.

I immediately called Margaret.

“Someone has opened the lining.””

She inhaled sharply.

“Did they remove the document?””

“I think so.””

“Then we have a serious problem.””

My phone vibrated again.

A text message appeared from Brianna.

You should have told me Grandma left something valuable in that dress.

I stared at it.

Another message arrived.

Too bad you didn't find it first.

Then a photograph.

My grandmother's envelope lay open on a marble table.

Beside it was a document bearing the Bellamy Foundation seal.

May you like

His Son Tried to Destroy His Stepmother With a Lie—But One Security Came...

“Dad, I swear I saw her doing it. She thought nobody was watching.”” Those were the words that turned Daniel Hayes’s peaceful hom...

The Woman Who Slapped Me Had No Idea Whose Hotel She Was Standing In

“People like you shouldn’t be in this hotel.”” Victoria Hale said it loudly enough for everyone in the lobby to hear. Then she s...

THE DRESS MY STEPSISTER BURNED—AND THE SECRET MY FATHER FINALLY REVEALED

Vanessa had spent six years making sure I understood one thing: I was a guest in my own home. But that night, standing in the bac...

And beneath the document, written in my grandmother's unmistakable handwriting, were four words:

The real owner is…