Chapter 4: The Secret Behind My Mother's Name
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
The alterations shop seemed to shrink around me. The old sewing machines, the fabric rolls, the faded posters on the walls—all of it blurred while Vivienne Laurent's words echoed in my ears.
My mother had been the original designer behind a collection that built one of the most powerful fashion houses in the country.
And the dress Brianna had stolen might prove it.
"Mrs. Laurent," I finally whispered, "are you saying my mother designed your company's original collection?""
"I'm saying that the woman you knew as Elena Carter once created a body of work that changed my life," Vivienne replied.
"But the history of that collection is complicated.""
"Why didn't she tell me?""
"Perhaps she wanted you to have a childhood without the burden of her past.""
I looked at the photograph Mrs. Alvarez had placed on the table. My mother stood beside a younger Vivienne Laurent, smiling at something outside the frame. She wore a simple black dress, her hair pulled into a loose bun, and a measuring tape hung around her neck.
She looked so young.
So alive.
"Did someone steal her designs?"" I asked.
Vivienne took a breath.
"Yes. But before I explain, I need to know something. Did you create the gown currently in your stepsister's possession entirely by yourself?""
"Yes. I have my sketches, fabric receipts, progress photographs, and the original design files.""
"Excellent. Don't alter or delete anything. Our legal team will want copies.""
"My stepsister is entering the gown in a competition tomorrow. She told the judges she designed it.""
"I understand.""
"Can you stop her?""
"Not without giving the organizers sufficient information. We must be careful not to make allegations we cannot substantiate.""
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
"She's going to stand in front of everyone and take credit for my work.""
"And you are going to give us the opportunity to establish the truth.""
Her voice was firm, but not unkind.
"Meet me at the foundation's office tomorrow morning. Bring every piece of documentation you have. I'll arrange for someone to accompany you if you need assistance.""
When the call ended, I stared at my phone.
Mrs. Alvarez pulled a chair beside mine.
"Your mother once told me that she had a chance to become famous," she said.
"She turned it down because she believed the price was too high.""
"What price?""
"She never explained the details. But I remember her saying that she would rather start over with nothing than spend the rest of her life fighting to prove that something belonged to her.""
I swallowed hard.
"Did she ever regret leaving?""
Mrs. Alvarez looked toward the window.
"Sometimes. Especially when she couldn't afford fabric for a project she loved. But she never regretted choosing you.""
That answer hurt more than I expected.
My mother had sacrificed a career I hadn't even known existed to raise me. Meanwhile, I had spent years believing that the sewing machine she left behind was simply an old hobby.
I looked at the photograph again.
"What happened to her original collection?""
"Some pieces disappeared. Others were sold under someone else's name. When Elena left New York, the fashion world assumed she had retired.""
"And Vivienne?""
"Vivienne became the public face of the company.""
"Was she responsible for what happened?""
Mrs. Alvarez shook her head.
"I don't know. That's why we need to hear the whole story.""
I wanted answers immediately, but I had another problem.
The dress.
Without it, I couldn't present my original creation at the foundation's showcase. And even if the evidence proved that I had designed it, Brianna could still damage my reputation by appearing first in front of the competition judges.
I needed to recover my work.
That evening, I returned home with Mrs. Alvarez's number written on a piece of paper and the foundation's appointment confirmed for nine the following morning.
Dad was waiting in the living room.
Vanessa sat beside him, her arms crossed. Brianna stood near the fireplace, wearing a satin robe and scrolling through her phone.
On the coffee table lay a printed photograph of my gown.
Brianna had enlarged it.
Beside the photograph was a draft of her competition biography.
*BRIANNA WHITMORE — EMERGING DESIGNER AND CREATOR OF THE OCEAN DREAMS GOWN.*
My stomach turned.
"You printed that?"" I asked.
Brianna lifted her chin.
"It's for the judges.""
"You didn't design that dress.""
Vanessa stood.
"We have already discussed this.""
"No. You've decided that stealing my work is acceptable, and you expect me to agree.""
Dad rubbed his hands together.
"Nia, let's keep this calm.""
I pointed at the photograph.
"She's claiming to be the designer. That's not an accident. That's fraud.""
Brianna laughed.
"Don't use big words just because you're angry.""
"I have the original sketches. I have photographs of every stage of construction. I have receipts for the materials.""
"Anyone can draw a picture.""
"Not with time-stamped photographs of the dress being made.""
Her smile faltered.
Vanessa immediately stepped between us.
"Your sister has worked hard for this opportunity. You should be proud of her.""
"Then let her compete in the dress you bought her.""
"She doesn't like that dress.""
"That isn't my problem.""
Vanessa picked up the printed biography and tapped it against her palm.
"Do you have any idea how humiliating it would be for Brianna to arrive tomorrow without the gown? People have already seen photographs. Sponsors are expecting her.""
"Then she should explain the truth.""
Brianna's eyes filled with tears so quickly that I almost admired the performance.
"Mom, she's trying to ruin everything.""
Vanessa wrapped an arm around her daughter.
"Nobody is going to ruin anything, sweetheart.""
Then she looked at me.
"You're going to stop this nonsense. You're going to apologize for the way you've behaved, and you're going to let Brianna wear the dress.""
I stared at her.
"What if I refuse?""
Her expression hardened.
"Then perhaps you need to start thinking about how long you can continue living under this roof.""
The words settled over the room.
Dad looked up sharply.
"Vanessa.""
"What?"" she demanded.
"I'm tired of being disrespected in my own home.""
I turned toward him.
"Are you going to let her threaten to throw me out?""
He stood, then sat down again.
"Nia, nobody is throwing you out. Let's not exaggerate.""
I laughed once, without humor.
"She just said it.""
"She said you need to think about your behavior.""
I looked at my father and realized that he would always find a softer way to describe whatever Vanessa did.
A slap became discipline.
A stolen dress became sharing.
A threat became advice.
And every time he renamed the cruelty, he made it easier for himself to ignore.
I took out my phone.
"Then I want you to hear something.""
I played Brianna's voice message from the previous evening.
You can't prove anything, Nia. Nobody cares about some old sketches.
Then I played the message that followed.
I told them yes.
Brianna's face drained of color.
Vanessa reached for my phone.
"Turn that off!""
I pulled it away.
"She admitted she lied to the judges.""
"That recording could be edited!"" Brianna shouted.
"It's the original message on my phone.""
Dad stared at her.
"Brianna, did you tell the competition that you designed the gown?""
She opened her mouth.
Vanessa answered first.
"She's under pressure. The organizers ask everyone to provide a designer biography. She was simply trying to make the submission sound professional.""
"By claiming my work?""
"You don't understand how these competitions operate," Vanessa snapped.
I shook my head.
"No. I understand perfectly.""
I turned to Dad.
"I need you to ask her to return the dress.""
He looked at Brianna.
"Sweetheart, perhaps it would be better if—"
"No!"" Brianna cried.
She grabbed the printed biography from the table and tore it in half.
"You always do this! You always take her side!""
Dad flinched.
Vanessa pulled Brianna against her.
"Nobody is taking sides.""
"She gets to be the victim, and I lose everything!""
I stared at her in disbelief.
"You stole my dress, Brianna.""
"Because you made something beautiful and never even thought about how it could help me!""
The confession slipped out before she could stop herself.
For a moment, the entire room was silent.
Then Brianna covered her mouth.
Vanessa looked furious.
Dad slowly stood.
"What did you just say?""
Brianna began crying in earnest.
"I didn't mean it like that.""
"You said you took the dress because you wanted to use it.""
"I was going to give it back!""
"When?"" I asked.
She glared at me through her tears.
"After the competition!""
"So after you won using my work?""
"Just stop!""
I stepped backward.
There it was.
The truth, finally spoken aloud.
Brianna hadn't made a mistake. She had made a decision. And Vanessa had helped her carry it out.
Dad turned to his wife.
"Give Nia her dress.""
Vanessa's jaw tightened.
"Marcus, think about what you're doing.""
"I'm asking you to return something that doesn't belong to us.""
For the first time that evening, I thought he might actually stand up for me.
Vanessa stared at him for a long moment.
Then she smiled.
"Of course. We'll return it.""
My shoulders loosened.
"Where is it?""
"At the venue. Brianna's already checked in, and the gown is being kept in a locked dressing room.""
"Then we'll go get it.""
"Tomorrow morning," Vanessa replied.
"It's late, and everyone needs to calm down.""
"No. I need it tonight.""
Vanessa's smile disappeared.
"You don't get to dictate terms to me.""
Dad stepped toward her.
"Vanessa, please.""
She picked up her purse.
"Fine. If Nia wants to make this a legal matter, we can do that. But she should understand that once lawyers get involved, there will be consequences for everyone.""
I held her gaze.
"I'm not the one who stole anything.""
She walked past me.
Brianna followed, wiping her cheeks.
At the stairs, she turned around.
"You think you're going to win because you have some photographs?""
I didn't answer.
She pointed at the gown's printed image.
"That dress is already mine in everyone's eyes. Tomorrow, they'll see me wearing it. They'll hear my name. And when the judges announce the winner, you can stand in your bedroom and sew another one.""
She disappeared upstairs.
I remained in the living room, staring at the torn biography on the coffee table.
Dad approached me.
"Nia, I'm sorry.""
I looked at him.
"Are you sorry she did it, or are you sorry I found out?""
His face crumpled.
"I never wanted this to happen.""
"Neither did I.""
He reached for my shoulder, but I stepped away.
"I have to go to the foundation tomorrow. They're investigating what happened.""
"Investigating?""
I told him about Vivienne Laurent, my mother's former career, and the possibility that my gown had a connection to a missing collection.
By the time I finished, Dad had gone pale.
"Your mother never told me about any of this.""
"Maybe she didn't think you'd understand.""
He looked as though I had slapped him.
I regretted the words almost immediately, but I didn't take them back.
"I'll get your dress," he promised.
"Whatever happens tomorrow, I'll get it back.""
I wanted to believe him.
But when I went upstairs, I heard Vanessa speaking on the phone behind her bedroom door.
Her voice was low and urgent.
"Yes, I understand the label is there. No, she doesn't know what it means.""
A pause.
Then Vanessa said something that made my blood turn cold.
"If that woman at Laurent Atelier recognizes the dress, we could lose everything.""
I stood perfectly still.
Vanessa continued.
"Because Elena's name is still on the original contract.""
My breath caught.
May you like
Then she whispered the words I knew I was never supposed to hear.
"And if Nia discovers who legally owns those designs, Marcus will find out what happened to his first wife's money.""
