Chapter 2: The Girl They Tried to Erase
I didn't sleep that night.
At 6:15 a.m., I was sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop open, replaying the footage of Vivienne stealing my gown.
My coffee had gone cold.
My eyes burned.
But I wasn't crying anymore.
I had spent too many years crying quietly in that house.
This time, I wanted answers.
My father entered the kitchen wearing his work clothes.
He stopped when he saw me.
“Aaliyah?””
I turned the laptop toward him.
“Watch this.””
He frowned.
“What am I looking at?””
“Your wife taking my dress.””
The video played.
Vivienne entered my bedroom.
She looked around.
She picked up the garment bag.
Then she removed my original sketches from the wall and slipped them into her handbag.
My father watched without speaking.
When the recording ended, he lowered his eyes.
“Where did you get this?””
“My camera.””
“You recorded people in your bedroom?””
“I recorded myself working.””
He rubbed his forehead.
“Your stepmother said you had abandoned the project.””
I stared at him.
“Does this look abandoned?””
He didn't answer.
“Dad, she stole my work.””
“I'll speak to Vivienne.””
I let out a bitter laugh.
“You said that last time.””
He looked wounded.
“Aaliyah, please.””
“No. Listen to me. I don't want you to speak to her. I want you to tell her to return my dress and correct the competition registration.””
He pulled out a chair.
“It's complicated.””
“No, Dad. It's actually very simple.””
I pointed at the laptop.
“She took something that belonged to me.””
Before he could answer, Vivienne walked into the kitchen.
She was already dressed for the day.
Her hair was perfectly styled, and a pair of gold earrings framed her face.
“Good morning,” she said.
Nobody responded.
Her eyes moved to the laptop.
Then she sighed.
“Still obsessing over this?””
I stood.
“Change my registration back.””
Vivienne opened the refrigerator.
“Celeste has already submitted her final entry.””
“Then withdraw it.””
“That isn't happening.””
“Why?””
She closed the refrigerator.
“Because my daughter has worked hard for this opportunity.””
I stared at her.
“You mean she worked hard stealing my dress?””
Vivienne's expression hardened.
“Enough.””
My father finally spoke.
“Vivienne, I saw the recording.””
She froze.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then she slowly turned toward him.
“Daniel, you don't understand what you're looking at.””
“I understand that you took Aaliyah's gown.””
“I borrowed it.””
“Without asking?””
Vivienne crossed her arms.
“She wasn't going to win anyway.””
The words landed like a slap.
My father looked at her.
“That doesn't make it right.””
Vivienne laughed without humor.
“Oh, now you're defending her?””
“I'm asking you to return what belongs to her.””
She stepped closer to him.
“Do you know how much I have invested in Celeste? The workshops, the materials, the private lessons? Do you know how many doors I've opened for her?””
I looked at my father.
“And what have you invested in me?””
Silence.
Vivienne smiled.
“Exactly.””
I closed my laptop.
“I'll handle this myself.””
She raised her eyebrows.
“With what money?””
I picked up my bag.
“With the evidence you forgot existed.””
Then I walked out.
My first stop was Mrs. Bennett's tailor shop.
She was unlocking the front door when she saw me.
“Aaliyah? You're early.””
“I need your help.””
She immediately stepped aside.
“Come in.””
I explained everything.
The stolen dress.
The changed application.
The competition.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she placed both hands on the counter.
“Do you still have the original sketches?””
“Yes.””
“The footage?””
“Yes.””
“Receipts for the materials?””
I nodded.
“Every single one.””
She smiled.
“Then we have something to work with.””
She brought out a notebook and began writing.
“First, we contact the competition committee. Second, we request a temporary hold on the ownership claim. Third, we speak to someone who understands intellectual property.””
I looked at her.
“You'd do that for me?””
Mrs. Bennett gave me a disappointed look.
“Girl, I've watched you build that gown with your bare hands. Do you think I'm going to sit here and let someone else collect the applause?””
I almost cried.
She handed me a tissue.
“Don't waste those tears yet. We have work to do.””
At noon, we visited a small legal office above a pharmacy.
The attorney, Marcus Reed, listened to our story while examining the files on my laptop.
He was in his early forties, wore round glasses, and had the calm expression of someone who had seen far worse family disputes.
“Who owns the original design files?”” he asked.
“I do.””
“Do you have dated copies?””
“Yes.””
“Material receipts?””
“Yes.””
“Photographs showing the development process?””
I opened a folder.
“Hundreds.””
He leaned back.
“That's good.””
I hesitated.
“But the application was submitted under my name originally. Then it was withdrawn through my account.””
Marcus examined the email headers.
“Do you know who had access to your password?””
“My stepmother knew it. She helped me set up the account.””
He nodded.
“And your stepsister?””
“She had access to the email address connected to it.””
Marcus looked at Mrs. Bennett.
“This isn't just a disagreement over who designed a dress. We need to establish the chain of creation and investigate the unauthorized account activity.””
He turned back to me.
“Do you have the original pattern?””
“Yes.””
“Bring it tomorrow.””
He paused.
“One more thing. Don't confront them again until we know exactly what evidence we have.””
I nodded.
For the first time, I felt that someone was taking me seriously.
But when we left the office, my phone began vibrating.
A message from Celeste.
*You really think anyone will believe you?*
Another message arrived.
*The judges already know I'm the designer.*
Then a photograph.
Celeste standing in front of a mirror.
My pink gown was on her body.
The caption read:
*Final fitting. My dream is finally becoming reality.*
I showed Mrs. Bennett.
She shook her head.
“She's trying to provoke you.””
I typed a reply.
*Enjoy wearing it while you can.*
Then I blocked her.
Two days later, I received an unexpected phone call.
It was Margaret Ellis, the head judge of the competition.
“Miss Carter?””
“Yes.””
“This is Margaret Ellis. I reviewed your complaint.””
My heart began pounding.
“Thank you for calling.””
“I need to ask you something. Did you personally construct the pink gown submitted by Celeste Vaughn?””
“Yes.””
“Can you prove it?””
“I have the original footage, sketches, material receipts, and the pattern.””
There was a brief silence.
“Would you be willing to present them before the judging panel?””
I gripped the phone.
“When?””
“Tomorrow afternoon.””
I looked at Mrs. Bennett.
She was standing across the shop, holding a wedding dress.
I nodded even though Margaret couldn't see me.
“Yes.””
“Good. Bring everything. And, Miss Carter?””
“Yes?””
“Do not allow anyone to intimidate you into withdrawing your complaint.””
The call ended.
I stood motionless.
Mrs. Bennett lowered the dress.
“Well?””
I smiled.
“They want to see the evidence.””
She raised both hands.
“That's what I'm talking about!””
But my relief didn't last long.
That evening, I arrived home to find my father sitting alone in the living room.
He looked exhausted.
“Aaliyah, we need to talk.””
I placed my bag on the chair.
“About what?””
“Vivienne is upset.””
I almost laughed.
“I'm sure.””
“She says you're threatening Celeste's future.””
I stared at him.
“Dad, she stole my future.””
He looked down.
“She's asking you to withdraw the complaint.””
“No.””
“She says Celeste will lose her scholarship opportunities if this becomes public.””
I felt something cold settle in my chest.
“And what happens to me if I let her keep my work?””
My father didn't answer.
I walked toward the stairs.
“Aaliyah,” he called.
I stopped.
“Your stepmother says she has something you should know.””
I turned around.
“What?””
He hesitated.
Then he reached into his jacket and removed a folded document.
“I found this in her office.””
He placed it on the coffee table.
It was a copy of my original competition application.
At the bottom was a signature.
My name.
But I had never signed it.
I leaned closer.
The signature looked almost perfect.
Almost.
Then I noticed the date.
The document had been altered three days before Vivienne claimed I had withdrawn voluntarily.
I looked up.
“Where did you find this?””
“In Vivienne's desk.””
“Why were you looking through her desk?””
He swallowed.
“Because I found another document.””
My stomach tightened.
“What document?””
He handed me a second page.
It was a contract between Celeste and a luxury fashion company.
A preliminary agreement offering her a paid internship and a development opportunity if she won the competition.
I scanned the page.
Then I reached the final paragraph.
The company had included a statement guaranteeing that Celeste owned all intellectual property associated with the submitted collection.
But something else caught my attention.
The agreement had been signed weeks before the competition.
Weeks before Celeste supposedly finished designing the gown.
And beneath the signature was a name I recognized.
Vivienne Vaughn.
I looked at my father.
“Dad, why would she sign this before the dress was even finished?””
He closed his eyes.
“Because she knew Celeste would be wearing it.””
I stared at him.
Then I asked the question that made his face turn white.
“Did you know about this?””
He shook his head.
“No.””
But before I could say anything else, his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
Vivienne.
He answered.
“Hello?””
I watched his expression change.
“What do you mean?””
He stood abruptly.
“Vivienne, don't do anything stupid.””
Then he looked at me.
His voice dropped.
“She knows about the meeting tomorrow.””
I froze.
“How?””
My father ended the call.
He looked terrified.
“Because someone sent her the evidence.””
I gripped the document.
“Who?””
He shook his head.
May you like
Then he said something that made the room feel suddenly smaller.
“Someone has been accessing your camera recordings from inside this house.””
