Chapter 1: The Dress They Tried to Steal
Brielle had just stolen an $85,000 gown from me, but she had no idea that wearing it might be the most expensive mistake of her life.
She stood in front of the enormous gilded mirror, holding the butterfly wings against her shoulders, while my stepmother admired her reflection as if she were looking at a future queen.
Neither woman knew that the invitation Brielle had spent months chasing was worthless without my approval.
And neither knew that the quiet girl they had spent years humiliating was the woman who controlled the entire event.
"Careful with those wings," I said.
Brielle turned, rolling her eyes.
"Don't tell me how to wear my own dress.""
"Your dress?""
She looked at Vanessa.
My stepmother gave me a warning stare.
"Camille, enough. You've made your point.""
I glanced down at the shattered perfume bottle scattered across the marble floor. My hip still hurt from where Vanessa had shoved me into the dressing table.
Apparently, even my pain was an inconvenience to them.
Brielle lifted the skirt again.
"Mother, I think we should take it to Madame Laurent tomorrow. The waist needs to be tighter, and I want the neckline lower.""
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
"Don't alter it.""
Brielle laughed.
"Are you seriously still talking?""
"That gown took eleven months to make. The designer won't authorize alterations without my approval.""
Vanessa's eyebrows rose.
"How convenient. Now you're pretending to be some fashion authority?""
I looked at her.
"I know the designer personally.""
"Of course you do," Brielle muttered.
"And I suppose you also know the president?""
Vanessa chuckled.
"Darling, don't encourage her.""
I could have told them the truth.
I could have explained that Madame Laurent had flown from Paris three times specifically for my fittings. That the gown's construction included a delicate mechanical system that allowed the wings to move with the performer's gestures. That the crystals had been individually placed according to the lighting design for the gala's opening stage.
But I didn't.
Not yet.
I had spent three years building something extraordinary while my family assumed I spent my days reading books in the mansion library.
Letting them underestimate me had become almost effortless.
"Take it," I finally said.
Brielle blinked.
"What?""
"Take the dress.""
Her face brightened immediately.
"See? I knew you'd eventually understand.""
Vanessa smiled with satisfaction.
"That is much better, Camille.""
I picked up my phone from the dressing table.
"But I need you to sign something first.""
Brielle's smile disappeared.
"What kind of something?""
"An acknowledgment that you're borrowing it.""
She burst out laughing.
"Are you insane?""
"It's an expensive piece. I need written confirmation that you're responsible for any damage.""
Vanessa stepped closer.
"Don't be ridiculous. We're family.""
"Exactly. Family should have no problem being honest with each other.""
Her eyes narrowed.
For a moment, I thought she might slap me.
Instead, she snatched the phone from my hand and placed it on the table.
"You're becoming increasingly difficult to live with.""
I retrieved my phone.
"That's unfortunate.""
Brielle was already examining the wings.
"Come on, Mother. I want to show this to my friends.""
Vanessa picked up her purse.
"Let's go.""
They headed toward the door.
Just before leaving, Brielle looked over her shoulder.
"Oh, and Camille?""
I raised my eyes.
"Don't bother coming to the gala. I don't want you embarrassing me by telling people we're related.""
I smiled faintly.
"Don't worry. I won't.""
The door slammed.
For several seconds, I remained perfectly still.
Then I opened my phone.
There were seventeen unread messages in the private production group.
The first was from Elena, my executive producer.
*ELENA: Asteria, we have a problem. The Bellamy family has requested four additional VIP invitations. Vanessa Bellamy is claiming she has your personal authorization.*
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
*ELENA: Also, someone from the Harrington Foundation called. They want to confirm Brielle Bellamy as the featured fairy queen. Apparently, she told them the costume designer approved her.*
I slowly sat down.
So this wasn't simply about stealing a dress.
Vanessa had been using my identity without my knowledge.
I called Elena.
She answered immediately.
"Asteria?""
"Tell me exactly what happened.""
Elena exhaled.
"Vanessa Bellamy contacted our guest relations director. She claimed your family had been personally invited to the opening ceremony. Then Brielle sent over photographs of herself wearing what appears to be your costume.""
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"Did she tell them she was the fairy queen?""
"Yes.""
I closed my eyes.
The fairy queen wasn't just a costume.
She was the centerpiece of the opening performance.
The entire production had been designed around a woman whose identity would remain hidden until the final reveal.
Only six people knew who she was.
And none of them was named Brielle Bellamy.
"Elena, freeze the additional invitations.""
"All of them?""
"Yes. And send me the latest guest list.""
"Understood.""
I paused.
"One more thing.""
"Yes?""
"Remove the Bellamy family from the private rehearsal list.""
There was a brief silence.
"Are you sure?""
I looked at the empty space in the mirror where the gown had been.
"Absolutely.""
After ending the call, I opened another message.
This one was from Madame Laurent.
*MADAME LAURENT: Camille, darling, I have just received a rather disturbing request from your stepmother. She wants the wings shortened and the bodice reconstructed. Please tell me this is a mistake.*
I typed back.
*CAMILLE: It isn't. But don't worry. Nobody is changing your work without my authorization.*
Her reply came seconds later.
*MADAME LAURENT: Good. I was beginning to think the world had lost its mind.*
I almost laughed.
Then I opened the photograph Brielle had posted on her private social media account.
She was standing in my gown.
The caption read:
My fairy queen moment. Can't wait to steal the show at the Midnight Masquerade.
Hundreds of people had already liked it.
One comment caught my attention.
It was from a woman named Celeste Harrington, daughter of the Harrington Foundation's chairman.
Absolutely stunning. I can't wait to meet you at the gala.
I stared at the comment.
Then I noticed another one.
It was from a verified fashion journalist.
Is this the mysterious Asteria creation?
Brielle had replied.
Yes! I was personally selected to wear it.
I put the phone down.
For three years, I had protected my identity because I wanted the work to speak for itself.
But my stepsister had just attached her name to my creation in front of the very people who had spent years trying to discover who I was.
And she had done it wearing a gown that wasn't even hers.
I walked toward the window.
Outside, the Bellamy estate's fountain shimmered beneath the afternoon sun. A gardener was trimming the hedges. Somewhere downstairs, Vanessa was probably celebrating her daughter's latest achievement.
I had once believed that if I worked hard enough, I might eventually earn a place in this family.
My father had believed that too.
He had been wrong.
I opened my contacts and called my attorney.
"Good afternoon, Miss Bennett," Daniel Reed answered.
"I need you to prepare a formal notice regarding unauthorized use of my property.""
"Is this about the estate?""
"No.""
I looked at the photograph of Brielle.
"It's about the gown. And possibly something much bigger.""
Daniel paused.
"Should I ask?""
"Not yet. But I want every document related to the Bellamy family's gala sponsorship applications.""
His voice changed.
"Camille, are you aware that Vanessa Bellamy submitted a sponsorship proposal under the family business last week?""
I straightened.
"No. Why?""
"Because the proposal contains a letter claiming that Asteria personally endorsed Brielle Bellamy as the face of the opening ceremony.""
My blood ran cold.
"Send it to me.""
"I will. But there's something else.""
"What?""
"The letter includes your alleged signature.""
I stared at my reflection in the glass.
Someone had gone much further than stealing a dress.
May you like
Someone had forged my name.
And suddenly, the little family disagreement in my dressing room looked very different.
