Chapter 1: The Girl Nobody Wanted
"Take your cheap little portfolio and get out of my department before I have security escort you downstairs.""
Vanessa Reed's voice sliced through the corridor.
Three women stood behind her, watching me like they had just been handed tickets to a show.
I tightened my arms around my portfolio.
"I'm not leaving until the recruitment team gives me an answer.""
Vanessa raised an eyebrow.
"An answer? Sweetheart, you should be grateful they even allowed you through the front door.""
Chloe laughed.
Madison looked down at my shoes.
And I stood there, trying desperately not to let them see how badly my hands were shaking.
My name is Maya Carter. I was twenty-four years old, had less than three hundred dollars in my bank account, and had spent the last four years teaching myself everything I could about fashion design.
That morning, I had walked into Bellamy House, one of the most prestigious fashion companies in New York City, believing that my life might finally change.
I hadn't expected everyone to welcome me.
But I hadn't expected to be treated like I didn't belong in the same building, either.
"Vanessa," I said carefully, "I came here for an interview. I haven't done anything wrong.""
She tilted her head.
"That's where you're mistaken. You walked into a place you clearly don't understand.""
"Perhaps you should let recruitment decide whether I'm qualified.""
The corridor went silent.
Chloe's smile disappeared.
Vanessa slowly lowered her coffee cup.
"Excuse me?""
I swallowed.
"I said the recruitment team should make that decision.""
For a moment, I thought she might actually slap me.
Instead, she smiled.
It was the kind of smile people wore when they had already decided how to destroy someone.
"Interesting," she whispered.
"You have quite a lot of confidence for someone with no professional training.""
"I have training. Just not the expensive kind.""
"There's a difference.""
She reached for my portfolio.
I stepped backward.
"Please don't touch that.""
Her eyes narrowed.
"Are you giving me instructions?""
"No. I'm asking you to respect my work.""
Vanessa laughed.
Then she turned toward Chloe and Madison.
"Did you hear that? She wants respect.""
Madison giggled.
"Maybe she should start by buying a decent pair of shoes.""
I looked down.
My black flats were scuffed near the toes. One had a small scratch along the side.
They had belonged to my mother.
I had polished them the night before until my fingers smelled like shoe cream.
I didn't tell them that.
I didn't tell them anything.
My mother, Eleanor Carter, had spent most of her life working as a seamstress. She never owned a fashion label or appeared in a magazine. She worked from a tiny room behind our apartment, where an old sewing machine rattled until midnight.
But she could look at a piece of fabric and imagine something extraordinary.
When I was seven, she taught me how to thread a needle.
When I was twelve, she showed me how to recognize the difference between cheap construction and beautiful tailoring.
And when I was seventeen, she gave me her most valuable possession.
A notebook filled with sketches.
On the first page, she had written:
Never let someone else's opinion decide what your hands are capable of creating.
She died three years later.
I had carried that notebook ever since.
Vanessa snapped her fingers.
"Maya. Are you listening?""
I looked up.
"Yes.""
"Then move.""
I didn't.
Before she could say anything else, a familiar voice interrupted us.
"What's going on here?""
Olivia appeared from the elevator, holding a tablet.
She looked between Vanessa and me.
Vanessa immediately changed her expression.
"Nothing, Olivia. I was simply helping our visitor understand that the creative department isn't an appropriate place for unauthorized guests.""
Olivia frowned.
"She's still waiting for her recruitment results.""
"Then she can wait downstairs.""
"Patricia specifically asked me to bring her back.""
Vanessa's smile tightened.
"Patricia?""
"Yes. She wanted to speak with Maya again.""
For the first time, Vanessa looked genuinely surprised.
"Why?""
Olivia glanced at her tablet.
"She didn't explain. She just said it was important.""
Vanessa turned to me.
"Well, congratulations. Apparently, you've managed to create more work for everyone.""
I ignored her.
"Should I follow you?""
Olivia nodded.
"Yes. Come with me.""
As I walked away, I heard Chloe whisper something.
Then Vanessa's voice followed.
"Don't get too excited, Maya. Sometimes people are called back because someone wants to reject them properly.""
I kept walking.
Olivia waited until we reached the elevator before speaking.
"I'm sorry about that.""
I looked at her.
"Does she always behave like that?""
Olivia hesitated.
"Vanessa has been here for six years. She's close to the senior executives.""
"That doesn't answer my question.""
Olivia gave a small, tired laugh.
"Yes. She does.""
The elevator doors closed.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Olivia looked at my portfolio.
"Can I ask you something?""
"Of course.""
"Did you really design all those pieces yourself?""
I nodded.
"Every sketch.""
"Even the architectural sleeve?""
"Yes.""
She shook her head.
"I've worked here for eight months. I've seen hundreds of portfolios. Yours was different.""
I stared at her.
"Thank you.""
"Don't thank me yet. I haven't told you why Patricia wants to see you.""
The elevator stopped.
We stepped out onto the twenty-fourth floor.
Unlike the creative department, this floor was quiet. The offices were larger, the furniture darker, and the walls covered with framed photographs of fashion shows from around the world.
Olivia led me to a conference room.
Patricia was waiting inside.
So was Daniel.
But there was another person sitting at the head of the table.
A woman in her early sixties with silver hair, a navy suit, and a pair of reading glasses resting on the table.
She stood when I entered.
"Maya Carter?""
"Yes.""
"I'm Helen Brooks. I oversee talent development and special projects here at Bellamy House.""
I shook her hand.
"Nice to meet you.""
Helen gestured toward a chair.
"Please sit.""
I placed my portfolio on the table.
Patricia smiled.
"We've been discussing your interview.""
My stomach tightened.
"Is there a problem?""
"Quite the opposite," Daniel replied.
Helen opened a folder.
"Your technical knowledge is unusual for someone without formal fashion school training.""
I wasn't sure what to say.
"Thank you.""
"However," Helen continued, "there's something we need to understand.""
She turned one of my sketches toward me.
It was the ivory gown with the embroidered flowers.
"Where did you get the inspiration for this design?""
"My mother.""
Helen studied the drawing.
"Was she a designer?""
"Not professionally. She was a seamstress.""
"What's her name?""
"Eleanor Carter.""
Helen's fingers stopped moving.
For a moment, she didn't speak.
Then she looked up.
"Could you repeat that?""
"Eleanor Carter.""
The older woman's expression changed.
She picked up the sketch again, studying the tiny details around the waist.
"Did your mother ever work in Paris?""
My heart skipped.
"She did. When she was younger.""
Helen slowly removed her glasses.
"How old were you when she passed away?""
"Twenty-one.""
Helen looked toward Patricia.
There was something in her expression I couldn't understand.
Then she asked a question that made my stomach drop.
"Maya, do you still have anything that belonged to your mother? Her original designs, perhaps?""
I thought about the old notebook hidden in my apartment.
The one with the faded blue cover.
"Yes," I whispered.
"I have her sketchbook.""
Helen leaned forward.
"Would you be willing to bring it here tomorrow?""
I nodded.
"Of course.""
She closed the folder.
"Good. Because I think there's something you need to know about your mother.""
And before I could ask what she meant, Helen glanced toward the conference room door.
"Patricia, please make sure Vanessa Reed doesn't hear about this meeting.""
My blood ran cold.
May you like
Why would Helen Brooks want to keep my mother's name a secret from Vanessa?
And what had my mother done at Bellamy House all those years ago?
