Chapter 2: The Letter Her Mother Left Behind
The envelope contained three things.
A handwritten letter.
A photograph of a woman standing inside a fashion studio.
And a small business card bearing a name Nia had heard only once in her childhood.
*Margaret Whitmore — Founder, Whitmore Atelier.*
Nia stared at the card.
Whitmore Atelier was one of the most respected independent couture houses in the country.
Its founder had mentored young designers for decades. Her collections had appeared in major fashion magazines, and her work had been worn by actresses, businesswomen, and royalty.
But why did her mother have her business card?
Nia unfolded the letter.
My beautiful girl,
If you're reading this, I hope you've found something you love enough to fight for.
I wanted to tell you many things while I was alive, but I was afraid that my unfinished dreams would become a burden on your shoulders.
You must understand something. I never regretted choosing you over a career, a studio, or a hundred beautiful dresses.
But I did regret allowing fear to convince me that I wasn't good enough.
When I was younger, Margaret Whitmore offered me an opportunity to study and work in her atelier. I was offered a place in her design program. I had already prepared my portfolio.
Then I discovered I was going to have you.
I chose motherhood. I chose your father. I chose our little home.
And I would make that choice again.
But I kept my sketches. I kept my ideas. I kept the belief that one day, someone in our family would have the courage to go further than I did.
If you have inherited my love for creating beautiful things, please don't inherit my fear.
Call Margaret.
Show her what you can do.
And never let anyone convince you that your dreams are too expensive.
All my love,
Mom.
Nia read the letter twice.
Then a third time.
Her mother had been offered a place at Whitmore Atelier.
The same atelier that had sponsored the Young American Couture Competition.
Nia looked at the photograph.
Her mother stood beside Margaret Whitmore, holding a mannequin dressed in an elaborate silver evening gown.
She looked young.
Confident.
Alive.
Nia had never seen that expression on her mother's face in any other photograph.
For the first time, she understood that Evelyn had been more than the woman who repaired school uniforms and made birthday dresses at the kitchen table.
She had been a designer.
A real designer.
And she had almost made it.
Nia wiped her eyes.
Then she looked at the clock.
9:47 p.m.
She had six days.
She needed fabric, materials, and a completely new competition design.
But most importantly, she needed to find Margaret Whitmore.
The following morning, Nia arrived at school before the first bell.
She found her best friend, Zoe Bennett, sitting on the steps outside the art building.
Zoe was an aspiring photographer who carried a camera everywhere and had a habit of noticing things other people missed.
She looked up.
"Why do you look like you haven't slept?""
"I haven't.""
"Did you finish the dress?""
Nia sat beside her.
"They took it.""
Zoe lowered her camera.
"Who?""
"Brianna. Vanessa helped her.""
"What?""
Nia told her everything.
The slap.
The gown.
The competition.
The letter.
Zoe listened without interrupting.
When Nia finished, Zoe stood up so quickly that her camera swung against her chest.
"Are you serious? Your stepmother actually hit you?""
Nia nodded.
"And they took the dress?""
"Yes.""
Zoe paced across the steps.
"I'm going to call the police.""
"Please don't.""
"Nia!""
"I don't want another fight. I just need to get into the competition.""
Zoe stopped.
"Then what are we waiting for?""
Nia opened her sketchbook.
Zoe studied the new design.
Her eyes widened.
"That's yours?""
"Yes.""
"Girl, this looks like something from New York Fashion Week.""
"It's complicated.""
"Good.""
"I have six days.""
"Then we have six days.""
Nia looked at her.
"We?""
Zoe shrugged.
"Who else is going to photograph your masterpiece when you win?""
For the first time that morning, Nia laughed.
They spent lunch in the school library researching Margaret Whitmore.
They found interviews, old fashion photographs, and several articles about her work with young designers.
One article caught Nia's attention.
Whitmore Atelier Announces Return of the Young American Couture Competition.
Below the headline was a photograph of Margaret standing beside a group of students.
Nia recognized the woman immediately.
The same woman from her mother's photograph.
She copied the contact information listed on the competition website.
Then she hesitated.
"What if she doesn't remember Mom?""
Zoe leaned over her shoulder.
"What if she does?""
Nia stared at the phone number.
Her mother had been dead for five years.
The idea of calling someone who had known her felt terrifying.
But she pressed the number.
After four rings, a receptionist answered.
"Whitmore Atelier. Good morning.""
"Hello. My name is Nia Carter. I'm trying to reach Margaret Whitmore.""
"May I ask what this concerns?""
Nia looked at the photograph.
"My mother was Evelyn Carter. She worked with Ms. Whitmore many years ago.""
There was a pause.
"One moment, please.""
A few seconds later, another voice came through.
"Hello?""
Nia straightened.
"Ms. Whitmore?""
"Yes.""
"My name is Nia. I'm Evelyn Carter's daughter.""
Silence.
Then a soft breath.
"Evelyn's daughter?""
"Yes, ma'am.""
"Oh, sweetheart.""
The woman's voice changed.
"How old are you now?""
"Seventeen.""
"I haven't heard that name in years. How is your mother?""
Nia closed her eyes.
"She passed away five years ago.""
Another silence.
"I'm so sorry," Margaret whispered.
"Evelyn was one of the most gifted young designers I ever met.""
Nia looked down at her hands.
"I found a letter she left me. She told me to contact you.""
"Did she?""
"Yes. I'm entering the Young American Couture Competition.""
Margaret gave a small laugh.
"Of course you are. That sounds exactly like Evelyn.""
Nia explained the situation, including the stolen gown.
She didn't mention the slap.
She didn't want sympathy.
She wanted a chance.
Margaret listened carefully.
"Do you have photographs of the design?""
"Yes.""
"Send them to my assistant. I'll review them personally.""
Nia's heart began racing.
"Really?""
"Your mother once told me that she hoped her daughter would inherit her hands. I suppose we'll soon find out.""
Before ending the call, Margaret added something unexpected.
"One more thing, Nia.""
"Yes?""
"Do you still have your mother's original sketchbooks?""
Nia glanced at the wooden box.
"Some of them.""
"Keep them safe. Especially the blue one.""
Nia froze.
"How did you know about the blue one?""
Margaret was quiet for a moment.
"Because I helped your mother fill it.""
The call ended.
Nia slowly lowered her phone.
Zoe stared at her.
"What?""
Nia looked at the wooden box.
"She knew my mother.""
"Obviously.""
"No, Zoe. She helped her create the sketchbook.""
That evening, Nia returned home with the letter tucked inside her backpack.
The house smelled of roasted chicken and expensive perfume.
Brianna was sitting at the dining table, scrolling through her phone.
Vanessa stood beside her, arranging a plate.
When Nia entered, Brianna looked up.
"Oh, look who's home.""
Nia ignored her.
Vanessa glanced at the backpack.
"Where have you been?""
"School.""
"You're supposed to come straight home.""
"I had work to finish.""
Brianna laughed.
"Work? You're seventeen.""
Nia placed her bag beside the stairs.
Vanessa noticed the empty hanger in her hand.
"Have you finally accepted that your sister is wearing the dress?""
"No.""
Brianna put down her phone.
"Then why are you carrying an empty hanger?""
"Because I don't have the dress anymore.""
"Exactly.""
Nia looked at her stepsister.
"Have you tried it on?""
Brianna smiled.
"Of course.""
"How did it fit?""
"Perfectly.""
Nia nodded.
"That's interesting.""
Brianna frowned.
"What is?""
"Nothing.""
Vanessa stepped closer.
"Don't start trouble.""
Nia walked toward the staircase.
Behind her, Brianna called out.
"By the way, I posted pictures of the dress.""
Nia stopped.
"What pictures?""
"On Instagram.""
Brianna turned her phone around.
There it was.
Nia's gown.
Brianna stood in front of a full-length mirror wearing it, one hand resting on her hip.
The caption read:
Custom couture for my graduation. Designed especially for me. Some things are worth waiting for.
Nia stared at the photograph.
Beneath it were hundreds of comments.
Gorgeous!
Where did you buy it?
You look like a princess.
One comment came from a local fashion boutique owner.
Who designed this? I'd love to meet them.
Brianna had replied:
My personal designer.
Nia felt her stomach tighten.
She looked up.
"You told people you designed it?""
Brianna shrugged.
"Well, I inspired it.""
"That's not the same thing.""
"Nobody cares.""
Nia took out her phone and photographed the post.
Brianna noticed.
"What are you doing?""
"Nothing.""
"Delete that.""
"No.""
Vanessa stepped forward.
"Give me your phone.""
Nia held it against her chest.
"Why?""
"Because I said so.""
For the first time, Nia didn't move.
Vanessa stared at her.
Then her expression softened into a fake smile.
"Listen, sweetheart. Your sister has a lot going on. Don't embarrass her over a dress.""
Nia looked at the woman who had slapped her.
"She embarrassed herself.""
Vanessa's smile disappeared.
"Go to your room.""
Nia walked upstairs.
Behind her, Brianna muttered something about ungrateful people.
But Nia wasn't listening.
She had received an email from Whitmore Atelier.
The subject line read:
*Evelyn Carter — Private Archive Review.*
And attached to it was a photograph of a document that made Nia's hands begin to shake.
It was a contract.
Signed by her mother.
And Margaret Whitmore.
At the bottom was a handwritten note:
The rights to the original Bluebird collection remain with Evelyn Carter and her descendants.
Nia stared at the words.
The Bluebird collection.
What collection?
She opened the email again.
There was a second attachment.
A scanned page from her mother's old sketchbook.
May you like
At the top, in elegant handwriting, were four words.
The Collection They Stole.
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