Chapter 4: The Night They Stole My Mother's Legacy
At 11:47 p.m., I heard Brianna whisper outside my bedroom door, and the words that followed confirmed something I had feared all day.
"Mom, are you sure she won't wake up?""
Vanessa answered in a low, irritated voice.
"Your father took her phone downstairs. She's probably crying herself to sleep. Just take the dress and stop asking questions.""
I sat up in bed.
My bedroom was dark except for the narrow strip of light beneath the door. My reconstructed gown lay across the sewing table, its unfinished silver-threaded bodice gleaming faintly under the window.
I had spent six hours rebuilding it.
The original satin had been damaged beyond repair, but I had salvaged the clean sections, combined them with the fabric from my storage box, and created a new design. The blue stains had become a painful memory rather than a permanent defeat.
The dress was not finished.
But it was beautiful.
And Brianna was coming to take it.
I reached for my phone, then remembered Vanessa had taken it earlier, claiming I was becoming obsessed with social media and needed to concentrate on school.
Fortunately, I had another device: an old tablet hidden inside my sewing drawer.
I opened the camera application and positioned the tablet behind a stack of fabric, its lens facing the door.
Then I switched on the recording function.
The handle turned.
Brianna entered first, wearing silk pajamas and carrying a large garment bag. Vanessa followed, holding a flashlight.
"Where is it?"" Brianna whispered.
Vanessa pointed toward the sewing table.
"There.""
Brianna hurried forward.
When she pulled the dress toward herself, the silver-threaded fabric caught the light.
"Oh my God," she breathed.
"It's actually gorgeous.""
Vanessa examined the bodice.
"Of course it is. Your stepsister has spent her entire life doing nothing but sewing.""
"Then why doesn't she make things for me?""
"Because she's selfish.""
Brianna ran her fingers along the neckline.
"Can I tell people I designed it?""
Vanessa gave a quiet laugh.
"You can tell them whatever you want. Nobody in that competition will believe a girl like Nia made something this good.""
I gripped the edge of my mattress.
A girl like me.
Vanessa reached for the garment bag.
"Put it away. We need to leave before Marcus comes upstairs.""
Brianna hesitated.
"What about the original design? The one in her sketchbook?""
My heart hammered.
Vanessa turned toward my desk.
"Find it.""
Brianna opened the sketchbook and flipped through the pages.
"Here it is.""
"Take every page with the white gown.""
"Mom, look at this.""
Brianna held up one of my early sketches. Beneath the drawing, I had written a dedication.
For Elena, who taught me that beauty can survive being broken.
Vanessa snatched the page.
Her expression changed.
For several seconds, she stared at my mother's name.
Then she tore the page in half.
The sound was small.
The meaning wasn't.
"Don't leave anything with her name on it," Vanessa whispered.
Brianna frowned.
"Why?""
"Because I said so.""
She stuffed the torn pieces into her handbag.
I wanted to leap out of bed. I wanted to demand an explanation. I wanted to grab the dress and make them look me in the eye.
Instead, I stayed still.
Because I needed to know what they would do next.
Brianna carefully slid my gown into the garment bag.
"Mom, what if someone asks where I got it?""
"Tell them it was a custom design.""
"But it is custom.""
"Exactly.""
Brianna smiled.
"And what about the competition organizers? They might ask for sketches.""
Vanessa paused at the door.
"Then we'll give them yours.""
They left, closing the door softly behind them.
I waited until their footsteps disappeared downstairs before moving.
My tablet had recorded everything.
I watched the video once, then copied it to two separate accounts. My hands shook when I reached the part where Vanessa ordered Brianna to take the sketches.
But the most important moment was the one that followed.
After they left my room, the camera continued recording through the open doorway.
Vanessa returned alone.
She walked straight to my sewing box.
She lifted the lid, searched beneath the fabric, and pulled out the narrow compartment.
Then she looked toward the hallway.
"Where did you put it, Elena?"" she whispered.
She searched again.
Her breathing grew sharper.
Finally, she slammed the lid shut.
"You should have stayed quiet," she muttered.
Then she left.
I replayed those words until they were burned into my memory.
You should have stayed quiet.
She hadn't merely known my mother.
She had been afraid of something my mother kept.
At 12:31 a.m., I sent the recording to Mrs. Whitmore with a message.
*They took the dress. Vanessa searched Mom's sewing box. She knows something.*
Her reply arrived two minutes later.
*Don't confront her. I'm contacting the competition's legal coordinator first thing in the morning. Also, Adrian Vale has agreed to meet you tomorrow.*
I stared at the screen.
Tomorrow.
For the first time, the truth felt close enough to touch.
Then I heard Dad's footsteps.
He knocked once before entering.
"Nia, why is your sewing light on?""
I quickly closed the tablet.
"I was working.""
He glanced at the empty garment rack.
"Where's your dress?""
I looked at him.
"You should ask Vanessa.""
His face tightened.
"What does that mean?""
"It means Brianna took it.""
He stared at the rack, then back at me.
"She said you agreed to lend it to her.""
A bitter laugh escaped me.
"Did you believe her without asking me?""
"Don't start.""
"She entered my room in the middle of the night. She stole my dress. She took my sketches. And you want me not to start?""
Dad rubbed his forehead.
"Your stepmother said Brianna needed something special for the competition. You weren't using the dress anymore.""
"I was preparing it for my own competition.""
He froze.
"What competition?""
I watched his expression carefully.
"The Elena Carter Young Designers Award.""
His face lost its color.
"Elena Carter?""
"My mother.""
He lowered himself onto the edge of my bed.
"Where did you hear about that?""
"Why does that name frighten you?""
He looked toward the door.
For a moment, I thought he might tell me everything.
Instead, he stood.
"You shouldn't get involved in things you don't understand.""
I stared at him.
"Is that what you told Mom, too?""
His jaw tightened.
"Go to sleep, Nia.""
He left without another word.
I sat alone in the darkness, listening to the house settle around me.
By morning, Brianna would be wearing my dress as if she had created it.
Vanessa would be smiling beside her.
Dad would probably stand behind them, pretending nothing was wrong.
But they had overlooked one thing.
They had stolen the physical dress.
They hadn't stolen the recording.
And they hadn't taken the original photographs of my work.
At 6:08 a.m., my phone buzzed with a message from Mrs. Whitmore.
*The competition has received a complaint alleging that your design was stolen from another entrant. They need you at the venue tomorrow morning with your original sketches and proof of authorship.*
I read the message twice.
Then another notification appeared.
This one came from an unknown number.
*Nia, this is Adrian Vale. Before we meet, there is something you need to know. Your mother did not leave the fashion industry voluntarily.*
A second message followed.
*And Vanessa Sinclair was the last person seen with the original contract.*
I stared at the screen.
May you like
The woman who had slapped me, stolen my mother's curtains, and ordered my stepsister to take my dress was connected to a secret that had followed my mother for nearly twenty years.
And tomorrow, I would finally learn why.
