Chapter 2: The Dress They Never Saw Coming
At 6:17 the next morning, I was still sewing.
The workroom windows had turned from black mirrors into pale rectangles of winter light, and the first delivery truck of the day was backing into the alley outside.
My coffee had gone cold.
Three needles lay beside my machine.
My fingertips were sore from hours of hand-stitching, and a thin line of blood marked the bandage around my thumb.
But the dress was beginning to take shape.
The pale-lilac gown had been built around softness.
The new one would be built around movement.
I had cut the surviving sapphire fabric on the bias, allowing the skirt to follow the body instead of fighting it.
I had reshaped the bodice into a clean, sculpted silhouette with one exposed shoulder.
The remaining crystal mesh became a constellation across the neckline, each stone placed individually so the light would travel with the wearer.
I salvaged the strongest sections of the original train, reinforced them with fresh lining, and created a layered sweep that looked almost liquid when I lifted it.
It wasn't the gown I had planned.
It was better than the gown I had planned.
At least, I hoped it was.
“Tell me you're almost finished.””
I turned.
Ellie stood in the doorway holding two paper cups and a brown bag.
Her hair was tucked beneath a knitted hat, and she had the exhausted expression of someone who had spent half the night worrying about another person's problems.
“Define almost,” I said.
She set the cups down.
“Have you slept?””
“No.””
“Have you eaten?””
I looked at the brown bag.
“I'm about to.””
She pulled out a breakfast sandwich and pushed it toward me.
“Eat before you faint into the hem.””
I smiled despite myself.
“Thank you.””
Ellie moved to the mannequin.
The sapphire skirt fell in long, dark folds, pooling around its base.
She stopped chewing.
“Oh.””
I waited.
She walked around the mannequin once.
Then again.
“Nia, this is…”
“Unfinished?””
“Insane.””
“That's not a technical term.””
“It is when someone takes a destroyed dress and turns it into something that looks like it belongs in a museum.””
I laughed, and the sound surprised me.
For a few seconds, the workroom felt like the place I had once imagined it could be.
Then Ellie spotted the pale-lilac scraps arranged beside my sewing machine.
“What are you going to do about Maya?””
My smile disappeared.
“I don't know yet.””
“You can't just let her take the design.””
“I won't.””
“Then we need proof.””
I pulled open the bottom drawer of my worktable.
Inside was a thick notebook filled with dated sketches, fabric swatches, measurements, and notes about every major decision I had made while creating the original gown.
I had started keeping the notebook after Vanessa once accused me of copying one of Maya's outfits.
At the time, I thought documenting my work would protect me from another argument.
I hadn't realized I might someday need it to protect my entire career.
“Every version is here,” I said.
“The first sketch, the revised neckline, the embroidery placement, even the notes from my fitting with the dress form.””
Ellie turned several pages.
“You documented all of it?””
“Every night.””
“Then you're going to need those pages today.””
I slipped the notebook into a canvas bag.
Before I could say anything else, the workroom door swung open.
Maya walked in wearing oversized sunglasses and a pale pink coat.
Her hair was perfectly curled.
Her makeup looked untouched by sleep.
Behind her came Vanessa, carrying a garment bag with the competition's official logo.
Maya stopped when she saw the sapphire gown.
For the first time in my life, I watched her forget what to say.
Her sunglasses slid down her nose.
“What is that?””
I kept stitching.
“Good morning to you, too.””
She approached the mannequin slowly.
“No.””
I threaded another crystal through the mesh.
“No what?””
“You can't enter that.””
I finally looked at her.
“Why not?””
“Because the competition is for original designs.””
I let the needle rest between my fingers.
“That's an interesting concern coming from you.””
Vanessa placed the garment bag on the nearest table.
“Nia, don't start.””
“I haven't started anything.””
Maya reached toward the skirt.
I caught her wrist before her fingers touched the fabric.
“Don't.””
Her eyes widened.
“You grabbed me!””
“You were about to touch a dress that isn't yours.””
“Mom!””
Vanessa hurried over, pulling Maya away as though I had threatened to hurt her.
“Have you lost your mind?””
“No,” I said.
“I've just learned to keep my hands on my own work.””
Vanessa stared at the gown.
Then she looked at the clock.
“You have until eight to finish whatever this is before the technical inspection.””
“I know.””
“Do you?”” She tapped the table with one manicured finger.
“The judges will inspect the construction, the seams, the lining, and the finishing. A pretty silhouette won't save a badly made dress.””
I glanced at the perfectly pressed garment bag she had brought for Maya.
“Then Maya should be fine as long as someone else made hers.””
Maya's cheeks flushed.
Vanessa's hand shot out and closed around my upper arm.
“Listen carefully,” she said in a low voice.
“You are going to finish that dress, present yourself politely, and stay out of your sister's way.””
I pulled my arm free.
“She stole my design.””
“Enough with that accusation.””
“I have my original sketches.””
“And Maya has an official entry.””
“Because she submitted my work under her name.””
Vanessa leaned closer.
“You have no idea how the world works, Nia. Talent is meaningless without influence. You can spend your entire life stitching beautiful things in that little studio, and people will still choose someone who knows how to make an impression.””
She gestured toward Maya.
“Someone like her.””
Maya adjusted her sunglasses.
“Honestly, Nia, I don't understand why you're so obsessed with competing against me.””
I stared at her.
“Because I entered the competition before I knew you'd stolen my design.””
“You always make everything about yourself.””
“You took my sketch.””
“You should be proud that someone recognized its potential.””
I almost laughed.
It was extraordinary how easily Maya could turn theft into generosity when she was the one benefiting.
A knock sounded from the corridor.
A woman in a charcoal suit appeared in the doorway, holding a clipboard.
“Good morning. I'm Rachel Cole, the competition's technical coordinator. We're beginning the preliminary garment inspections in forty minutes.””
Her gaze moved between us.
“Which designer is presenting the sapphire gown?””
“I am,” I said.
Maya answered at exactly the same time.
“She isn't.””
Rachel looked at her clipboard.
“I'm sorry?””
Maya stepped forward.
“Nia's gown is an unauthorized variation of my submitted design. She wasn't supposed to make changes to the collection.””
Rachel's expression tightened.
“Are you saying this garment belongs to you?””
“I'm saying she copied my original concept.””
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Vanessa folded her arms.
“Unfortunately, we have been dealing with this situation all morning.””
Rachel looked at the gown, then at Maya.
“Do you have documentation of your original concept?””
Maya lifted her portfolio.
“Of course.””
Rachel nodded.
“Then bring it to the inspection desk. I'll need to compare the submitted design with the finished garment.””
She turned to me.
“And you'll need your own design records.””
“I have them.””
“Good. Please arrive on time.””
After she left, Maya's expression changed.
The smile disappeared.
She stepped close enough that only I could hear her.
“Do you really think a notebook is going to save you?””
I met her gaze.
“I think you'll find out.””
Her fingers tightened around the portfolio.
“You don't understand what you're doing.””
“Then explain it to me.””
She glanced toward Vanessa.
For the first time, I noticed something strange in her expression.
Not confidence.
Fear.
It lasted only a second.
Then she straightened her shoulders.
“Enjoy your little dress while you can.””
She swept out of the workroom.
Vanessa lingered by the door.
“You should have stayed quiet,” she said.
I turned back to the mannequin.
“You should have taught your daughter to draw.””
Vanessa's face hardened.
“Careful, Nia.””
She left without another word.
I finished the last line of crystals at 7:52.
At 8:03, I zipped the gown into a clean garment bag.
At 8:11, I carried it to the technical inspection room.
Rachel was waiting behind a long table covered with measuring tapes, fabric samples, and printed entry forms.
Several other designers stood nearby, their garments hanging from rolling racks.
Maya was already there.
Her pale-lilac gown looked beautiful from a distance.
Up close, I recognized every detail.
The asymmetrical neckline.
The crystal placement.
The curved seam at the waist.
Even the tiny hand-stitched silver loops that I had added after the third fitting.
Maya had submitted my design and then presented it as her own.
Rachel opened Maya's portfolio.
“This is the submitted concept sketch?””
“Yes,” Maya replied.
Rachel studied the page.
“And you created this?””
Maya didn't hesitate.
“Yes.””
I placed my notebook on the table.
“I have a question before we begin.””
Rachel looked up.
“Go ahead.””
I pointed at the signature in the corner of Maya's sketch.
“Would you like to see the original?””
Maya's face went white.
Vanessa, standing beside her, immediately stepped forward.
“Rachel, I don't think this is the appropriate time for a family dispute.””
Rachel closed the portfolio.
“Mrs. Bennett, this is an originality competition. If there is a dispute over authorship, it is absolutely the appropriate time.””
She turned to me.
“Show me your records.””
I opened the notebook.
The first page contained the original sketch, dated April 12.
The next pages showed the evolution of the design, including the measurements, fabric tests, and revised construction details.
Rachel examined them in silence.
Then she compared the notebook with Maya's submitted sketch.
Her eyebrows drew together.
“These are nearly identical.””
“Because she copied mine,” I said.
Maya's voice rose.
“That's ridiculous! She could have recreated those drawings after seeing my submission.””
Rachel looked at the dates.
“Your submission was received yesterday afternoon.””
Maya opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Rachel turned another page in my notebook.
“This revision is dated April nineteenth.””
She looked directly at Maya.
“How do you explain that?””
Vanessa stepped between them.
“My daughter has been working on this collection for months. Surely we can resolve a misunderstanding without humiliating anyone.””
Rachel's expression remained professional.
“I'm not here to humiliate anyone. I'm here to establish authorship.””
She placed both sketches side by side.
Then she pointed at a tiny notation near the bottom of the page.
“What does this symbol mean?””
I leaned closer.
“It's a construction mark. I use it to indicate a hidden reinforcement stitch where the bodice meets the waist.””
Rachel looked at Maya.
“Can you explain it?””
Maya stared at the page.
“I… it's just part of the design.””
“It's a technical notation,” I said.
“It tells the person sewing the gown how to prevent the seam from pulling under tension.””
Rachel made a note.
Then she examined the sapphire gown.
She checked the seams, the lining, the zipper, and the placement of the crystal mesh.
Finally, she lifted the train and inspected the hand-finished edge.
“This is excellent work,” she said.
I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
“Thank you.””
Rachel lowered the train.
“However, because an authorship dispute has been raised, I can't make a final ruling based on these records alone. The competition director will review the matter.””
Maya's shoulders relaxed.
Vanessa smiled.
I knew that smile.
It was the expression Vanessa wore whenever she believed a problem had been pushed far enough into the future that everyone would eventually forget it existed.
Rachel handed back my notebook.
“Both garments may proceed to the preliminary presentation while the review is pending. Please do not alter or discard any additional documentation.””
Maya picked up her portfolio.
“Wonderful,” she said brightly.
“Then we're all set.””
Rachel looked at her for a long moment.
“Not quite, Ms. Bennett.””
Maya stopped.
“Until the review is complete, neither designer should make public claims about the other's work.””
Maya nodded stiffly.
As Rachel walked away, Maya turned toward me.
“You just had to make this difficult.””
I closed my notebook.
“No,” I said.
“You did that when you decided my work belonged to you.””
She leaned closer.
“You have no idea what I had to do to get that sketch.””
The words escaped her before she could stop them.
I went still.
“What did you say?””
Maya's lips parted.
Vanessa grabbed her arm.
“Maya, we're leaving.””
But I had already heard enough to know there was more to the story than a stolen sketch.
I watched them disappear into the corridor.
Then I looked down at my notebook, at the dates, the sketches, and the small handwritten notes that proved how the design had evolved.
Someone had needed access to my work to copy it so precisely.
Someone who knew where I kept my drawings.
Someone who knew my studio.
May you like
And as I returned to the backstage workroom to prepare for the runway, one question followed me like a shadow.
How had Maya gotten close enough to steal something I had never shown her?
