Chapter 3: The Key in Her Portfolio
The competition hall smelled of hot lights, fresh flowers, and expensive perfume.
A hundred guests filled the seats beneath a ceiling of suspended glass chandeliers.
Fashion editors sat beside boutique owners.
Sponsors occupied the front row.
Photographers moved between the aisles, their cameras flashing whenever a designer emerged from backstage.
At the far end of the hall, a long runway stretched beneath a wall of white spotlights.
I stood behind the black curtain with my hands folded around the edge of my garment bag.
My sapphire gown hung from a rolling rack beside me.
Every time someone brushed past, the crystals caught the light.
I had barely slept.
My shoulders ached from sewing, and my stomach had been empty since breakfast.
But when I touched the smooth sapphire fabric, the exhaustion became bearable.
I had made something real.
Something no one could erase by laughing at me.
Across the backstage area, Maya stood before a full-length mirror while Vanessa adjusted the straps of her gown.
“You need to lift your chin,” Vanessa instructed.
“The photographers will be watching your face as much as the dress.””
Maya raised her chin.
“Like this?””
“Better. And don't look toward Nia when you walk. You don't want people thinking you're distracted by family drama.””
Maya glanced at me in the mirror.
“I'm not distracted.””
“Good. Then act like it.””
Vanessa smoothed the lilac bodice.
“The judges already know your name. You just have to give them a reason to remember it.””
I looked away.
The irony was almost unbearable.
Maya had my design.
Vanessa had arranged the publicity.
And I was still the one expected to prove that I deserved to stand in the same room.
A stage assistant hurried toward us with a headset pressed to one ear.
“Designers, we're starting the first presentation in five minutes. Please remain near your assigned entrance.””
Maya stepped into the corridor.
As she passed me, she stopped.
“You know what the worst part is?”” she whispered.
I kept my eyes on the gown.
“What?””
“You actually made a beautiful dress.””
I looked at her.
For a second, I thought she might be about to apologize.
Then she smiled.
“It's a shame nobody will remember it.””
She walked away.
I heard Vanessa laugh softly behind her.
My fingers curled around the garment bag.
I could have shouted after them.
I could have told the entire hall what had happened in the workroom.
Instead, I unzipped the bag and checked the gown one last time.
The seam at the waist was secure.
The zipper moved smoothly.
The train fell in a clean, sweeping line.
I touched the tiny silver stitches along the inner lining.
My mother's old thimble rested in my pocket.
I pressed my fingers around it.
“I'm here, Mom,” I whispered.
Then the announcer's voice rolled through the hall.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the annual Rising Star Fashion Competition, where we celebrate the next generation of independent designers.””
Applause rose from the audience.
The first model stepped onto the runway.
The show began.
One by one, the contestants presented their collections.
A sculptural black gown received appreciative murmurs.
A bright orange suit earned enthusiastic applause.
A dress covered in hand-painted flowers drew a wave of camera flashes.
Backstage, designers watched the monitors, waiting for their names.
When Maya's turn arrived, Vanessa straightened as if she were the one about to walk.
“Remember,” she whispered.
“Slow steps. Shoulders back. Let them see the craftsmanship.””
Maya nodded.
The announcer introduced her as Maya Bennett, an emerging designer known for romantic silhouettes and intricate embellishment.
I felt my stomach tighten.
The music changed.
Maya stepped onto the runway.
The pale-lilac gown moved beautifully beneath the lights.
Of course it did.
I had designed the way the fabric would respond to each step.
I had placed the crystals to catch light from the front, then sparkle again as the model turned.
I had calculated the weight of the train so it would follow the body without dragging.
Watching someone else wear my work was like hearing a stranger sing a song my mother used to hum.
The audience applauded.
A woman in the front row leaned toward her companion and pointed at the bodice.
Two photographers crouched at the end of the runway.
Maya turned at the far platform, holding the skirt with exactly the gesture I had practiced in front of my bedroom mirror.
She knew how the dress should move.
She had watched me fit it on the mannequin.
She had probably studied every detail before destroying the original.
When she returned backstage, Vanessa embraced her.
“You were perfect.””
Maya smiled breathlessly.
“Did you see the judges?””
“They loved it.””
One of the assistants approached with a clipboard.
“Ms. Bennett, the panel would like you to remain available after the final presentations.””
Maya's eyes widened.
“Does that mean I'm shortlisted?””
“I can't comment on the judges' deliberations.””
The assistant moved away.
Vanessa squeezed Maya's hands.
“This is it, sweetheart.””
Maya looked at me.
“Some people are just born for this.””
I didn't answer.
I was too busy watching the runway.
Because my name was next.
“Nia Bennett,” the announcer called, “presenting an original eveningwear design entitled Midnight Sapphire.””
For one heartbeat, I couldn't move.
Then Ellie squeezed my shoulder.
“Go.””
I stepped into the light.
The sapphire fabric caught the spotlights, revealing blue undertones that had been almost invisible backstage.
The gown's asymmetrical neckline framed the shoulder, while the crystals at the bodice glimmered like stars above a dark horizon.
As I walked, the skirt moved in soft, deliberate waves.
The train followed me without a sound.
I heard the audience quiet.
Not the polite silence of people waiting for the next model.
The kind of silence that arrives when something unexpected makes people look twice.
At the end of the runway, I turned.
The crystals flashed.
A camera shutter clicked repeatedly.
Then someone in the audience began to applaud.
Another person joined.
Within seconds, the applause spread across the front rows.
I kept my face composed, though my heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.
For the first time all day, I wasn't thinking about Vanessa.
I wasn't thinking about Maya.
I wasn't thinking about the ruined lilac gown.
I was thinking about the fabric under my hands, the hours of work hidden inside every seam, and the girl who had once sat at a kitchen table learning to sew beside her mother.
I reached the end of the runway and turned back.
As I passed the judges' table, a silver-haired woman leaned forward.
“Beautiful construction,” she murmured.
I caught the words as I walked past.
Then I was backstage again.
Ellie practically jumped into my arms.
“You did it!””
I laughed, breathless.
“I did.””
“Did you hear them?””
“I heard something.””
“They loved it, Nia.””
I looked down at the gown.
“I just wish they knew what it took to get here.””
Ellie squeezed my hand.
“They'll know.””
Across the room, Maya was no longer smiling.
Vanessa stood beside her, speaking rapidly into her phone.
Maya watched me remove the gown from the runway rack.
Her gaze lingered on the crystal mesh.
Then on the inner lining.
Then on the small stitched reinforcement beneath the waist.
I saw her swallow.
Something about that look made the uneasiness in my stomach return.
Before I could approach her, the announcer called all designers to the side of the stage for the finalist announcement.
The audience settled.
The judges gathered their notes.
I stood between Ellie and another contestant, listening as the competition director thanked the sponsors and praised the quality of the collections.
Then he opened a white envelope.
“After careful consideration, our judges have selected the first designer to advance to the final round.””
My hands went cold.
The director looked at the card.
“Our next finalist is…”
He paused.
“Maya Bennett.””
For a moment, I wondered whether I had misheard him.
Then the audience applauded.
Maya covered her mouth with both hands.
Vanessa rose from her seat and clapped enthusiastically.
“Oh, sweetheart!””
Maya hurried toward the stage.
She looked radiant beneath the lights.
The director shook her hand.
A photographer captured the moment.
And I stood in the shadows beside the curtain, feeling the old familiar sensation of being erased while everyone watched.
My dress had drawn the applause.
My design had filled the runway.
My work had earned the judges' admiration.
But Maya had the finalist announcement.
Ellie whispered, “This isn't over.””
I tried to believe her.
Then I noticed the competition coordinator speaking to one of the judges.
The silver-haired woman from the front row was pointing toward the backstage area.
Toward me.
The coordinator nodded and walked in our direction.
“Nia Bennett?””
I straightened.
“Yes?””
“Could you come with me for a moment? The panel has a few questions about your design records.””
Maya, still holding her finalist certificate, turned sharply.
Vanessa stopped clapping.
I followed the coordinator into a narrow hallway behind the dressing rooms.
She led me to a small office where Rachel Cole sat beside the silver-haired judge.
The judge introduced herself as Eleanor Price, the head of the panel.
“Ms. Bennett,” she said, “your garment received some of the strongest technical comments of the evening.””
“Thank you.””
“However, we've received conflicting claims regarding the lilac design submitted by your stepsister.””
I placed my notebook on the desk.
“I understand.””
Rachel opened it to the original sketch.
“We've reviewed the dated drawings you supplied this morning. They raise serious questions about the ownership of the design.””
Eleanor studied me.
“Do you have any additional evidence that could establish how your sketches were accessed?””
I thought about my studio.
The locked drawers.
The notebooks stacked beside the sewing machine.
The photographs I had taken after each fitting.
And Maya's words that morning.
You actually made a beautiful dress.
It's a shame nobody will remember it.
“I don't know how she got the sketch,” I admitted.
“But she knew details about my studio that I never told her.””
Rachel exchanged a look with Eleanor.
“We're continuing the review,” Rachel said.
“In the meantime, please preserve all your records.””
I nodded and left the office.
The hallway was nearly empty.
Most of the designers had returned to the main hall for photographs, and the backstage crew was dismantling the garment racks.
I wanted to find Ellie.
I wanted to change out of my gown.
Most of all, I wanted to go back to my studio, lock the door, and be somewhere Maya couldn't reach.
As I passed the dressing area, I saw her portfolio lying open on a chair.
Her finalist certificate rested on top.
Beside it was a small brass object.
I stopped.
At first, I thought it was a decorative clasp.
Then the overhead light caught the engraved number.
My studio number.
I took one step closer.
The brass key lay beside a folded piece of paper, its teeth worn in the same distinctive pattern as the key I kept on my own ring.
I knew that pattern because I had once taken the lock apart myself when the door jammed during a storm.
I had paid for a duplicate key to be made.
But I had only ever received one copy.
The other had supposedly been destroyed by the locksmith after he cut the replacement.
My fingers began to tremble.
I picked up the key.
The small brass tag attached to it bore the number of my studio.
Not the building number.
Not the street address.
The private number assigned to the room where I kept my designs.
I heard footsteps behind me.
Maya appeared at the end of the corridor, her finalist certificate tucked beneath one arm.
She stopped when she saw the key in my hand.
For the first time that night, she looked genuinely frightened.
I held the brass key between us.
“You had a key to my studio?””
Maya stared at it.
Then she looked toward the main hall, where Vanessa was calling her name.
“Nia,” she whispered, “you need to put that back.””
I tightened my fingers around the key.
“Why?””
Her eyes filled with tears, but her voice dropped to a cold, desperate whisper.
“Because if Mom finds out you have it, she'll know I wasn't the only one who went into your studio.””
I felt the floor shift beneath my feet.
“What does that mean?””
Maya opened her mouth.
Before she could answer, Vanessa's voice rang out from the hallway.
“Maya? What are you doing back there?””
Maya grabbed my wrist.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Whatever you do, don't open the drawer beneath your sewing machine.””
Then she released me and walked toward her mother.
I stood alone beneath the fluorescent lights, the duplicate brass key cutting into my palm.
May you like
Because I knew exactly what was inside that drawer.
And suddenly, I was terrified of finding out who else had been in my studio.
