Chapter 2: You Took My Dress, Not My Hands
The sewing room above Collins Alterations smelled like lavender detergent, old wood, and warm steam.
It was the kind of place that never appeared in fashion magazines.
The walls were uneven. The ceiling slanted near the back window. A small radiator rattled beneath a shelf crowded with old buttons and spools of thread.
But to Nia, it felt like the only honest room left in the world.
Mrs. Collins unlocked the door and flicked on the lights.
“You look tired,” she said.
“I am.””
“Have you eaten?””
Nia shook her head.
The older woman placed a paper bag on the worktable. Inside were two sandwiches and an apple.
“Then eat before you start trying to save the fashion industry.””
Nia managed a small laugh.
“I'm not saving anything.””
“Good. Less pressure.””
Mrs. Collins removed her coat and examined the empty dress form standing in the corner.
“So, what are we making?””
Nia took a breath.
“A ball gown.””
“Of course you are.””
“An entirely new one. I don't want to recreate the sapphire dress.””
“What do you want it to say?””
Nia looked at the worktable.
On one side lay several pieces of pink floral fabric. The material had a soft, watercolor pattern of tiny roses, pale leaves, and delicate gold stems. It was originally intended for a client who had canceled her order.
On the other side sat a small box of crystal scraps. Some were chipped. Others had tiny holes where thread had been attached. They were leftovers from the stolen sapphire gown.
Nia touched a crystal between her fingers.
“I want it to say that something can be ruined without being finished.””
Mrs. Collins studied her.
“Then let's give it a finish worth remembering.””
For the first hour, Nia did not sew.
She spread the fabric across the table and cut it into long, irregular panels. She placed the pieces together, stepped back, and studied how the floral pattern moved.
The challenge was not to hide the damage.
It was to use it.
The pink fabric had different textures. Some sections were sheer, others heavier. A few carried delicate embroidered flowers, while the rest were printed with faded blossoms.
Nia decided to build the gown in layers.
The base would be a fitted corset, reinforced with hidden boning and covered in soft pink satin. The skirt would begin at the waist with narrow floral panels, widening into an asymmetrical train.
The crystal scraps would not simply be sewn along the neckline, as they had been on the sapphire gown.
They would become part of the design's movement.
Nia sketched a curved pattern across the bodice, like branches reaching toward sunlight. The crystals would follow those lines, gathering around the waist before scattering down the skirt.
The result would not be symmetrical.
It would look as though the entire gown were growing.
Mrs. Collins watched her work.
“Why pink?””
Nia paused.
“My grandmother loved pink flowers.””
“I remember.””
“She used to say every flower had its own season. She never liked forcing things to bloom.””
Mrs. Collins picked up one of the fabric panels.
“And what season are you in?””
Nia threaded her needle.
“I'm not sure. But I'm tired of waiting for permission.””
For the first time that evening, Mrs. Collins smiled.
“Then sew like you mean it.””
At ten forty-five, Nia's phone began buzzing.
Three messages from Vanessa.
Where are you?
Come home immediately.
We need to discuss your behavior today.
Nia turned the phone face down.
At eleven, Brianna called.
Nia let it ring.
At eleven twelve, a photograph arrived.
It showed Brianna in the sapphire gown, standing in front of the Bellamy Fashion House logo.
The caption read:
My original creation. My dream. My moment.
Nia stared at the image.
Brianna had added a gold belt to the waist and changed the earrings. She had also removed the small silver star from the neckline.
Nia looked closer.
Her heart sank.
The tiny embroidered initials she had placed beneath the bodice had been cut away.
Brianna had known exactly where they were.
She hadn't simply taken the dress.
She had deliberately erased the evidence.
Nia's fingers trembled as she enlarged the photograph.
Mrs. Collins noticed.
“What happened?””
“She cut out my initials.””
“Then she knows they're there.””
Nia put the phone down.
“She knows everything.””
“No,” Mrs. Collins replied.
“She knows what she can see.””
Nia looked at the woman.
Mrs. Collins picked up the new bodice.
“Your hands know what you can make. That's different.””
Nia exhaled.
Then she returned to work.
At midnight, the first structure of the gown was complete.
The corset held its shape beautifully. Nia fitted it to the mannequin, adjusting the seams until the waist sat perfectly.
The floral panels were arranged in overlapping layers. She pinned the longest pieces to one side, creating a dramatic train that curved across the floor.
But the dress still lacked something.
It was pretty.
Not powerful.
Nia stepped back and folded her arms.
“Something's wrong.””
Mrs. Collins tilted her head.
“Show me.””
“The crystals are too heavy near the bodice. The skirt doesn't have a clear focal point.””
“Then don't put them where you originally planned.””
Nia looked at the scraps again.
She picked up a handful of tiny crystals, including several broken pieces from the sapphire gown. Their surfaces reflected the overhead lights in uneven flashes.
Suddenly, she saw it.
The dress needed a trail of light.
Not a perfect line, but a scattered constellation that moved from the shoulder across the waist and disappeared into the train.
She began arranging the crystals.
Some were sewn into the fabric individually. Others were held in place by thin silver thread, almost invisible against the pink material.
Where a crystal had broken, Nia used its remaining edge to create a rough, irregular sparkle.
The imperfections made the design more interesting.
Mrs. Collins leaned closer.
“That's it.””
Nia didn't answer.
She was already sewing.
At two fifteen, the phone rang again.
This time it was Vanessa.
Nia answered without looking up.
“Where are you?”” Vanessa demanded.
“Working.””
“Come home.””
“No.””
The silence on the other end lasted several seconds.
“Excuse me?””
“You heard me.””
Vanessa's voice dropped.
“You are making a very serious mistake. Brianna has an important presentation tomorrow, and your attitude is putting the entire family's reputation at risk.””
Nia pulled a needle through the fabric.
“My work is not your family's reputation.””
“Everything you do reflects on us.””
“That is exactly the problem.””
Vanessa inhaled sharply.
“You are being childish.””
“No, Mom. I'm finally being clear.””
“Your sister is competing with professionals. She needs support.””
“She needs to stop wearing my designs.””
“Brianna earned that opportunity.””
“She earned it by taking something she didn't make?””
Vanessa's voice grew colder.
“You should be ashamed of speaking about your sister that way.””
Nia glanced at the unfinished gown.
“Were you ashamed when you hit me?””
A long silence followed.
Then Vanessa said, “I did what I had to do to stop you from ruining everything.””
“You stopped me from having my dress. That's all.””
“Nia—”
“I have to go.””
She ended the call.
Her hand shook for a few seconds.
Mrs. Collins said nothing. She simply placed a cup of tea beside the machine.
Nia took a sip, then returned to the gown.
At four in the morning, the machine jammed.
Nia pulled the fabric free and found a torn section near the train.
“Oh, no.””
She held the material under the light.
A seam had split where two floral panels met. The pressure from the crystal weight had pulled the stitches apart.
Mrs. Collins came over.
“Can it be fixed?””
“Yes.””
“Then fix it.””
Nia looked at the clock.
“There's barely enough time.””
“Then stop looking at the clock.””
Nia laughed despite herself.
She removed the damaged seam and reinforced it with a narrow strip of silk. Then she added a line of hand stitching across the underside, hiding the repair completely.
The tear disappeared.
But in its place, the train now had a beautiful folded curve that gave it more volume.
Nia stepped back.
It was better than before.
She moved around the mannequin, checking every seam and attachment.
The bodice was secure.
The floral skirt flowed naturally.
The crystal details caught the light without overwhelming the fabric.
And beneath the back neckline, she sewed one tiny silver star.
Just like the one she had put in the original dress.
Her grandmother's secret.
Her own.
Mrs. Collins stood beside her with tears shining in her eyes.
“Your grandmother would have loved this.””
Nia swallowed.
“I wish she could see it.””
“She can see it in every stitch.””
Nia looked at the finished gown.
It was not blue.
It was not what she had planned.
It was not even close to the design she had spent eleven weeks building.
Yet it was the first dress she had ever created without worrying whether Vanessa or Brianna would approve.
Nia touched the bodice.
Her voice was barely louder than the hum of the sewing machine.
“You took my dress. You didn't take my hands.””
Mrs. Collins squeezed her shoulder.
“Now let's get this to the judges.””
At seven in the morning, Nia entered the Bellamy Fashion House carrying the gown inside a long garment bag.
The building was already crowded.
Assistants hurried through the corridors. Photographers tested their cameras. Contestants adjusted their displays, and the judges had begun examining the final collections.
Nia approached the registration desk.
A young woman behind the counter looked up.
“Name?””
“Nia Vale.””
The woman scanned her clipboard.
“I don't see a completed submission under your name.””
“I registered yesterday.””
“Your entry was marked withdrawn.””
Nia froze.
“What?””
The coordinator turned her screen toward Nia.
A cancellation request had been submitted at 11:38 p.m. the previous night.
The name at the bottom was Nia Vale.
But Nia hadn't submitted it.
“I didn't cancel.””
The woman frowned.
“I'm sorry. The system shows that the request came through your registered account.””
Nia pulled out her phone.
“I can show you that I never—”
A familiar voice interrupted her.
“She's confused. She's been under a lot of stress.””
Vanessa stood behind her.
Brianna was beside her, still wearing the sapphire gown.
Vanessa placed a hand on the coordinator's desk.
“Please don't let this become an issue. My daughter has a tendency to change her mind.””
Nia stared at her mother.
“You canceled my entry?””
Vanessa didn't blink.
“I was protecting you from further embarrassment.””
Brianna glanced at the garment bag.
“Did you actually make something?””
Nia kept her eyes on Vanessa.
“Put my entry back.””
The coordinator looked uncomfortable.
“I'm afraid I can't reverse a cancellation without approval from the head judge.””
“Then call the head judge.””
Vanessa stepped closer.
“Stop making everything difficult.””
Nia's voice was calm.
“No.””
Brianna gave a short laugh.
“You're really going to walk in there with a dress made from leftovers?””
Nia finally turned toward her.
“It's better than walking in with a dress made by someone else.””
Brianna's smile flickered.
Before she could respond, the overhead speakers crackled.
“Attention, designers. Final collections will begin their runway presentation in thirty minutes.””
The coordinator looked from Nia to the garment bag.
“I'm sorry. Without an active submission, you cannot present.””
Nia felt the floor shift beneath her.
Thirty minutes.
She had made the dress.
She had carried it here.
And someone had erased her name before she could even step onto the runway.
Then the coordinator's desk phone rang.
She answered, listened, and slowly sat up straighter.
“Yes, Mr. Bellamy. I understand.””
Her gaze moved toward Nia.
“What did you say your last name was again?””
“Vale.””
May you like
The coordinator swallowed.
“The head judge is asking for you.””
