Chapter 2: The Dress Nobody Was Supposed to See
At 6:17 the next morning, my bedroom looked like a fashion studio had collided with a hurricane.
Lavender organza covered the floor. Pink silk spilled over my desk. Silver thread hung from the lampshade, and a dozen crystal beads had somehow found their way into my slippers.
Maya sat cross-legged beside my sewing machine, guiding a section of shimmering fabric beneath the needle.
I held the bodice steady.
“Slow down,” I whispered.
“If the fabric bunches here, the whole curve will collapse.””
Maya adjusted the tension.
“Like this?””
“Almost. A little less pressure.””
The machine hummed.
For the first time since Brianna had destroyed my gown, my hands felt steady.
We had spent the night turning disaster into a design.
The ruined pearl-white skirt would become part of the inner structure, hidden beneath layers of translucent lavender and pink. Its original pearl trim would reappear along the waist and neckline, connecting the gown to the dream I'd started four months earlier.
The butterfly wings were the biggest challenge.
We shaped lightweight wire into sweeping arcs, then covered each frame with iridescent mesh. When the fabric caught the light, it shifted from lavender to pink to a faint blue, like a butterfly's wing seen beneath the sun.
Maya had the idea of attaching the wings to a hidden harness beneath the bodice.
I designed the structure so they would open slightly when I turned.
Not enough to look like a costume.
Enough to make people stop talking.
At least, that was the plan.
At 7:03, Maya leaned back and studied the unfinished gown.
“Nia, tell me the truth. Are we making a masterpiece or a very expensive laundry accident?””
I laughed for the first time in hours.
“Ask me after we attach the left wing.””
“Great. I love projects with a fifty-percent chance of public humiliation.””
We were pinning the bodice when someone knocked.
Three sharp strikes.
“Nia,” Vanessa called through the door.
“Breakfast. Now.””
Maya checked the clock.
“We have three hours before you need to leave for registration.””
“I know.””
“Then eat something.””
I slipped the unfinished gown onto a padded dress form and covered it with a sheet.
When I opened the door, Vanessa's gaze moved immediately to Maya's bags.
“What is all this?””
“School supplies,” Maya replied.
Vanessa looked at her.
“Don't be clever in my house.””
Maya smiled politely.
“Wouldn't dream of it.””
Vanessa turned to me.
“Brianna has an important fitting this morning. You'll stay home and help her prepare.””
My heart stopped.
“What fitting?””
“The final presentation fitting. Her designer has delivered the gown, and the seamstress needs an extra pair of hands.””
I stared at her.
“Brianna has a designer?””
Vanessa's eyebrows rose.
“Of course. You didn't imagine she would enter that competition wearing something homemade, did you?””
Maya's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.
I kept my face still.
“I'm entering, too.””
Vanessa laughed once, without humor.
“With what? That torn white rag?””
“The dress isn't finished.””
“Then you won't be going.””
She stepped closer.
“Listen carefully. Brianna's future is important to this family. If you embarrass her today, don't expect me to keep making room for you here.””
Maya moved beside me.
“She's twenty-one, Vanessa. You can't ground her from a scholarship competition.””
Vanessa looked at Maya as though she had discovered a stain on the carpet.
“This is a family matter.””
“Then perhaps the family should behave better.””
The silence that followed was so sharp I could hear the sewing machine ticking as it cooled.
Vanessa pointed toward the stairs.
“Get out of my sight.””
Maya picked up her bag.
“Gladly.””
I followed her into my room, shut the door, and leaned against it.
My stomach twisted.
“What if she actually throws us out?””
Maya placed both hands on my shoulders.
“Then we find somewhere else. But you are not surrendering your future because a grown woman thinks kindness is weakness.””
I looked at the covered dress.
“I can't afford another place.””
“Not today,” she said.
“Today, you finish the gown.””
Her confidence was contagious.
We returned to work.
By eight o'clock, the skirt had taken shape. We layered the lavender organza over the salvaged white fabric, creating a soft gradient that darkened toward the hem. Pink crystals followed the curves of the butterfly wings, while tiny pearls traced the neckline.
I added a narrow row of silver stitching around the waist.
That was where my registered design mark would sit, hidden beneath a small interior label.
My grandmother had taught me to label my work long before I knew what intellectual property meant.
“Your name belongs on what your hands create,” she used to say.
I had taken that lesson seriously.
Three months earlier, I had registered the gown's original design under the name Monroe No. 7. The paperwork included dated sketches, photographs, and a detailed description of its signature pearl arrangement.
The label wasn't glamorous.
It was a small strip of satin stitched inside the bodice, bearing my name, the design number, and the registration reference.
But it was proof.
And after Brianna's threat the night before, proof suddenly mattered more than ever.
At 8:41, I finished the label and secured it inside the new gown.
Maya watched me knot the final stitch.
“Insurance?””
“Something like that.””
She nodded.
“Good. Because if your stepsister tries anything else, I'd like the universe to have paperwork.””
We both laughed.
Then I heard Brianna's voice downstairs.
“Mom! Where's the garment bag?””
Vanessa answered from the hallway.
“By the front door, darling.””
“Not that one! The pearl-white one!””
My needle stopped.
Maya looked at me.
I slowly removed my hands from the fabric.
“Didn't she say her designer had delivered the gown?”” Maya whispered.
“She did.””
We heard Brianna climb the stairs.
Her footsteps stopped outside my door.
Then came a soft, deliberate knock.
“Nia?””
I didn't answer.
“Open the door. I want to talk.””
Maya moved between me and the entrance.
“Absolutely not.””
Brianna laughed from the hallway.
“Relax, Maya. I'm not going to destroy anything else.””
Her voice was sweet enough to make my skin crawl.
“I just wanted to tell my sister something.””
I stepped toward the door before Maya could stop me.
“What?””
Brianna lowered her voice.
“You should be careful at Bellmont today. The judges are very particular about originality.””
I stared at her through the narrow opening.
“What are you talking about?””
She smiled.
“Nothing. Just friendly advice.””
Then she walked away.
I closed the door.
Maya's face had gone pale.
“That was not friendly advice.””
“No.””
I turned toward the dress form.
A terrible thought had begun to take shape, but I couldn't quite grasp it.
At 9:12, we finished the final seam.
At 9:26, Maya secured the wing harness.
At 9:38, I stepped into the gown.
The fabric settled around my body as if it had been waiting for me. The lavender layers brushed my ankles, and the wings rose behind my shoulders in a delicate sweep of pink and silver.
Maya fastened the final clasp.
Then she turned me toward the mirror.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
The girl staring back at me didn't look like someone who had spent the previous night crying over a trash can.
She looked powerful.
Not because the gown was expensive.
Because every stitch had a story.
Maya wiped at the corner of her eye.
“Your grandmother would have loved this.””
My throat tightened.
“I hope so.””
“She'd have told you to stand up straighter.””
I lifted my chin.
“Like this?””
“Exactly.””
At 9:47, we packed the remaining supplies, slipped the competition documents into my bag, and headed downstairs.
Brianna stood by the front door in a pearl-white gown.
My heart lurched.
The dress was almost identical to the one I'd spent four months creating.
The same fitted bodice.
The same sculpted waist.
The same cascading arrangement of pearls across the skirt.
Even the asymmetrical folds were there.
For a moment, I couldn't hear anything except the pounding in my ears.
Brianna turned slowly, allowing the light to glide across the fabric.
“What do you think?”” she asked.
Vanessa beamed.
“Absolutely stunning. The judges won't be able to look at anyone else.””
I stared at the gown.
Brianna's eyes met mine in the mirror.
She tilted her head.
“Funny, isn't it? Some people spend months working on a design and still end up with nothing.””
My fingers curled around my bag strap.
“You stole my design.””
Vanessa's smile disappeared.
“Watch your mouth.””
Brianna stepped closer, careful not to wrinkle her skirt.
“Can you prove that?””
I opened my mouth.
She leaned in.
“Because I have a professional invoice, a finished gown, and a designer willing to confirm that it's mine.””
My stomach dropped.
She had planned this.
The destroyed gown hadn't been an impulsive act of cruelty. It had bought her time, removed my original submission, and left me scrambling to finish something new.
Now she stood in front of me wearing the design she had tried to erase.
Maya grabbed my hand.
“Let's go.””
Brianna moved aside with a graceful little bow.
“Good luck at Bellmont, Nia. Try not to look too desperate.””
I walked past her without answering.
But as I reached the door, I glanced back at the pearl-white skirt.
Near the waist, beneath a delicate fold of fabric, I noticed something strange.
A tiny ridge.
A section of stitching that didn't match the rest.
I couldn't see the label from where I stood.
Still, a thought settled into my mind.
My original gown had been registered.
My design had a name.
And if Brianna had copied every detail, there was a chance she'd copied something else, too.
Something she didn't understand.
Something that could expose her in front of every judge at Bellmont.
I stepped into the morning sunlight, Maya beside me, my butterfly wings rustling softly.
For the first time that day, I smiled.
May you like
Brianna thought she had stolen my future.
She had no idea what she'd carried onto that runway.
