Chapter 4: The Label That Changed Everything
For three seconds, Brianna Monroe looked as though someone had pulled the floor out from beneath her.
Then she laughed.
It was a brittle, ugly sound that bounced off the walls of the Bellmont Institute's waiting hall.
“A label?”” she said, glancing at the judges.
“You're questioning my entire submission over a label?””
Head judge Elise Laurent didn't blink.
“I'm questioning your claim of originality because the garment appears to contain another designer's registered identification.””
Brianna lifted her chin.
“That's ridiculous. I purchased the gown from a professional designer. If there's a mistake inside it, that's her responsibility.””
Vanessa stepped forward before Elise could respond.
“My daughter has worked incredibly hard for this opportunity,” she said.
“She's been preparing for this competition for months. Surely we can resolve a small administrative issue without humiliating her in front of everyone.””
Elise placed the document on the judges' table.
“Mrs. Monroe, an administrative issue is a missing signature. This is a question of authorship.””
The audience had begun whispering.
Contestants stood frozen near the garment racks. A photographer lowered his camera, then raised it again when another judge signaled that the proceedings were continuing.
I stood beside Maya, my butterfly wings folded behind my shoulders.
My hands were cold.
I had imagined confronting Brianna a hundred times during the sleepless night we'd spent making the new gown. In those fantasies, I had spoken confidently. I had presented my evidence. Brianna had been forced to admit what she'd done.
I hadn't imagined how it would feel to watch an entire room turn toward me.
Maya leaned close.
“Breathe, Nia.””
I drew in a slow breath.
Across the room, Brianna pointed at me.
“She did this.””
Elise raised an eyebrow.
“Miss Monroe, be specific.””
“Nia has been obsessed with me for years. She wants to ruin my chances because she couldn't make a decent dress of her own.””
Maya took a step forward.
“That's funny, considering you were wearing her design before she even arrived.””
“Maya,” I whispered.
“No.”” Maya's voice shook with anger.
“I'm tired of watching her lie about you.””
Brianna's face twisted.
“You have no idea what you're talking about.””
“I know who spent four months sewing pearls onto a white skirt. I know who tore that skirt apart. And I know who spent the entire night helping Nia turn the pieces she could salvage into something extraordinary.””
Several contestants exchanged startled looks.
Vanessa's face flushed.
“This is a competition, not a family therapy session.””
“Then let's keep it professional,” Elise said.
She turned toward me.
“Miss Nia Monroe, do you have documentation supporting your claim that this design belongs to you?””
“Yes.””
My voice came out quieter than I wanted.
I opened my folder with trembling fingers and removed the registration certificate, dated sketches, and photographs of the original gown at different stages of construction.
I had taken those photographs partly for my portfolio and partly because my grandmother had always insisted that creative work deserved a record.
Now, they might be the only things standing between me and another stolen future.
Elise examined the certificate.
“Your design is registered under the name Monroe No. 7?””
“Yes.””
“And the registration predates this competition?””
“By three months.””
“Do you have evidence of the gown's construction?””
I handed her a photograph of the pearl-white bodice resting on my sewing table.
The next image showed the completed skirt draped across my bedroom floor.
The third showed my hands sewing the final pearls along the waist.
Elise studied each photograph carefully.
Then she looked at Brianna.
“Would you care to explain this?””
Brianna stared at the pictures.
For the first time, her face lost its practiced expression of superiority.
“That doesn't prove anything,” she said.
“Anyone can take pictures of fabric.””
“True,” Elise replied.
“Which is why the judges will consider the evidence together rather than relying on a single photograph.””
She passed the images to her colleagues.
One of them examined the stitching on the original gown. Another compared the photographs with the garment Brianna wore.
The resemblance was undeniable.
The asymmetrical waistline.
The unusual arrangement of pearls.
The hidden fold beneath the left side of the bodice.
Even the tiny crescent-shaped detail at the hip appeared in both.
A judge with silver-framed glasses leaned toward Brianna.
“Who is the designer you commissioned?””
Brianna hesitated.
“Her name is... Claire.””
“Claire what?””
“Claire Bennett.””
“Do you have a contract?””
“Yes.””
“An invoice?””
“Of course.””
“May we see them?””
Brianna looked toward Vanessa.
Her mother stepped forward.
“The paperwork is at home.””
Elise folded her hands.
“Then I suggest you arrange for it to be delivered immediately. Until the verification process is complete, your score will remain provisional.””
Brianna's mouth fell open.
“You can't do that!””
“I can, and I have.””
“This is supposed to be a fashion competition!””
“It is,” Elise replied.
“Which is why we take design ownership seriously.””
Vanessa's voice hardened.
“You're making a terrible mistake. My husband has supported several arts initiatives in this city. He knows people who sit on boards like yours.””
The second judge, a woman named Dr. Miriam Cole, slowly removed her glasses.
“Are you suggesting that the judges should overlook a potential violation because of your family's connections?””
Vanessa went silent.
Maya squeezed my hand.
I could feel her trembling, too.
Then Brianna turned toward me, and I saw something in her expression that frightened me more than her anger.
She was desperate.
“You did this on purpose,” she whispered.
“You knew I'd be wearing the gown.””
“I knew you were wearing my design,” I replied.
“You could have talked to me privately!””
I stared at her.
“You threw my dress in the trash.””
Her lips parted.
“You told me I would never win. You threatened to accuse me of stealing your work. You stood in front of everyone and called my design a costume.””
“I was angry!””
“So was I.””
My voice grew stronger.
“But I didn't destroy your work. I didn't steal your name. And I didn't lie to a room full of people who came here to judge what we created.””
For a moment, Brianna looked almost ashamed.
Then Vanessa grabbed her elbow.
“Enough. We are leaving.””
Elise raised her hand.
“No one is required to remain in the competition. However, if Miss Brianna Monroe withdraws before the authorship inquiry is completed, the judges will record that decision and retain the evidence submitted today.””
Vanessa stopped.
Brianna stared at the exit.
I could see the calculation behind her eyes.
If she left, she would surrender the competition and invite questions. If she stayed, she risked being exposed in front of everyone.
Finally, she straightened her shoulders.
“I'll stay.””
“Very well,” Elise said.
“The inquiry will continue after the final runway presentations.””
The staff directed the contestants back toward the waiting area.
As Brianna passed me, she leaned close enough that only I could hear her.
“You think this makes you better than me?””
“No.””
“Then why are you doing this?””
I looked at the pearl-white gown.
“Because you don't get to take something from me and then tell me I never owned it.””
She walked away without answering.
Maya exhaled.
“I swear, if that woman says one more word—”
“Maya.””
“What?””
I looked down at my butterfly wings.
“I think I'm going to be sick.””
She immediately took my arm.
“Okay. Bathroom. Water.
Five minutes. And then we're coming back.””
I shook my head.
“What if they disqualify me because of all this?””
“They won't.””
“You don't know that.””
“No, I don't.”” Maya's expression softened.
“But I know you didn't cheat. And I know the dress you made last night is beautiful enough to stand on its own.””
We slipped into a quiet corridor.
For the first time since the judges had confronted Brianna, I allowed myself to cry.
Maya didn't tell me to stop.
She simply stood beside me until I could breathe again.
When we returned to the waiting area, an assistant was checking the contestants' final presentation cards.
I reached into my folder for mine.
It was missing.
I searched the pockets.
Nothing.
I checked my bag, the garment cover, and the small case containing my sewing tools.
Still nothing.
Maya frowned.
“Didn't you put it beside your registration certificate?””
“Yes.””
“Then where is it?””
Before I could answer, the stage manager appeared at the doorway.
“Miss Nia Monroe?””
I stepped forward.
“Yes?””
He held a card in his hand.
“Someone submitted a formal complaint against your design. The judges need you in the review room immediately.””
My stomach dropped.
“What complaint?””
The stage manager glanced at the paper.
“Alleged design theft.””
Maya stared at him.
“By whom?””
He looked toward the waiting area.
Brianna stood near the mirror, her pearl-white gown gleaming beneath the lights.
Vanessa was beside her, smiling for the first time since the inquiry began.
Then Brianna lifted her eyes to mine.
May you like
And mouthed two words.
Your turn.
