Chapter 5: The Lie Behind the Lavender Wings
The review room was smaller than the main hall, with a long wooden table, six chairs, and a glass wall overlooking the competition floor.
A printed copy of my design registration lay in the center of the table.
Beside it sat a formal complaint alleging that I had copied Brianna's pearl-white gown and disguised the theft by changing its colors and silhouette.
I read the document twice.
The second time, my hands began to shake.
“This is insane,” Maya said.
“The registration date is right there.””
Dr. Miriam Cole, who had accompanied us into the room, raised a hand.
“Please let us finish reviewing the submission before drawing conclusions.””
“Someone stole Nia's presentation card,” Maya replied.
“Now there's a complaint against her. How is that not suspicious?””
“It is suspicious,” Dr. Cole acknowledged.
“That is precisely why we are examining the evidence.””
I sat down.
Across the table, Elise Laurent opened a folder.
“Miss Monroe, the complaint claims that your lavender-pink gown incorporates distinctive elements from Brianna's registered design concept. It also alleges that you had access to her sketches.””
I stared at her.
“Her sketches?””
“Yes.””
“I've never seen them.””
Brianna sat beside Vanessa at the opposite end of the table.
She had removed her runway shoes and crossed her legs, apparently determined to look relaxed.
“That's not true,” she said.
“Nia has been going through my things for years. She knows what I like. She knows my style.””
I turned toward her.
“You've never designed anything like that gown.””
“That's your opinion.””
“You asked me how I constructed the bodice. You asked me where I bought the pearls. You stood in my bedroom doorway while I was working on it.””
Brianna's eyes narrowed.
“You can't prove any of that.””
Maya slapped a hand against the table.
“I was there!””
“Then you have a personal interest in the outcome,” Brianna said smoothly.
Vanessa nodded.
“Exactly. Maya is Nia's best friend. Her testimony cannot be considered impartial.””
Elise looked from Vanessa to Brianna.
“Neither can yours, Mrs. Monroe. Yet we are listening to everyone.””
Vanessa's cheeks reddened.
Brianna reached into her bag and produced a set of printed sketches.
“I brought these because I want the truth to be clear.””
She spread the pages across the table.
The first showed a pearl-white gown with an asymmetrical waist. The second featured a sculpted bodice and a cascading arrangement of pearls. The third depicted a skirt with the same unusual folds as my original design.
My heart sank.
The sketches looked convincing.
They were also familiar.
Too familiar.
I leaned closer.
“Where did you get those?””
Brianna looked offended.
“I drew them.””
“No, you didn't.””
“Enough, Nia,” Vanessa snapped.
“You have been given every opportunity to present your work. Stop accusing your sister because you can't accept that she has talent, too.””
I stared at the sketches.
Then I noticed something small in the lower corner of the first page.
A faint pencil mark.
A tiny crescent with a line running through it.
My grandmother had taught me that mark when I was thirteen. It was how I indicated a particular type of curved seam in my private design notebooks.
I used it because the ordinary pattern symbols confused me.
Nobody else knew what it meant.
Except Maya.
And, apparently, whoever had been inside my bedroom.
I looked at Brianna.
“You stole my sketchbook.””
Her expression flickered.
Vanessa leaned forward.
“That's an outrageous accusation.””
“Those sketches were made from my original pages. Look at the notation in the corner.””
Elise lifted the first sheet.
“Can you explain the mark?””
“Yes,” I said.
“It's my personal drafting notation. I've used it in my sketches for years.””
Brianna laughed nervously.
“It's just a crescent. Anyone could draw one.””
“Then explain the measurements.””
I pointed to the waistline.
“The original design uses a fourteen-degree asymmetrical angle. The number is written beside the seam. The measurement is specific to my pattern.””
Elise examined the page.
Dr. Cole pulled my original registration documents closer.
She compared the sketches.
Then she looked up.
“Miss Monroe, your registered submission contains the same measurement.””
“Yes.””
“And the same notation?””
“Yes.””
Brianna's face tightened.
Vanessa immediately intervened.
“Measurements are not proof of ownership. Fashion designers study the same techniques. Surely you understand that.””
“Of course,” Dr. Cole said.
“But the combination of matching measurements, unusual notation, identical pearl placement, and a disputed interior label warrants further examination.””
Brianna pushed her chair back.
“This is ridiculous. You're acting as if I'm some criminal.””
“No one has called you a criminal,” Elise replied.
“We're determining whether the competition rules were violated.””
“I have an invoice!””
“Then let's examine it.””
Brianna handed over a printed document.
It bore the name Claire Bennett Couture, a description of the pearl-white gown, and a date from six weeks earlier.
At first glance, it appeared legitimate.
Elise read the page carefully.
“Who paid this invoice?””
“My mother.””
“By what method?””
Vanessa answered quickly.
“Bank transfer.””
“Do you have the transaction record?””
Vanessa's lips tightened.
“I can provide it later.””
Elise placed the invoice beside the sketches.
“Until we verify the documents, the complaint against Miss Nia Monroe will remain under review. Neither contestant will be disqualified at this stage.””
Brianna looked furious.
“You can't just let her compete after what she's done!””
Elise's voice remained calm.
“She's entitled to the same process as you.””
A staff member entered the room and whispered something to Dr. Cole.
The judge nodded.
“Thank you. Please bring it in.””
The staff member left and returned with a sealed plastic evidence sleeve.
Inside was a small notebook.
My notebook.
The dark blue cover had a tear along the spine, and the bottom corner was stained with a drop of lavender fabric dye.
I recognized it instantly.
“Where did you find that?””
“Inside the garment bag submitted with Miss Brianna's gown,” the staff member said.
My breath caught.
Maya covered her mouth.
Elise carefully opened the sleeve.
“Is this your property?””
“Yes.””
“Does it contain your original design sketches?””
“Yes.””
Elise turned several pages.
The notebook contained months of drawings: dresses, bodices, seam calculations, fabric experiments, and notes about the butterfly-wing concept.
On the page marked with a folded corner was my original pearl-white gown.
The same asymmetrical waist.
The same pearl arrangement.
The same crescent notation.
And, beneath the sketch, a handwritten note in my own words:
Monroe No. 7 — final construction, subject to registration.
I had written it the day before the gown was completed.
Elise compared the page with Brianna's submitted sketches.
The room grew silent.
“Miss Brianna Monroe,” she said, “how did your sister's private notebook end up inside your garment bag?””
Brianna stared at the notebook.
“I've never seen that before.””
Maya gave a disbelieving laugh.
“You expect us to believe it walked into your bag by itself?””
Vanessa shot her a furious look.
“Be quiet.””
Maya didn't.
“Someone entered Nia's room, stole her notebook, copied her designs, and put the notebook in Brianna's bag. Who else would have had a reason to do that?””
Vanessa rose abruptly.
“This meeting is over.””
“No,” Elise said.
“Please sit down.””
For the first time, Vanessa looked uncertain.
She slowly returned to her chair.
Brianna's hands trembled in her lap.
I watched her carefully.
There was something she hadn't expected to happen.
The evidence wasn't merely proving that she had copied my work.
It was connecting her to the notebook.
And if the judges examined the original pages closely enough, they might discover something else.
I had dated every major design change.
I had recorded every fabric purchase.
And beside the entry for my pearl-white gown, I had written the exact time I completed the final seam.
The same night Brianna destroyed it.
The same night she claimed my design was worthless.
Elise closed the notebook.
“Before we reach a decision, we need to verify one final detail.””
She looked toward the door.
“Please bring in the garment technician.””
A young woman entered carrying Brianna's pearl-white gown on a padded hanger.
Brianna shot to her feet.
“Why do you have my dress?””
The technician ignored the question and addressed Elise.
“During the preliminary inspection, I noticed a secondary seam beneath the waist lining. It appears to have been altered recently.””
Elise nodded.
“Show us.””
The technician gently turned the gown inside out.
A hidden line of stitching ran along the interior bodice.
At its center was a narrow satin label.
My name.
My registration reference.
And beneath it, a short line of text I had added to the original gown's interior as a private construction note.
Elise leaned closer.
Then she looked at Brianna.
“Miss Monroe, can you explain why your gown contains not only another designer's registration label, but her original construction note?””
Brianna opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Vanessa looked at the label.
Then she looked at her daughter.
For the first time, I saw genuine fear in my stepmother's eyes.
Because she recognized the label.
She had seen it before.
She had seen it the night Brianna destroyed my dress.
And now the judges were beginning to understand that the theft hadn't happened in some distant studio.
It had happened inside our home.
Elise turned to the technician.
“Please examine the stitching and determine whether the label was transferred from another garment.””
Then she faced Brianna.
“Until that examination is complete, you will not wear this gown again.””
Brianna's face crumpled.
“You can't take it from me!””
Elise stood.
“We can preserve evidence relevant to the competition.””
Vanessa grabbed Brianna's arm.
“Don't say another word.””
But Brianna was no longer looking at her mother.
She was looking at me.
Her eyes were wet, her jaw clenched, and her voice was barely audible.
“You have no idea what you've done.””
I held her gaze.
“No,” I said.
“I think I finally do.””
The judges escorted us back toward the competition hall.
The final results would be announced in less than an hour.
My gown still sparkled beneath the lights, but the weight of everything that had happened made it feel heavier than it had that morning.
Maya walked beside me.
“Do you think they'll disqualify her?””
“I don't know.””
“Do you think they'll believe you?””
I looked at my hands.
For years, I had believed that being quiet would keep me safe.
I had swallowed insults, hidden my drawings, and made myself smaller so Vanessa and Brianna could feel bigger.
But my work had survived their cruelty.
The design had survived the trash can.
The truth had survived the lies.
“I think,” I said slowly, “that whatever happens next, I won't pretend this never happened.””
Maya squeezed my shoulder.
“That's my girl.””
As we entered the hall, a staff member approached with a sealed envelope.
“Miss Nia Monroe?””
I turned.
“Yes?””
“The judges have reached a preliminary decision. They would like both contestants present when it is announced.””
My stomach tightened.
I glanced across the room.
Brianna stood beside Vanessa, her pearl-white gown still hanging on the evidence rack.
Her face was pale.
But when she saw the envelope, she whispered something to her mother.
Vanessa nodded.
Then she looked directly at me.
And smiled.
I didn't know what they were planning.
May you like
But I knew one thing.
They weren't finished trying to take my future.
