Chapter 3: The Secret in the Bellamy Archive
My father arrived at the studio forty minutes later.
He looked older than I remembered.
His gray hair was uncombed, his expensive coat was buttoned incorrectly, and he kept glancing toward the corridor as though someone might be following him.
Adrian opened the door.
“Mr. Bellamy.””
My father nodded.
“Is Camille here?””
I stepped out from behind the cutting table.
“You called me. Now tell me what you know.””
He looked at the dress.
For a moment, his expression softened.
Then his eyes moved to the black feathers.
“Your mother would have loved this.””
I crossed my arms.
“Don't use her memory to avoid answering me.””
He lowered his head.
“You're right.””
He approached the table and picked up the old photograph.
His fingers trembled.
“Where did you find this?””
“In her notebook.””
He stared at the image.
“Vanessa told me she had destroyed every copy.””
“Why?””
My father looked toward Adrian.
“Can we speak privately?””
“No,” I replied.
“Whatever you're going to say concerns my mother and my work. Adrian stays.””
He hesitated.
Then he pulled out a chair.
“Twenty years ago, your mother created a collection called The Night Bat Collection. It was supposed to be her breakthrough.””
I glanced at the photograph.
“Why have I never heard of it?””
“Because Vanessa stole it.””
The words landed heavily.
My father continued.
“Your mother designed the entire collection herself. She spent nearly four years developing the silhouettes, embroidery techniques, and fabric treatments. But when the collection was ready for its first major presentation, Vanessa convinced her business partner to register the designs under a different company.””
“Your mother's company?””
“No. Vanessa's.””
I felt sick.
“She stole the collection before it was even shown?””
My father nodded.
“Your mother tried to fight her. But Vanessa had already arranged the paperwork. She claimed your mother had developed the designs as part of a joint project.””
“Why didn't you stop her?””
He looked at me.
“I was weak.””
I stepped backward.
“You let her steal from Mom?””
“I thought I could fix it quietly.””
“Twenty years later?””
His eyes filled with tears.
“I know.””
I turned away.
The machine was still sitting on the table.
Its needle rested above a piece of purple lace.
I had spent my entire life believing my mother had been unlucky.
Now I was discovering that someone had systematically erased her work.
My father reached into his coat.
He removed a small brass key.
“This opens the archive cabinet.””
I stared at it.
“Where is it?””
“Below the old Bellamy showroom. There's a private storage room behind the original design library.””
“Vanessa told everyone that room had been emptied.””
“She lied.””
I took the key.
“Why are you telling me this now?””
He swallowed.
“Because Vanessa knows you're recreating your mother's work. She called me last night and told me to make you stop.””
“And you agreed?””
“No.””
I laughed bitterly.
“You've agreed with her every other time.””
He didn't defend himself.
Instead, he placed another object on the table.
A small envelope.
My name was written across it in my mother's handwriting.
I stopped breathing.
“Where did you get that?””
“It was hidden inside the archive cabinet. I found it last week, but Vanessa discovered that I'd been searching. I couldn't take it out without raising suspicion.””
I opened the envelope carefully.
Inside was a letter.
The paper smelled faintly of old perfume.
My darling Camille,
If you're reading this, then perhaps you've finally found the courage to look beyond the walls other people built around you.
I want you to remember something.
Your work does not belong to anyone who claims to love you.
Your ideas are yours.
Your hands are yours.
And your future is yours.
I pressed the letter against my chest.
There was more.
I have left the original Night Bat designs in the archive. They are protected by a separate trust, established in your name.
I looked up.
“A trust?””
My father nodded.
“Your mother created it before she died.””
“What does it contain?””
“Her original designs, the rights to the collection, and a controlling interest in the company that holds the original archive.””
I stared at him.
“Which company?””
He hesitated.
“Bellamy Heritage Holdings.””
I had never heard that name.
“Who owns it?””
My father looked directly at me.
“You do.””
The room seemed to tilt.
“That's impossible.””
“Your mother arranged everything through her solicitor. The trust was supposed to transfer control to you when you turned twenty-five.””
I thought about the documents Vanessa had made me sign over the years.
The employment agreement.
The creative ownership forms.
The restructuring papers.
My stomach twisted.
“Then why does Vanessa control Bellamy House?””
“Because she controls the operating company. She doesn't control the heritage trust.””
“And the documents she showed me last night?””
My father rubbed his forehead.
“Those documents don't transfer ownership of the original designs. They only give the operating company rights to certain commissioned pieces.””
“So she can't legally claim Mom's collection?””
“No.””
For the first time in twenty years, I felt something other than helplessness.
I felt possibility.
But my father wasn't finished.
“There is something else.””
I looked at him.
“What?””
“Your mother didn't create the collection alone.””
I frowned.
“What do you mean?””
He reached for the photograph.
“Look at the lower corner.””
I leaned closer.
A small handwritten mark appeared beneath the image.
Two initials.
*V.B.*
Vanessa Bellamy.
I stared at them.
“Vanessa helped design it?””
My father nodded.
“She was your mother's closest collaborator before everything fell apart.””
“That doesn't make sense.””
“Your mother trusted her. They started the company together. But Vanessa wanted control of the business. She believed your mother was too idealistic to lead it.””
I remembered every time Vanessa had told me that talent was useless without ambition.
Every time she'd dismissed my designs as impractical.
Every time she'd praised Brielle for understanding the business.
Suddenly, her words sounded different.
She wasn't simply jealous of my talent.
She was afraid I would discover where it came from.
My phone vibrated.
A message appeared from the same unknown number.
*UNKNOWN: Your father finally told you, didn't he?*
I typed back.
*CAMILLE: Who are you?*
The reply came immediately.
*UNKNOWN: Someone who worked with your mother. Someone who knows why the Night Bat Collection disappeared.*
Then another message.
*UNKNOWN: Don't trust the archive key. Vanessa knows about it.*
I looked at the brass key in my hand.
My father noticed my expression.
“What is it?””
I showed him the message.
His face drained of color.
“That's impossible.””
“Why?””
He stood abruptly.
“Because nobody else knows about that key.””
Adrian moved toward the door.
“Maybe someone is watching the studio.””
A sharp noise came from the corridor.
The sound of a door closing.
My father grabbed his coat.
“We need to leave.””
But I didn't move.
I was looking at the photograph again.
Something about the initials had caught my attention.
The letters V.B. were written in silver ink.
Underneath them, almost hidden by the edge of the frame, was another inscription.
Co-designed by Vanessa Bellamy. Completed and signed by Camille's mother.
I turned the photograph over.
There was a second handwritten note.
This one was not in my mother's handwriting.
It was written in a sharp, slanted script.
If the collection is ever recovered, the truth must be told about who created Design 01.
I looked at my father.
“Who created Design 01?””
He didn't answer.
His silence frightened me more than anything Vanessa had said.
“Dad.””
He lowered his eyes.
“Your mother didn't design the original bat-wing silhouette.””
I stared at him.
“Then who did?””
He looked toward the unfinished gown.
And finally, he said the words that changed everything.
“Vanessa.””
I felt the blood drain from my face.
My father continued.
“But she stole something from your mother too, Camille. Something far more important than the designs.””
“What?””
He looked at the letter in my hand.
“Your mother discovered that Vanessa had been selling their original patterns to another fashion house. When she confronted her, Vanessa threatened to destroy everything.””
I gripped the edge of the table.
“And Mom?””
My father's voice broke.
“She refused to surrender.””
He reached into his coat again and pulled out a folded document.
It was an old legal agreement bearing my mother's signature.
At the bottom was another name.
Vanessa Bellamy.
And beside it, a clause written in bold type:
*THE ORIGINAL CREATORSHIP OF DESIGN 01 SHALL REMAIN SEALED UNTIL THE COLLECTION'S FIRST PUBLIC PRESENTATION.*
I read it twice.
“Why would they seal that?””
My father looked at me.
“Because your mother believed Vanessa would eventually try to claim the entire collection.””
I stared at the black-and-purple gown.
The wings.
The feathers.
The silver crystals.
The design I had created overnight suddenly seemed connected to something much bigger than revenge.
Someone had sent me a warning.
Someone knew the truth.
And tomorrow, Bellamy House was hosting its most important presentation of the year.
Brielle would be standing beneath the company logo, wearing a dress she claimed to have designed.
Vanessa would be beside her.
And every investor who mattered would be watching.
I looked at Adrian.
“Get me a model fitting.””
He blinked.
“Camille, what?””
I lifted the nearly finished gown from the mannequin.
“I'm going to the presentation.””
My father shook his head.
“Vanessa will never allow it.””
I carefully spread the enormous black wings.
“Then she can try to stop me.””
I returned to the sewing machine and added the final row of crystals.
By the time the morning sun reached the windows, the gown was finished.
It was magnificent.
Black satin shaped the waist.
Purple tulle flowed beneath the corset.
Silver crystals glittered along the neckline.
And the enormous feathered wings rose behind the shoulders like the silhouette of a creature emerging from darkness.
I stood before the mirror.
For a moment, I didn't recognize the woman looking back.
She wasn't the frightened girl who had knelt beside a destroyed wedding gown.
She wasn't the daughter waiting for her father to defend her.
She wasn't the forgotten designer hiding behind someone else's name.
She was the woman who had made something extraordinary from the remains of what others had tried to destroy.
I touched the black corset.
“You destroyed my dress, not my talent.””
Then my phone rang.
The unknown number.
I answered.
A woman's voice spoke quietly.
“Camille, listen carefully. You cannot present that gown tomorrow.””
“Who are you?””
“My name is Eleanor Price. I was your mother's attorney.””
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“Why can't I present it?””
“Because Vanessa has already filed an emergency injunction against the collection.””
I froze.
“What?””
Eleanor continued.
“And there's one more thing you need to know. The woman who designed the original bat-wing silhouette wasn't Vanessa.””
I looked at the photograph.
The initials.
The sealed agreement.
The old sketch.
“Then who was it?””
Eleanor took a breath.
“Your mother designed it, Camille. Vanessa stole the credit. But the original signed design contains a detail that will prove everything.””
My heart began pounding.
“What detail?””
“Look inside the left wing of your gown. Your mother always hid her signature in the same place.””
I turned toward the dress.
Slowly, I lifted the feathers.
And there, beneath the black satin lining, was a tiny embroidered silver butterfly.
But beside it was a second symbol.
One I had never seen before.
Eleanor's voice dropped to a whisper.
“Camille, whatever you do, don't let Vanessa see that symbol before the presentation.””
Because the symbol wasn't a butterfly.
It was the registered emblem of Bellamy Heritage Holdings.
May you like
And beneath it were three words:
*SOLE CREATOR: CAMILLE.*
