Chapter 5: The Runway Was Never Meant for Me
At 8:00 the following morning, the Bellamy House showroom looked like a palace.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling.
White roses covered the reception tables.
A massive screen displayed the company's golden logo behind a runway lined with black velvet chairs.
Fashion journalists, investors, celebrity stylists, and luxury buyers had gathered from across the country.
Every detail had been carefully arranged to make Brielle look like a rising fashion star.
I stood outside the building in a black tailored suit, holding the garment bag containing my gown.
Serena stood beside me.
Adrian carried the legal folder.
Eleanor held the original trust documents.
My father had insisted on coming, but I hadn't spoken to him since the previous evening.
The security guard at the entrance checked our names.
Then his expression changed.
“I'm sorry, Ms. Bellamy. You're not on the approved guest list.””
I handed him my invitation.
He examined it.
“This invitation has been canceled.””
“By whom?””
“Ms. Vanessa Bellamy.””
I looked through the glass doors.
Inside, Brielle was laughing with two photographers.
She wore a hot pink satin dress.
The same shade she'd worn when she destroyed my wedding gown.
Apparently, she had decided to make cruelty part of her personal branding.
I turned back to the guard.
“Please call the event director.””
“I've already been instructed not to admit you.””
Eleanor stepped forward.
“Then perhaps you'd like to explain why you're refusing entry to the registered beneficiary of the Bellamy Heritage trust.””
The guard looked uncertain.
Eleanor opened her briefcase.
She showed him the official document.
“Read the first paragraph.””
He glanced down.
His face changed.
“I'll need to contact management.””
“Please do.””
He walked away.
Serena leaned toward me.
“Your stepmother really doesn't like you.””
I almost laughed.
“That's one way to describe it.””
A minute later, Vanessa appeared behind the glass doors.
She wore a cream pantsuit, gold earrings, and a perfectly controlled expression.
When she saw me, she didn't look surprised.
She looked irritated.
She opened the doors.
“Camille. What an unpleasant surprise.””
“Good morning, Vanessa.””
Her eyes moved toward the garment bag.
“Are you seriously bringing that thing here?””
“It's a dress.””
“It's an imitation.””
I held her gaze.
“Then you won't mind seeing it.””
Vanessa stepped closer.
“You have no authorization to display anything from the Night Bat Collection.””
Eleanor moved between us.
“Actually, Camille has every legal right to display her own registered work.””
Vanessa's smile vanished.
“Eleanor Price. I wondered when you'd crawl out of retirement.””
“I wondered when you'd stop stealing from dead women.””
Several people near the entrance turned.
Vanessa lowered her voice.
“This is a private event.””
“And this is a public matter involving intellectual property.””
Vanessa looked at me.
“You should leave before you humiliate yourself.””
I glanced through the doors.
Brielle was now standing beneath the company logo, posing for photographs.
“I'm not leaving.””
Vanessa's jaw tightened.
“Security.””
Two guards approached.
Before they could reach us, another voice interrupted.
“Don't touch her.””
My father had arrived.
He walked through the entrance carrying a document envelope.
Vanessa stared at him.
“Richard, what are you doing?””
He stopped beside me.
“Something I should have done years ago.””
He handed Eleanor the envelope.
“Original board correspondence. Every letter Vanessa sent to the investors about the Night Bat Collection.””
Vanessa went pale.
“You went through my files?””
“No,” he replied.
“I went through mine.””
He looked at me.
“I'm sorry, Camille.””
I didn't respond.
Not yet.
Vanessa turned toward the guards.
“Remove them.””
Eleanor raised her voice.
“If you physically prevent the beneficiary of the trust from attending a presentation involving her registered designs, I will document every action and submit it to the court this afternoon.””
The guards hesitated.
One of them looked at the manager.
The manager looked at Vanessa.
And Vanessa realized that the people around her were beginning to pay attention.
She stepped aside.
“Fine. Let them in.””
Her smile returned.
“But I suggest you enjoy your little moment. It won't last.””
I walked past her.
As I entered the showroom, Brielle noticed me.
Her smile disappeared.
She excused herself from a group of photographers and hurried over.
“What are you doing here?””
“Attending the presentation.””
“You're not invited.””
“I was.””
Brielle looked at the garment bag.
Then she laughed.
“Oh, my God. You actually brought it.””
I said nothing.
She leaned closer.
“Do you honestly think anyone here wants to see a black Halloween costume?””
Serena stepped forward.
“I'm Serena Vale.””
Brielle looked at her.
“I know who you are.””
“Good. Then you know I don't wear Halloween costumes.””
Brielle's face flushed.
She glanced toward the stage.
“Vanessa is going to have you removed.””
Serena smiled.
“I'd like to see her try.””
At 10:30 a.m., the presentation began.
The event director welcomed the guests.
The lights dimmed.
Music filled the showroom.
A series of white and silver gowns appeared on the runway.
The audience applauded politely.
Then Brielle walked onto the stage.
She wore a shimmering silver dress with a dramatic feathered back.
Her hair was styled in loose waves, and a diamond necklace rested against her collarbone.
The screen behind her displayed:
*BRIELLE BELLAMY — CREATIVE DIRECTOR*
She smiled at the audience.
“Thank you for joining us. Today, I'm proud to present a collection inspired by the strength of women who aren't afraid to stand out.””
I almost laughed.
Inspired.
The word sounded particularly offensive coming from her.
She continued.
“This collection represents the future of Bellamy House. It combines traditional craftsmanship with modern artistic expression.””
A large photograph appeared on the screen.
The original bat-wing silhouette.
My mother's design.
My stomach tightened.
Brielle pointed toward it.
“This particular piece is very close to my heart. I developed it over several months, experimenting with dramatic shapes and unexpected materials.””
A journalist in the front row raised her hand.
“Ms. Bellamy, is this inspired by the original Night Bat Collection?””
Brielle smiled.
“It's an entirely new interpretation.””
“Who created the original?””
“My family has always been involved in fashion.””
“That wasn't my question.””
Brielle's smile faltered.
“My creative direction builds on generations of inspiration.””
Vanessa, seated beside the investors, nodded approvingly.
Then Brielle introduced the next model.
A woman walked out wearing a black-and-purple gown.
I froze.
The dress looked almost identical to mine.
The bodice was black.
The skirt was purple.
Feathers spread across the shoulders.
Even the crystal pattern resembled my design.
Someone had copied the gown.
Not just the original silhouette.
My reconstruction.
I grabbed Adrian's arm.
“That's my design.””
He stared at the runway.
“How?””
I recognized the model.
She was wearing my exact shoulder structure.
My asymmetrical skirt.
My silver crystal arrangement.
But the craftsmanship was poor.
The wings drooped.
The tulle hung unevenly.
The back fastening was visibly strained.
Brielle smiled proudly.
“And this is the centerpiece of my new collection.””
The audience applauded.
I felt sick.
Vanessa leaned toward an investor and whispered something.
The woman nodded.
Then Brielle spoke again.
“Unfortunately, some people confuse inspiration with ownership. It's important to remember that fashion requires vision, discipline, and professionalism.””
Her eyes found mine.
She smiled.
The message was clear.
She was mocking me in front of everyone.
Then she raised her hand.
“And now, I'd like to introduce someone who has been attempting to claim credit for my work.””
My stomach tightened.
A spotlight moved across the room.
It stopped directly on me.
Brielle pointed.
“My stepsister, Camille.””
Every head turned.
She continued.
“Camille has been going through a difficult period. She's upset about some personal matters and has apparently decided to interfere with our presentation.””
A murmur spread through the audience.
I felt heat rise into my face.
Brielle held up a document.
“She no longer has any contractual rights to Bellamy House designs. We have the paperwork to prove it.””
Vanessa stood.
“I'm afraid we cannot allow unauthorized presentations.””
The event director approached me.
“Ms. Bellamy, I need you to step outside.””
Eleanor rose immediately.
“Before you do that, I suggest you examine the registration certificate.””
She held it up.
A journalist stood.
“What's happening?””
Eleanor addressed the room.
“My name is Eleanor Price. I represented Margaret Bellamy, the original founder of this company. The designs currently being presented under Brielle Bellamy's name were created by Margaret Bellamy and later assigned to a protected heritage trust.””
Vanessa's expression hardened.
“This is nonsense.””
Eleanor continued.
“The trust's current beneficiary is Camille Bellamy.””
The room erupted in whispers.
Brielle looked at Vanessa.
“Do something!””
Vanessa approached the microphone.
“This is a private corporate matter. We will not be entertaining baseless accusations.””
Eleanor opened the folder.
“Then perhaps you'll entertain the original design registrations.””
She handed copies to the event director.
The man examined them.
His eyes widened.
“Ms. Bellamy, these documents are genuine.””
Vanessa snatched the papers.
“That's impossible.””
I stepped forward.
“Why? Because you thought nobody would ever find them?””
She turned toward me.
“Camille, stop.””
“No.””
My voice carried across the showroom.
“You destroyed my wedding gown. You took my designs. You forged my signature. And now you're standing here presenting my mother's work as Brielle's.””
Brielle rushed toward me.
“You're lying!””
I turned toward her.
“Then explain why the gown you're presenting has the exact same construction as the one I made last night.””
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
I pointed toward the runway.
“Look at the left shoulder. The internal feather framework is my construction. The crystal placement follows my hand-drawn pattern. And the silver stitching on the inside is my signature.””
The journalist in the front row stood.
“Are you saying the centerpiece is stolen?””
Vanessa snapped.
“Absolutely not.””
Then the event director received a message.
He read it.
His face changed.
He approached Vanessa and whispered something.
For the first time that morning, she looked genuinely frightened.
“What?”” Brielle demanded.
Vanessa grabbed her arm.
“Nothing. Come with me.””
But Brielle pulled away.
“Tell me!””
Vanessa looked toward the audience.
Then she spoke through clenched teeth.
“The injunction has been rejected.””
Eleanor smiled.
“Not exactly. The court has ordered preservation of the original collection and prohibited further transfers until the authorship dispute is reviewed.””
Vanessa's face turned white.
Brielle looked between them.
“What does that mean?””
I answered.
“It means you can't sell what you stole.””
Then Serena stepped forward.
She removed her coat and handed it to Adrian.
“Camille.””
I looked at her.
“Are we ready?””
I nodded.
She took the garment bag.
The audience fell silent as she unzipped it.
The black-and-purple gown emerged beneath the showroom lights.
A collective gasp moved through the room.
The feathers shimmered.
The purple tulle caught the light.
The crystal details looked like a thousand tiny stars.
Serena stepped behind the curtain.
Brielle stared at the dress.
“No.””
Vanessa whispered something to the event director.
But he shook his head.
Eleanor raised the registration certificate.
“Camille has the legal right to present her own registered design.””
The event director looked at me.
“Ms. Bellamy, would you like to proceed?””
I looked at the runway.
Then I looked at Brielle.
“Yes.””
The music stopped.
The lights went dark.
And somewhere behind the curtain, Serena began preparing to walk.
But just as the first spotlight came on, the event director received another message.
He read it.
Then he rushed toward me.
“Camille, we have a serious problem.””
I turned.
“What now?””
He lowered his voice.
“Someone has submitted evidence claiming that the gown you're about to present was stolen from Brielle.””
I stared at him.
“That's ridiculous.””
He showed me the screen.
It was a photograph of a signed design document.
My name appeared at the bottom.
But the date was three months before I had even begun making the dress.
May you like
And above my signature was a sentence that made my blood run cold:
*I ACKNOWLEDGE THAT THE NIGHT BAT DESIGN BELONGS EXCLUSIVELY TO BRIELLE BELLAMY.*
