Chapter 6: The Woman Who Walked Through the Darkness
For one terrible second, the entire showroom seemed to disappear.
I stared at the document on the event director's tablet.
My name.
My signature.
A declaration that Brielle owned the Night Bat design.
It looked convincing.
Too convincing.
The signature even contained the tiny upward stroke I had developed when I was nineteen.
But I hadn't signed it.
“Who submitted this?”” I asked.
The event director glanced toward Vanessa.
“She provided it to the legal team this morning.””
I looked at my stepmother.
She was standing beside Brielle, holding the same champagne glass she had carried the night she destroyed my wedding gown.
Her expression had changed.
The fear was gone.
In its place was a small, satisfied smile.
“I'm sorry, Camille,” she said.
“But documents matter.””
I stepped toward her.
“You forged my signature again.””
Vanessa lifted her eyebrows.
“That's a serious accusation.””
“You know I didn't sign that.””
“Then perhaps you should explain why your signature appears on a legally witnessed agreement.””
Eleanor moved forward.
“Let me see it.””
The event director handed her the tablet.
She studied the document.
Then she enlarged the bottom section.
“Interesting.””
Vanessa folded her arms.
“What?””
Eleanor looked up.
“Who witnessed this agreement?””
Vanessa pointed to the signature.
“Mr. Harrison. Our former legal consultant.””
Eleanor stared at her.
“Mr. Harrison retired two years ago.””
“He remained available for special matters.””
“Then perhaps you can explain why this document carries a witness stamp from a firm that closed three years ago.””
Vanessa's smile disappeared.
Eleanor zoomed in further.
“And why the registration number belongs to a completely different design?””
The room grew quiet.
A journalist moved closer.
“Ms. Price, are you saying the document is fake?””
“I am saying that its authenticity is questionable.””
Vanessa snatched the tablet.
“This is harassment.””
Eleanor didn't move.
“Then you won't object to an independent examination.””
Vanessa looked toward the investors.
One of them stood.
“Vanessa, we need to discuss this.””
She ignored him.
Instead, she turned toward me.
“You have no idea what you're getting yourself into.””
I looked directly at her.
“I know exactly what I'm doing.””
I took the tablet from the event director and held it up.
“Everyone should look closely at the date.””
The document was dated July 12.
I remembered that day.
It was my mother's birthday.
I had spent the entire afternoon at the cemetery.
Adrian had accompanied me.
There were photographs.
There were messages.
There was proof I hadn't been anywhere near the studio.
I turned toward the audience.
“I was at my mother's grave when this agreement was supposedly signed.””
A murmur spread across the room.
Adrian stepped forward.
“I can confirm that. I was with her the entire afternoon.””
Vanessa's eyes narrowed.
“Convenient.””
I smiled without warmth.
“Not as convenient as using a dead lawyer's witness stamp.””
Eleanor closed the tablet.
“This presentation is over until the authenticity of the documents is established.””
The event director looked uncomfortable.
But before he could respond, Brielle approached the microphone.
“This is ridiculous!””
Her voice echoed through the showroom.
She pointed toward me.
“Camille has always been jealous of me. She couldn't handle that I was selected to lead the collection, so she decided to sabotage my presentation.””
A few guests shifted in their seats.
Brielle continued.
“She has been obsessed with my work for years. She copies my ideas, then pretends they're hers.””
I stared at her.
“Your work?””
“Yes!””
“Then tell everyone where you learned to construct the bat-wing framework.””
Brielle blinked.
“What?””
“The internal structure. The curved shoulder supports. The feather arrangement. Tell them how you created it.””
She looked toward Vanessa.
Vanessa shook her head slightly.
Brielle turned back.
“I worked with professionals.””
“Which professionals?””
“That's confidential.””
“Of course.””
I walked toward the gown on the mannequin.
“Then perhaps you can explain this.””
I lifted the left wing.
The inner lining revealed a delicate silver butterfly.
And beneath it, the registered emblem.
Brielle stared.
I turned the gown so the audience could see the embroidery.
“Every original Night Bat design carries this emblem. It was registered through Bellamy Heritage Holdings. The trust that owns the collection.””
Eleanor stepped beside me.
“And Camille is its sole beneficiary.””
Vanessa interrupted.
“Enough!””
Her voice cracked through the room.
“You're making a spectacle of yourself.””
I looked at her.
“You made a spectacle of me first.””
Then I turned toward Serena.
She was waiting behind the curtain.
I nodded.
The music began.
The first notes were low and haunting.
The showroom lights faded.
A single violet spotlight appeared at the end of the runway.
Then Serena stepped forward.
For a moment, nobody moved.
The gown transformed under the lighting.
The black corset hugged her waist, its structured panels creating a dramatic silhouette.
Purple tulle flowed behind her like smoke.
The crystal details glittered with every movement.
And the wings...
The wings opened.
Not mechanically.
Not like costume pieces.
They moved with her.
Each feather shifted independently, creating the illusion of a living creature unfolding its wings.
Serena walked slowly.
One step.
Then another.
Her shoulders remained straight.
Her chin lifted.
The gown seemed to grow larger with every movement.
At the end of the runway, she turned.
The wings spread completely.
The audience gasped.
A photographer stood so quickly that his chair fell backward.
Camera flashes exploded.
I watched from the side of the stage.
My hands were shaking.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
This was what my mother had imagined.
This was what I had spent my entire life trying to create.
Serena returned to the center of the runway and stopped beneath the spotlight.
She looked directly at me.
Then she raised her arms slightly.
The wings opened once more.
The entire room erupted in applause.
Even some of the investors who had supported Vanessa were standing.
A fashion editor near the front whispered to her colleague.
“Who made that?””
I heard the answer.
“Camille Bellamy.””
For the first time in years, my name was being spoken without someone attaching another person's achievements to it.
I stepped onto the runway.
The applause grew louder.
I didn't wave.
I didn't smile for the cameras.
I simply walked toward Serena and stood beside her.
Then I looked toward the audience.
“My mother taught me that a beautiful dress should never make a woman feel smaller. It should remind her how much space she is allowed to occupy.””
I paused.
“She also taught me that creativity cannot be stolen simply because someone has the paperwork to pretend otherwise.””
I turned toward the screen.
The original photograph of my mother appeared.
She was standing beside the first Night Bat design.
Then another photograph appeared.
This one showed me at eleven years old, sitting beside her at a sewing machine.
I hadn't known that photograph existed.
My mother was smiling.
I was holding a piece of purple fabric.
The audience watched in silence.
I continued.
“This gown is not an attempt to imitate anyone. It is a continuation of a story that someone tried to erase.””
I touched the black satin at Serena's shoulder.
“My mother began that story. I am choosing to finish it.””
The applause was deafening.
But from the corner of my eye, I saw Vanessa leave her seat.
She was speaking urgently to someone on the phone.
Brielle stood frozen near the stage.
Her hot pink satin dress suddenly looked painfully ordinary beneath the lights.
After the presentation, journalists crowded around me.
Questions came from every direction.
“Are you launching your own collection?””
“Will you be suing Bellamy House?””
“Did Brielle actually steal the design?””
“Is the company being investigated?””
I tried to answer calmly.
Then a familiar voice interrupted.
“Camille.””
I turned.
A tall woman in a charcoal suit stood beside Eleanor.
She carried a leather briefcase.
Her silver hair was tied into a neat bun.
I recognized her from the old photograph.
She was the woman standing beside my mother and Vanessa.
“I'm Evelyn Hart,” she said.
“I worked with your mother during the original Night Bat project.””
I shook her hand.
“It's an honor to meet you.””
She studied the gown.
“Your mother would have been proud.””
I smiled.
“Thank you.””
Evelyn turned toward Eleanor.
“Did you bring the archive documents?””
“Yes.””
“Then we need to talk.””
She opened her briefcase and removed a sealed envelope.
The paper was yellowed with age.
The Bellamy Heritage emblem appeared on the front.
“Your mother asked me to keep this until you presented the Night Bat Collection publicly.””
I stared at it.
“Why?””
“Because the envelope contains the original authorship declaration.””
Eleanor took it carefully.
“This is the missing final document?””
Evelyn nodded.
“And something else.””
She looked toward Vanessa.
“She also left a statement about the financial misconduct.””
My father approached.
“Evelyn, please.””
She turned toward him.
“Richard, you should have told the truth years ago.””
He lowered his head.
“I know.””
Evelyn opened the envelope.
Inside was a handwritten letter and several legal pages.
She began reading.
“Margaret Bellamy hereby confirms that the original Night Bat Collection was conceived, designed, and executed under her creative direction. Vanessa Bellamy contributed to business development and production coordination but holds no exclusive authorship rights.””
Brielle had moved closer.
Vanessa appeared behind her.
Evelyn continued.
“Furthermore, all derivative designs based on the original silhouette shall remain the property of the Bellamy Heritage Trust.””
She turned the page.
Then she stopped.
Her expression changed.
“What is it?”” I asked.
Evelyn looked at me.
“There is a final clause.””
She handed me the document.
I read it.
My mother's handwriting appeared beneath the legal text.
If Camille presents the collection herself, she will become the permanent creative director of Bellamy Heritage Holdings and will receive the original archive.
I looked at Eleanor.
“What does that mean?””
“It means the trust transfers the entire creative archive to you. Every original design, every sketch, every pattern.””
I felt tears gathering.
Then I read the next paragraph.
It was a separate financial provision.
Any person found to have knowingly falsified the ownership of these designs shall be excluded from all future licensing arrangements and subject to financial recovery proceedings.
I looked up.
Vanessa's face had gone completely white.
But Evelyn wasn't finished.
She removed another document.
“This one is more troubling.””
“What is it?””
“A transfer agreement from twelve years ago.””
She placed it beside the first document.
The agreement showed that Vanessa had attempted to transfer the original Night Bat collection to a company registered overseas.
The signature belonged to my father.
He stared at the paper.
“I never signed that.””
Evelyn looked at him.
“Then someone forged your signature too.””
My father took a step backward.
Vanessa suddenly turned toward the exit.
Eleanor called after her.
“Vanessa, I wouldn't leave just yet.””
But Vanessa kept walking.
Two security officers moved toward the doors.
She stopped.
“Get out of my way.””
One of the officers spoke calmly.
“Ma'am, we're waiting for instructions from management.””
Vanessa looked around.
The investors who had once rushed to greet her were now avoiding her eyes.
Brielle grabbed her arm.
“Mom, what is happening?””
Vanessa pulled away.
“Not here.””
“Tell me!””
Vanessa turned on her.
“Be quiet!””
Brielle flinched.
I watched the exchange.
For the first time, Brielle looked genuinely frightened.
Then Evelyn approached me.
“Camille, there's something you should know about the original collection.””
“What?””
“Your mother didn't leave you just the designs.””
She opened the final page.
At the bottom was a list of names.
Three investors.
Two attorneys.
And one international fashion house.
I recognized the final name.
Maison Laurent.
One of the most prestigious luxury fashion houses in Europe.
Evelyn explained.
“Your mother had a partnership agreement with Maison Laurent. They were prepared to invest in the collection and establish an international atelier. The agreement was never canceled.””
I stared.
“After twenty years?””
“The rights were placed under the heritage trust. The partnership can still be activated if the collection is presented by its rightful owner.””
I felt my pulse quicken.
“So they could still work with me?””
Evelyn smiled.
“They've been waiting for you.””
Before I could ask another question, a man approached.
He wore a navy suit and carried a silver briefcase.
He introduced himself as the representative of Maison Laurent.
“Ms. Bellamy,” he said, “our chairman watched the presentation through a live broadcast.””
I shook his hand.
“He did?””
“He would like to meet you.””
I looked toward the stage.
Then toward the gown.
My dream was suddenly becoming something much larger than I had imagined.
But the representative lowered his voice.
“There is one condition.””
My smile faded.
“What condition?””
He glanced toward Vanessa.
“Maison Laurent will not enter a partnership while there is an unresolved ownership dispute involving the collection.””
Eleanor stepped forward.
“We have the original registration documents.””
He nodded.
“And we have received them.””
“Then what's the problem?””
The man opened his briefcase.
He removed a photograph.
It showed a woman standing beside my mother in the original Bellamy workroom.
The woman was wearing a black dress with purple feathers.
I recognized the silhouette immediately.
It was the first Night Bat gown.
But there was something else.
The woman in the photograph wasn't Vanessa.
It wasn't my mother.
It was Brielle.
I stared at the photograph.
“That can't be right.””
The representative looked at me.
“Your mother submitted this image to Maison Laurent twenty years ago. She identified the model as the original inspiration for the collection.””
I looked at Brielle.
She was standing near Vanessa, her face drained of color.
“But Brielle wasn't even born twenty years ago,” I whispered.
The representative turned the photograph over.
There was a handwritten date.
And beneath it, a name.
*CAMILLE BELLAMY — AGE FIVE.*
My breath caught.
The little girl in the photograph wasn't Brielle.
It was me.
And the woman standing beside my mother was wearing a mask.
I looked at Eleanor.
“Who is that?””
She studied the photograph.
Then she looked toward Vanessa.
Her voice was barely audible.
“That's the woman who financed the original collection.””
Vanessa suddenly stopped moving.
And when Eleanor spoke the woman's name, my stepmother looked as though she had seen a ghost.
“Your mother never told you about her, did she?””
I shook my head.
Eleanor leaned closer.
“Because that woman wasn't just your mother's business partner.””
May you like
She paused.
“She was your biological grandmother.””
