Chapter 6: The Lie Beneath the Roses
Brianna's announcement echoed through the backstage corridor.
She sounded confident again. Almost joyful.
As if the painted wings were a minor inconvenience. As if the evidence against her could be dismissed with a smile and a carefully chosen sentence.
I looked at my father.
“Why would Vanessa want Mom's records?””
He glanced at the photograph in his hand.
“I don't know everything she's been doing, Nia. But I know she asked about the collection several times after finding the boxes in the attic.””
“Did she ever take anything?””
“Not that I noticed.””
“Dad.””
He closed his eyes.
“I should have checked.””
I waited for him to continue.
He didn't.
Outside the room, the audience applauded as another contestant finished her presentation. The host's voice rose through the speakers, announcing the final entries.
We had minutes, not hours.
“Tell me what you know,” I said.
Dad looked at the photograph again.
“Your mother created a design archive. Sketches, patterns, construction notes, licensing correspondence. She kept everything organized in red folders. When she became ill, she asked me to put them somewhere safe.””
“Where are they now?””
“In the attic. Or they were.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Were?””
“I checked last week. Some of the folders were missing.””
“Did you ask Vanessa?””
“Yes.””
“What did she say?””
“She said she'd moved some old papers into storage because they were taking up space.””
I stared at him.
“And you believed her?””
“I wanted to.””
The honesty of the answer hurt more than another excuse would have.
I turned toward the damaged wings.
“Do you think she took them?””
“I don't know.””
“But you think she might have.””
He looked at me.
“Yes.””
For a moment, I could hear nothing but the distant bass of the competition music.
Then Maya appeared in the doorway.
“Nia, they're calling your name. The judges want you back onstage for a clarification.””
I straightened.
“About what?””
“They're asking whether the rose seal is part of your original design or something you added after Brianna took the costume.””
I felt my jaw tighten.
“Of course they are.””
Dad stepped forward.
“I'll explain the history of the design.””
I shook my head.
“No. I will.””
“Nia, I can confirm—”
“You can confirm what you saw. But this is my work, and I want them to hear it from me.””
He hesitated, then nodded.
“All right.””
I picked up my portfolio and walked toward the stage.
The audience had settled into their seats. The judges sat behind a long table, their expressions serious. Brianna stood near the center of the stage in the crimson rose costume, her hands resting on her hips.
Vanessa was seated in the front row.
When she saw me, she leaned toward Brianna and whispered something.
Brianna's confident expression flickered.
The host raised his microphone.
“We've received a request from the judging panel to clarify a question concerning the originality of the crimson rose angel design.””
A murmur passed through the audience.
“Nia Hayes has provided documentation regarding the construction of the costume. Brianna Hayes has also maintained that the design is her original work. The judges would like both contestants to respond.””
The lead judge, a woman named Margaret Ellis, looked at me.
“Nia, please explain the significance of the rose seal.””
I stepped to the microphone.
“The seal is a fluorescent design hidden beneath the petals. It consists of a rose, my mother's initials, and my own name. I developed it using a technique my mother taught me.””
“Was the seal present before the costume was taken?””
“Yes.””
“Can you prove that?””
I opened my portfolio to a photograph dated October seventeenth.
“This photograph shows the finished wings before they were taken from my bedroom. The fluorescent pattern isn't visible in the image because it only appears under ultraviolet light. But I have the original design sketch and a photograph of the fabric sample I used during construction.””
Margaret studied the documents.
“Why did you include the initials E.R.?””
“My mother's name was Evelyn Rose. She was a costume designer. She taught me how to sew and helped me understand that an original creation carries the mark of its maker.””
I looked toward the audience.
“The rose angel design was inspired by one of her unfinished projects. I changed the materials, built a new frame, and developed the petal arrangement myself. I wanted to honor her work without simply copying it.””
Margaret nodded.
“Thank you. Brianna, your response?””
Brianna stepped toward the microphone.
“I designed the costume myself. Nia helped me with a few ideas, but she's making it sound as if she created everything.””
I felt a sharp ache behind my ribs.
She was still doing it.
Still trying to turn a theft into a misunderstanding.
Margaret asked, “Did Nia give you permission to use the costume?””
Brianna's eyes darted toward Vanessa.
“She let me try it on.””
“That wasn't the question.””
Brianna swallowed.
“We're sisters. We share things.””
“Did she give you permission to enter her room and take the costume to this competition?””
Brianna's mouth tightened.
“No.””
The admission was small, but the microphone carried it across the room.
A wave of whispers spread through the audience.
Margaret leaned forward.
“Then why are you presenting the costume as your original work?””
Brianna's face flushed.
“Because I was the one wearing it. I put the look together. I chose how to present it.””
“You told the audience you made every part by hand.””
“I—”
She looked toward Vanessa again.
Her stepmother rose from the front row.
“This is ridiculous,” Vanessa said.
“The girls are having a family disagreement. It has nothing to do with the competition.””
Margaret turned toward her.
“Ma'am, please remain seated. The judges are addressing the contestants.””
Vanessa didn't sit.
“You can't let a family argument decide who wins. Brianna has worked very hard.””
“Has she?”” Margaret asked.
“Because the documentation before us suggests that Nia designed and constructed the costume.””
Vanessa's cheeks reddened.
“Those papers could have been created at any time.””
I opened another page in my portfolio.
“These are the receipts for the materials. The dates match the photographs. The original sketches have notes in my handwriting, and the school theater department can confirm that I discussed the design with them before the costume was completed.””
Margaret examined the records.
Then she turned toward Brianna.
“Did you purchase any of the materials used in this costume?””
Brianna hesitated.
“No.””
“Did you construct the framework?””
“No.””
“Did you sew the petals?””
Brianna's eyes filled with angry tears.
“No.””
The auditorium became completely silent.
Margaret placed her pen on the table.
“Then I believe we have established that you did not create the costume.””
Brianna stared at her.
Vanessa finally sat down, but she immediately leaned toward another judge and began speaking in a low, urgent voice.
I couldn't hear the words.
I didn't need to.
The truth was no longer something they could control by whispering in the right ears.
Margaret addressed the audience.
“The judges will suspend the award decision until we complete a review of the evidence. Both contestants will have the opportunity to present their remaining materials.””
Brianna stepped away from the microphone.
As she passed me, she whispered, “You have no idea what you've done.””
I looked at her.
“I know exactly what I did.””
She returned to the dressing area.
I followed the stage manager backstage, where Maya was waiting with my rose crown.
She threw her arms around me.
“You got her to admit it!””
“She admitted she didn't make the costume. That's a start.””
Maya pulled back.
“What do you mean, a start?””
I looked toward the storage room.
“The painted signature. The missing records. Vanessa's badge. Someone tried to destroy the evidence.””
“And now?””
“Now we find out why.””
Before Maya could answer, Mr. Collins approached us.
“The event manager has reviewed the access records. Vanessa's badge was used to enter the prop room, and the camera footage appears to show someone carrying a container of paint.””
“Can we see it?””
He nodded.
“The event manager is reviewing the footage with security. But there's another issue. Vanessa has claimed that the costume belongs to Brianna because it was based on a family design.””
I stared at him.
“A family design?””
“She says your mother created it, and therefore neither of you can claim exclusive ownership.””
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I laughed once, without humor.
“She's using my mother's work to justify stealing mine.””
Mr. Collins looked uncomfortable.
“The event manager is handling the matter according to the competition rules. But if the ownership question becomes a legal issue, the competition itself can't settle every part of it.””
“I understand.””
He lowered his voice.
“Your father has been asking about the design archive. He says some of your mother's original records may be missing.””
My heart began to pound.
“Did he tell you that?””
“Yes. He believes the missing documents may be relevant.””
I looked at Maya.
“I'm going home.””
“What? The competition isn't over.””
“I know. But Vanessa is going to leave as soon as she realizes the judges aren't buying her story.””
Maya glanced toward the stage.
“Then I'll stay here and make sure they preserve everything. You go with your dad.””
I squeezed her hand.
“Thank you.””
She gave me a determined look.
“Don't thank me yet. I want to see the moment she realizes the whole plan has fallen apart.””
I hurried toward the dressing rooms.
Vanessa was already packing Brianna's belongings into a large black bag. She had removed the copper halo and wrapped it in a towel. Brianna sat on a bench, still wearing the costume, her face streaked with mascara.
“You're leaving?”” I asked.
Vanessa looked up sharply.
“We have nothing more to do here.””
“The judges haven't announced the results.””
“They've already made up their minds.””
Brianna rose.
“You happy now?””
I looked at her.
“No.””
She seemed surprised.
“You've humiliated me in front of everyone.””
“You did that when you told them you made my costume.””
Brianna's eyes flashed.
“You could have let me have one night.””
“You could have asked.””
“And you would have said no!””
“Yes.””
The answer hung between us.
Brianna stared at me as though she'd never considered that I might have the right to refuse her.
Vanessa zipped the bag.
“Enough. We're leaving.””
I stepped aside.
Then I noticed something protruding from the side pocket of the bag.
A red folder.
The edges were worn, and a small brass label was attached to the front.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
My mother's.
*EVELYN ROSE — ORIGINAL DESIGN ARCHIVE*
My breath caught.
“Where did you get that?””
Vanessa followed my gaze.
For the first time, her expression broke completely.
She grabbed the folder and shoved it deeper into the bag.
“It's nothing.””
I stared at her.
“That belongs to my mother.””
“It's family property.””
“Then why are you hiding it?””
She stepped toward me, gripping the bag so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
“Because you don't understand what you're dealing with.””
“Then explain it.””
“Not here.””
“Why not?””
Vanessa's eyes darted toward the corridor.
Then she leaned close enough that only I could hear her.
“Because if you open that folder, you'll destroy more than Brianna's chance of winning.””
I felt my pulse hammer in my ears.
“What does that mean?””
She straightened and forced a smile.
“Move, Nia.””
I didn't move.
For a long moment, we stared at each other.
Then my father appeared at the dressing-room entrance.
He saw the folder.
His face went pale.
“Vanessa,” he said quietly, “put it down.””
She turned toward him.
“Daniel, don't.””
“Put it down.””
“You don't know what you're asking.””
His voice rose.
“I know exactly what I'm asking.””
Brianna looked between them.
“Mom? What's happening?””
Vanessa didn't answer.
My father took one step forward.
“That folder was supposed to stay in the attic.””
The silence that followed was worse than any argument.
I looked from Dad to Vanessa, then back to the red folder.
“Why?”” I asked.
Neither of them spoke.
I reached for it.
Vanessa pulled it away.
“No!””
Her shout echoed through the room.
Brianna stumbled backward.
Dad stood frozen.
And in that instant, I understood that the costume had never been the only thing Vanessa wanted to take from me.
She had been searching for something my mother left behind.
Something valuable enough to risk public humiliation, a ruined competition, and the possibility of being exposed.
I stared at the red folder.
“What are you hiding?””
Vanessa's eyes filled with tears, but there was no sorrow in them.
Only panic.
Then Brianna, who had been silent until that moment, whispered a sentence that made my father close his eyes.
“Mom, you promised the company would never find out what you did with the original contract.””
I turned toward her.
“The original contract?””
Brianna clapped a hand over her mouth.
Vanessa spun around.
“Brianna, stop talking!””
But it was too late.
My father slowly reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone.
He looked at Vanessa with an expression I had never seen before.
“You told me the contract had been destroyed.””
May you like
Vanessa backed toward the door.
And for the first time that night, she looked less like a woman who controlled our family and more like someone who had just realized the truth was finally catching up with her.
