Chapter 4: The Designer Who Disappeared
“Who was the designer before Brianna?””
My question followed Vanessa backstage, but she didn't turn around.
She kept one hand wrapped around Brianna's wrist and walked faster, her heels striking the concrete floor with sharp, angry clicks. Brianna stumbled behind her, the stolen gown's enormous train dragging against the floor.
“Mom, you're hurting me,” Brianna whispered.
“Then stop talking.””
“But Nia heard—”
“I said stop.””
Vanessa shoved open the dressing-room door and pulled Brianna inside. Before the door could close, I slipped through the gap.
Vanessa spun around.
“Get out.””
“No.””
The word surprised all three of us.
For twenty-four years, I had obeyed that woman. I had apologized when she insulted me, stayed silent when she took credit for my work, and swallowed my anger because I thought family meant enduring things other people wouldn't tolerate.
But the glowing signature on Brianna's train had changed something inside me.
I was done asking permission to exist.
Vanessa pointed toward the door.
“You have embarrassed this family in front of hundreds of people. Whatever childish stunt you pulled tonight, you'll pay for it.””
“I didn't pull a stunt. I proved the gown was mine.””
“You deliberately humiliated your sister.””
Brianna let out a bitter laugh.
“Please. Don't pretend this is about me. You're angry because she made you look stupid.””
Vanessa's head snapped toward her.
“Excuse me?””
Brianna's face drained of color.
“I didn't mean—”
“You have everything because I made sure you had everything. The clothes, the lessons, the opportunities. And this is how you repay me?””
Brianna looked down at the glowing silver letters.
“I thought you said the original designer didn't matter anymore.””
My heart began to pound.
Vanessa went very still.
I stepped closer.
“What original designer?””
“Nothing,” Vanessa said immediately.
Brianna looked at me, then at her mother.
For the first time that night, I saw the two of them differently. They weren't a united front anymore. They were two people trapped in a secret, each waiting for the other to speak first.
I pulled a chair away from the makeup table and sat down.
“I'm not leaving until someone tells me the truth.””
Vanessa laughed without humor.
“You think you have leverage because a few judges liked your little trick?””
“No. I think I have leverage because the competition has my original sketches, my construction videos, and my design submission. And I think the judges will be very interested to learn why Brianna's name was placed on a garment I created.””
Vanessa's eyes narrowed.
“Be careful, Nia.””
“I've been careful my whole life.””
I held her gaze.
“That's how you got away with it.””
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the fluorescent lights.
Then Brianna sat down.
“Her name was Celeste Monroe,” she said quietly.
Vanessa closed her eyes.
“Brianna, don't.””
“Celeste was the finalist three years ago. The year you started telling everyone I was a rising fashion star.””
I had heard the name before.
Celeste Monroe had been a young designer whose work appeared in fashion magazines and online competitions. I remembered seeing one of her gowns in an article Grandma had saved for me. It was a breathtaking black dress with tiny gold constellations sewn across the bodice.
Then, suddenly, Celeste had disappeared from the fashion world.
Her social accounts went silent. Her studio closed. Articles about her stopped appearing.
I had assumed she had simply moved on.
“What happened to her?”” I asked.
Vanessa placed her handbag on the table with deliberate care.
“Celeste was talented, but she was unstable. She made accusations against people who helped her.””
“What kind of accusations?””
“She claimed someone had stolen her work.””
Brianna stared at her mother.
“Someone did.””
Vanessa slapped her palm against the table.
“Enough!””
The makeup brushes jumped in their holders.
Brianna flinched, but she didn't fall silent.
“You told me she stole her own designs from another artist. You told me that was why nobody hired her anymore.””
“Because that is what happened.””
“No,” Brianna whispered.
“That's what you told me happened.””
Vanessa turned toward me.
“This is a private family matter. You have no right to interrogate me.””
“Then tell the judges. They'll be asking the same questions.””
I rose from the chair.
“I'm going to find Celeste.””
Vanessa's face changed.
It was quick, almost imperceptible, but I saw it.
She wasn't worried about my accusations.
She was worried about Celeste.
“You won't find her,” Vanessa said.
“Why?””
“Because she's gone.””
“Gone where?””
Vanessa picked up her handbag.
“That's enough. I'm leaving.””
She moved toward the door, but Brianna stepped into her path.
“Mom, tell her what happened.””
Vanessa stared at her daughter as if she were a stranger.
“You have no idea what you're asking.””
“Then explain it!””
“I did what I had to do to protect you.””
Brianna's eyes filled with tears.
“Protect me from what?””
Vanessa's mouth tightened.
“From being ordinary.””
The words landed harder than the slap I had received earlier.
Brianna stared at her.
Vanessa continued, her voice low and cold.
“You were always desperate to be special. You wanted the attention, the interviews, the invitations. You wanted people to call you a genius. I gave you a chance to become that person.””
“By stealing someone else's work?””
“By making sure my daughter had a future!””
Brianna took a step backward.
“You said you helped Celeste.””
“I did help her. I introduced her to buyers. I found her sponsors. I gave her access to people she would never have met on her own.””
“And then?””
Vanessa's silence answered before she did.
“And then she became difficult,” she finally said.
“She wanted contracts changed. She wanted her name on everything. She threatened to expose people who had invested in her.””
“What did you do?”” I asked.
Vanessa looked at me.
“I reminded her that nobody succeeds alone.””
“That isn't an answer.””
She moved toward the door again.
“Believe whatever you want.””
This time, Brianna let her pass.
Vanessa left without another word.
The door slammed behind her.
Brianna sank onto the chair, gripping the fabric of the gown in both hands.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she looked at me.
“I didn't know.””
I almost laughed.
“You didn't know I designed the gown you were wearing?””
“I knew you made it. I didn't know about Celeste.””
“You knew enough to take credit.””
Her eyes filled.
“I thought if I won tonight, Mom would finally stop treating me like I was never good enough.””
I looked at the dress.
“You thought stealing my work would make you enough?””
Brianna lowered her head.
“I know how that sounds.””
“It sounds exactly like what you did.””
She wiped her face with the back of her hand.
“Are you going to destroy me?””
I stared at her.
For years, I had imagined what it would feel like to see Brianna frightened, humiliated, and finally stripped of the advantages she had enjoyed at my expense.
I had expected satisfaction.
Instead, I felt tired.
“No,” I said.
“I'm going to tell the truth. Whatever happens after that is your responsibility.””
She looked up.
“What if the judges disqualify me?””
“Then you'll have to live with the consequences.””
“What if nobody ever hires me?””
I met her eyes.
“Then you'll have to find out who you are without taking someone else's work.””
She flinched.
A knock sounded at the door.
Maya stepped inside, holding a tablet.
“Nia, the judges want to speak with you. They've reviewed the original submission, and there's something you need to see.””
She glanced at Brianna.
“Both of you.””
We followed her into a small conference room behind the stage. The lead judge, a silver-haired man named Richard Hale, sat at the end of a long table with two other judges and a competition administrator.
On the screen behind them was a photograph of a young woman standing beside a black gown embroidered with gold stars.
Celeste Monroe.
Richard folded his hands.
“Miss Carter, we've verified your original submission and several of the construction records. The authorship of the teal-violet gown is strongly supported by the evidence you've provided.””
I nodded.
“Thank you.””
He turned to Brianna.
“Your entry may be subject to disqualification. However, before we make a final decision, we need to investigate a separate issue.””
He tapped the tablet.
A document appeared on the screen.
It was an archived complaint filed by Celeste Monroe three years earlier.
The complaint alleged that her original designs had been copied, that her business partner had submitted them under another name, and that she had been threatened with legal action when she attempted to challenge the arrangement.
The business partner's name was Vanessa Carter.
My stomach dropped.
Brianna covered her mouth.
Richard continued.
“The complaint was withdrawn before the case could be fully investigated. But the supporting documents were retained.””
“Where is Celeste now?”” I asked.
The administrator opened another file.
“We found an address associated with a small tailoring studio in Pennsylvania. It appears she has continued working, although under a different business name.””
I leaned toward the screen.
“Can you contact her?””
“We've already sent a message. We cannot guarantee she'll respond.””
My phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
I nearly ignored it, but something made me open the message.
**Nia Carter? My name is Celeste Monroe. I heard about the gown tonight.
If Vanessa is still there, do not confront her alone. She has been waiting for this to happen for three years.**
I read it twice.
Then a second message arrived.
*I have proof of what she did to me. But before I send it, you need to understand one thing. Your grandmother knew about everything.*
My fingers went numb.
My grandmother?
I looked up at the photograph on the screen.
Celeste's expression was calm, almost solemn, but there was something familiar in the way she held her shoulders. I couldn't explain it.
I typed back with shaking hands.
*What did my grandmother know?*
The reply came almost immediately.
*She was the reason Vanessa couldn't destroy me completely. And she left something for you.*
I stared at the message until the words blurred.
Then another notification appeared.
An attachment.
A photograph of a sealed envelope, yellowed with age, bearing my grandmother's unmistakable handwriting.
On the front were five words.
*For Nia, when she is ready.*
I stopped breathing.
May you like
Because I knew that handwriting.
And I knew, with a certainty that made my hands tremble, that my grandmother had seen this coming long before I ever picked up a needle.
