Chapter 4: The Billionaire Who Knew My Mother
I read my mother's handwriting until the words blurred.
If you ever finish the red dress, find Adrian Vale.
The note was tucked beneath a photograph of her standing outside a building I didn't recognize. She looked younger than I remembered her, wearing a dark coat and smiling at someone just beyond the frame. Behind her stood a man whose face had been partly cut off by the photograph's edge.
On the back, my mother had written a date.
October 14.
Seventeen years ago.
I checked the date against my birth certificate.
My hands began to tremble.
The photograph had been taken less than a year before I was born.
"Dad," I whispered.
He was still standing beside my bedroom door.
"Did Mom ever mention Adrian Vale?""
The color drained from his face.
It was subtle, but I saw it.
He looked at the photograph in my hand, then at the red gown hanging from the garment rack.
"Where did you get that name?""
"It's written in Mom's sketchbook.""
He took a step toward me.
"Let me see.""
I hesitated before handing him the photograph.
He stared at it for a long time.
"Your mother knew a lot of people before we met," he finally said.
"That's not what I asked.""
"Nia, the competition is tomorrow. You need to concentrate on your dress.""
"Why does Mom's sketchbook mention a billionaire fashion designer?""
He handed the photograph back.
"Because your mother was interested in fashion.""
"She was a seamstress.""
"She was more than that.""
The words escaped him before he could stop himself.
I froze.
"What does that mean?""
My father rubbed his face.
"I can't have this conversation right now.""
"You always say that.""
"Nia—"
"Every time I ask about Mom, you tell me you're tired, or you're busy, or that I'm remembering things incorrectly. I'm seventeen, Dad. I'm not a little girl anymore.""
He looked toward the hallway, as if he expected Vanessa to appear.
Then he lowered his voice.
"Your mother had dreams that were bigger than this family could support.""
I stared at him.
"What dreams?""
He didn't answer.
Instead, he walked out.
The door remained open behind him.
I sat on the edge of my bed, holding the photograph with both hands.
For seventeen years, I'd believed my mother had been an ordinary woman who loved sewing, raised me with whatever she had, and died before she could see me grow up.
Now I was beginning to wonder whether the story I'd been told was only a fraction of the truth.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Mr. Bennett appeared.
*Mr. Bennett:* Your transportation is arranged for tomorrow. Please get some sleep. You've earned your place there.
I typed a thank-you, then looked at the red gown.
Tomorrow, I'd stand before the judges.
Tomorrow, Brianna would discover that stealing my blue dress hadn't ended my future.
And tomorrow, I would meet the man my mother had apparently wanted me to find.
I just didn't know whether he would give me answers or take everything I thought I knew about her away.
The competition venue occupied the top two floors of a glass convention center in Manhattan.
By nine the next morning, the entrance was crowded with photographers, fashion students, designers, and wealthy sponsors wearing clothes that probably cost more than everything in my bedroom combined.
I arrived carrying my red gown in a protective garment bag.
Mrs. Alvarez had insisted on driving me.
"Head up," she said as she pulled into the drop-off lane.
"You're not here to ask permission to exist.""
I smiled nervously.
"What if they hate the dress?""
"Then they'll be wrong in expensive shoes.""
I laughed.
She reached over and squeezed my hand.
"Call me when you finish. Win or lose, you come back and show me what you learned.""
"I will.""
Inside, a volunteer checked my identification and directed me toward the registration desk.
A woman wearing a black blazer looked at her tablet.
"Nia Carter?""
"Yes.""
"Your entry was reinstated last night. You're scheduled for preliminary verification at ten fifteen. The final runway presentation begins at seven.""
She handed me a badge.
"Please keep this visible at all times.""
I clipped it to my dress bag.
Then I heard a familiar voice behind me.
"Well, look who decided to show up.""
Brianna stood near the entrance to the designer lounge, wearing my blue-and-white gown.
She had altered the neckline, tightened the waist, and added a sparkling belt that completely obscured the original embroidery.
Vanessa stood beside her, holding a designer handbag.
Brianna looked me up and down.
"Is that what you're wearing?""
I glanced at the garment bag.
"You'll find out tonight.""
She laughed.
"You're still pretending you're a designer?""
Vanessa stepped between us.
"Nia, please don't cause a scene. This event is important to Brianna.""
"Then perhaps Brianna should have brought her own dress.""
Vanessa's smile disappeared.
"You're going to regret embarrassing us.""
Before I could answer, a volunteer approached Brianna.
"Miss Carter? The preliminary judges are ready for you.""
Brianna immediately straightened.
"Of course.""
She gave me one last triumphant look before following the volunteer.
I watched her disappear through the doors.
Then I noticed a man standing near the far end of the lobby.
He wore a charcoal suit and spoke quietly into an earpiece. Two security officers stood several feet behind him.
He wasn't looking at the contestants.
He was looking at me.
When our eyes met, he approached.
"Miss Carter?""
"Yes?""
"My name is Daniel Brooks. I work for Mr. Vale.""
My heart skipped.
"Adrian Vale?""
"Yes. Mr. Vale has requested a private examination of your gown before the final presentation.""
"Why?""
His expression remained professional.
"He believes your design may be connected to a piece of historical significance to his company.""
I tightened my grip on the garment bag.
"What piece?""
"Mr. Vale would prefer to explain in person.""
"Is he here?""
"He's in the private judges' suite.""
I hesitated.
"I have to complete my registration first.""
"Of course."" Daniel handed me a card.
"I'll arrange for someone to escort you after your verification.""
He started to leave, then paused.
"Miss Carter, one piece of advice.""
"What?""
"Don't let anyone touch your gown without your permission.""
He walked away.
I stared after him.
The warning felt oddly specific.
And for the first time, I wondered whether Adrian Vale's interest in my dress had anything to do with fashion at all.
My preliminary examination took forty minutes.
Two judges inspected the gown's construction, photographed the seams, and reviewed my original sketches. One of them, a silver-haired woman named Elaine Porter, seemed particularly interested in the crystal pattern.
"Why did you arrange the stones this way?"" she asked.
"Because I wanted the light to move with the fabric instead of sitting on top of it.""
She leaned closer.
"The pattern resembles something I've seen before.""
My stomach tightened.
"Where?""
She looked at the other judge.
"An archival collection. I can't remember the designer's name.""
The second judge turned a page in my portfolio.
"Your construction notes are unusually detailed for a student.""
"I documented the process because my original entry was disputed.""
"That's wise.""
Elaine studied my sketch again.
"Miss Carter, did you base this design on an existing garment?""
"No. I designed it from scratch.""
"Are you certain?""
"Yes.""
She looked at me for several seconds.
Then she closed the portfolio.
"Thank you. Your entry is verified pending the committee's final review.""
I exhaled.
As I packed my materials, the door opened.
Daniel Brooks stood outside.
"Miss Carter, Mr. Vale is ready to see you.""
I followed him through a private corridor lined with framed photographs of famous designers.
We entered a quiet suite overlooking the city.
A tall man stood near the window, his back turned toward us.
His silver hair was neatly combed, and his dark suit looked understated beside the extravagant displays of luxury throughout the room.
Daniel cleared his throat.
"Mr. Vale, Miss Carter is here.""
The man turned.
I expected someone cold, perhaps arrogant, the kind of billionaire who regarded young designers as investments rather than people.
Instead, his face looked almost frightened.
His gaze moved from my face to the garment bag.
Then back to my face.
"You're Nia Carter?""
"Yes.""
He stepped closer.
"How old are you?""
"Seventeen.""
His lips parted slightly.
For a moment, he seemed unable to speak.
Then he whispered, "You have your mother's eyes.""
The room went silent.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"You knew my mother?""
He looked at Daniel.
"Please give us a moment.""
Daniel left and closed the door.
Adrian Vale turned back to me.
"What was your mother's name?""
"Elena Carter.""
His hand gripped the back of a chair.
"Elena.""
He said her name as though it belonged to someone he'd spent years trying not to remember.
I took a step forward.
"Why do you know her?""
He stared at me.
Then he looked at the garment bag.
"Because, Miss Carter, I have spent seventeen years wondering what happened to the daughter of the most extraordinary designer I ever knew.""
My heart hammered against my ribs.
"Are you saying you knew she was pregnant?""
His expression changed.
"Your mother never told me she was pregnant.""
I stood perfectly still.
He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but the words wouldn't come.
Then he opened a drawer and removed an old photograph.
It showed a young woman standing beside a wine-red gown covered in glittering stones.
My mother.
The gown was almost identical to mine.
And beneath the photograph, written in elegant black ink, were four words.
*THE CARTER RUBY COLLECTION.*
Adrian placed it on the table.
"Where did you get the design for your dress, Nia?""
I looked from the photograph to the gown inside my bag.
"I drew it myself.""
He shook his head slowly.
"Then someone has been hiding the truth from you.""
He turned the photograph over.
And what I saw on the back made my knees nearly give way.
It was my mother's handwriting.
May you like
And beside her signature was a sentence that changed everything.
Adrian, if anything happens to me, please find my daughter before they do.
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