Chapter 5: The Secret Behind the Ruby Gown
I read the sentence again.
Please find my daughter before they do.
My mother's handwriting was unmistakable. The elegant slant of her letters, the tiny flourish at the end of her signature, the way she crossed her sevens.
I'd seen it on birthday cards, sewing patterns, and the notes she'd left inside my lunchbox when I was little.
But this was different.
This was a warning.
"Who are they?"" I asked.
Adrian Vale didn't answer immediately.
He moved toward the window, pressing two fingers against his temple.
"Seventeen years ago, Elena was preparing to launch a collection that could have changed the fashion industry.""
"What collection?""
"The Carter Ruby Collection. A series of evening gowns built around a technique she'd developed for creating intricate crystal patterns without damaging delicate fabrics.""
I looked at the photograph.
The gown my mother wore had the same flowing arrangement of stones as mine.
"How did she develop it?""
"She experimented for years. She understood fabric in a way most people never do. She could look at a piece of silk and know exactly how it would move under stage lighting.""
He paused.
"She was also fiercely protective of her work.""
I thought of Brianna wearing my blue gown, smiling as though she'd created it.
"Someone stole her designs?""
Adrian's jaw tightened.
"Someone attempted to.""
He returned to the table and opened a leather folder.
Inside were newspaper clippings, old photographs, and copies of legal documents. Several pages had been marked with yellow tabs.
He laid them out carefully.
"Elena worked with my company when it was much smaller. We were developing a new couture division, and she was our most promising designer.""
"Did she work for you?""
"She was an independent creative partner. We had an agreement to develop a collection together.""
"Then what happened?""
"Three months before the collection's unveiling, her sketches disappeared from our studio. Someone submitted copies to a rival fashion house under another designer's name.""
My stomach turned.
"What did my mother do?""
"She accused the company of failing to protect her work. The rival house denied everything. The dispute became ugly, and the press turned it into a scandal.""
"Did you believe her?""
Adrian's expression darkened.
"I did.""
"Then why didn't you help her?""
The question struck him hard enough that he looked away.
"I tried. But the people responsible had powerful connections. Documents vanished.
Witnesses changed their stories. My lawyers advised me to settle the dispute quietly.""
"And you listened?""
He held my gaze.
"Yes.""
I stepped back.
"So you abandoned her.""
"I failed her.""
His answer was immediate.
There was no excuse in it, no attempt to shift the blame.
Somehow, that made me angrier.
"She died believing nobody would protect her work.""
"I know.""
"Did you look for her afterward?""
"For years.""
"Then why didn't you find me?""
His silence answered before he spoke.
"I didn't know you existed.""
I looked down at the photograph.
My mother had known about him. She'd left his name in her sketchbook. She'd even asked him to find me if something happened to her.
Yet he had never come.
"How did she die?"" he asked gently.
"An illness. I was young. Dad said there wasn't anything the doctors could do.""
Adrian closed his eyes briefly.
"I'm sorry.""
I swallowed.
"Why does my dress matter to you?""
He lifted the photograph again.
"Because the pattern on your gown is almost identical to Elena's original design. But there's something else.""
He pointed to the lower edge of the train.
A tiny arrangement of stones formed a symbol resembling a three-pointed star surrounded by a circle.
I stared at it.
I'd added that pattern without really thinking about it. It was in my mother's sketchbook, drawn in the margin beside the original gown.
I'd assumed it was decorative.
"What is it?"" I asked.
"A signature mark Elena used on her private designs.""
"Why?""
"To prove authorship. She placed a tiny version of it somewhere within each original garment, often where only the maker would think to look.""
I glanced at the ruby gown inside my bag.
My mother had left clues in the design itself.
But why?
Adrian slid a document across the table.
"There's another reason I asked to see you. A few months before Elena disappeared from the fashion world, she sent me a letter. She said she'd completed a final design and that it was meant for her daughter.""
My mouth went dry.
"She designed a dress for me?""
"She called it the Crimson Promise.""
I stared at the wine-red gown.
"That's what I've been making.""
He nodded slowly.
"Which is why I need to ask you something, Nia. Did you find the original design in a sketchbook?""
"Yes.""
"Was there a photograph of Elena inside it?""
"Yes.""
"And a handwritten note telling me to find you?""
Adrian's expression tightened.
"Then the sketchbook may contain more than you realize.""
He reached for his phone.
"I'd like my archivist to examine it. We may be able to establish when the design was created and connect it to Elena's original collection.""
I hesitated.
The sketchbook had been my mother's. It was one of the few things I had left of her.
"I'm not giving it to anyone.""
"I wouldn't ask you to surrender it. We can examine it in your presence.""
I considered that.
Then I shook my head.
"Not yet.""
Adrian accepted the answer with a small nod.
"That's fair.""
For the first time, I felt that someone with power had listened when I said no.
He glanced at the clock.
"The final presentation begins in six hours. Your dress must be registered before you go backstage.""
"I know.""
"There's something else you should understand. The people who stole Elena's work may still be connected to the industry.""
"Why would they care about me?""
"Because if your gown proves that Elena's original designs survived, it could reopen questions they thought had been buried.""
I felt cold.
"Are you saying I'm in danger?""
"I'm saying I don't know who can be trusted yet.""
A knock sounded at the door.
Daniel entered, carrying a tablet.
"Mr. Vale, we have a problem.""
Adrian turned.
"What is it?""
"The competition office received a complaint alleging that Miss Carter's red gown is derived from a design owned by another fashion house.""
I stared at him.
"What?""
Daniel turned the tablet toward us.
A formal complaint had been submitted that morning.
The claimant was a luxury label called Maison Laurent.
The complaint alleged that my wine-red gown copied a protected design from its private archive.
Attached was a photograph of an almost identical dress.
It had been photographed seventeen years ago.
The designer listed beneath it was not Elena Carter.
It was a woman named Celeste Laurent.
Adrian's expression became stone.
"Who submitted this?""
Daniel checked the tablet.
"Maison Laurent's legal department.""
"Who signed it?""
Daniel hesitated.
Then he read the name.
"Vanessa Carter.""
My stepmother.
I felt the room tilt.
"Why would Vanessa do that?""
Adrian studied the document.
"That's what we're going to find out.""
I grabbed my phone and called home.
Vanessa answered on the second ring.
"Nia, I'm busy.""
"You filed a complaint against my dress?""
Silence.
Then she sighed.
"You should have stayed out of this.""
"How did you know about Maison Laurent?""
"Some people understand how the world works. You should try it sometime.""
"You've never even seen my red dress!""
"I've seen enough.""
I tightened my grip on the phone.
"Why are you doing this to me?""
Her voice turned cold.
"Because you are not going to drag this family into a scandal over a little sewing project.""
"You stole my future. Now you're trying to take my mother's work, too.""
For a moment, I heard nothing but her breathing.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
"Your mother should have learned when to stop asking questions.""
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone.
Adrian had heard every word.
His face had gone pale.
"Miss Carter," he said quietly, "I think we need to find out exactly what happened to Elena.""
I looked at the photograph of my mother and the gown she'd created.
For seventeen years, I'd believed she had died because life was unfair.
Now I wondered whether someone had helped make it that way.
And as I stood there, a new message appeared on my phone.
It was from Brianna.
*Brianna:* Mom says you need to withdraw. If you don't, she's going to tell everyone what your mother really did.
May you like
A second message arrived before I could respond.
*Brianna:* And trust me, Nia. You don't want anyone hearing that story.
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