Chapter 4: The Woman Who Stole My Mother's Dream
For three seconds, nobody moved.
Julian Vale stood beside my dress, holding the faded photograph of my mother. His expression had changed from surprise to something far more painful.
Recognition.
Anger.
And regret.
I looked at the words written on the back of the photograph, trying to understand what they meant.
The original gown was commissioned by Vanessa Reed. Design by Elena Carter. Payment withheld following dispute over ownership.
Vanessa.
My stepmother.
The woman who had told me my mother's work belonged in the past.
The woman who had watched her daughter destroy the gown I'd spent three months creating.
The woman who had spent years making me feel like a guest in my own home.
She had known about the design all along.
"Mr. Vale," I whispered, "what does this mean?""
Julian carefully placed the photograph on the table.
"It means your mother created a gown for Vanessa Reed nearly seven years ago. She was never paid for her work, and the design was never returned to her.""
Behind me, Brianna laughed nervously.
"This is ridiculous. My mother has nothing to do with this.""
Julian turned toward her.
"Your mother commissioned the dress when she was preparing for a charity gala. Elena spent almost four months creating it. She incorporated hand-embroidered sapphire flowers, a sculpted bodice, and a sweeping train.""
My fingers went numb.
He was describing my gown.
Not the dress I'd burned through months of work trying to create.
The one my mother had drawn before the accident.
The one she'd never finished.
Vanessa stood near the doorway, her face pale beneath her carefully applied makeup.
"Julian," she said, forcing a laugh, "this is hardly the place to discuss old business.""
He looked at her without smiling.
"Then perhaps you should have settled that old business when Elena was alive.""
A murmur spread through the room.
Vanessa's fingers tightened around the strap of her handbag.
"Elena and I had a disagreement. That's all.""
"She told me you refused to pay her.""
"She missed the deadline.""
"She delivered the gown three days early.""
Vanessa's mouth opened.
No sound came out.
Julian continued.
"I remember because I was there when she brought it to the atelier. She was proud of that work. She believed it would open doors for her.""
He looked at me.
"Your mother wanted to build a collection of her own. That commission was supposed to fund her first independent showcase.""
I thought of the sewing room at the back of our house.
The old machine.
The faded sketches.
The years my father had spent paying bills while my mother worked late into the night, taking in alterations so we could afford school supplies and groceries.
She had never told me about any of this.
Perhaps she'd wanted to protect me from disappointment.
Perhaps she had believed she could resolve the dispute.
Or perhaps she'd simply run out of time.
"What happened to the original gown?"" I asked.
Julian's expression darkened.
"Vanessa claimed it was unfinished and refused to accept delivery. Later, a nearly identical design appeared in a private fashion presentation under another designer's name.""
"Whose name?""
He hesitated.
Then he looked directly at Vanessa.
"Her own.""
The room erupted in whispers.
Brianna took a step backward.
"Mom?""
Vanessa lifted her chin.
"That is a lie.""
Julian didn't raise his voice.
"Then explain why I have the original sketches, the commission agreement, and photographs of Elena constructing the gown.""
Vanessa glanced toward the door.
I recognized that look.
It was the same expression she wore whenever Dad entered a room during one of Brianna's cruel episodes.
She was searching for an escape.
"This is a private matter," she said.
"You have no right to embarrass me in front of these students.""
Julian closed his folder.
"I have every right to protect the work of a designer who trusted me.""
Then he turned to Ms. Harper.
"I would like the competition records preserved. Every sketch, photograph, and submission must remain available for review.""
Ms. Harper nodded.
"Of course.""
Vanessa moved toward me.
"Nia, sweetheart, let's not turn this into something ugly.""
I stared at her.
"Something ugly?""
She lowered her voice.
"Your mother and I had an arrangement. You were too young to understand. There were business complications.""
"You knew my mother designed that dress.""
"Of course I knew.""
"And you never told me.""
Her lips tightened.
"It was a long time ago.""
I felt a strange calm settle over me.
For years, Vanessa had told me that I lived too much in the past.
Now I understood why she had been so determined to erase it.
"You let me believe my mother was just a woman who sewed clothes in a little room," I said.
"You let me believe her designs were nothing special.""
"I never said that.""
"You didn't have to.""
Brianna grabbed her mother's arm.
"Can we leave? Everyone is staring.""
Vanessa pulled free.
"Not now.""
I looked at Julian.
"Did my mother ever know you kept those photographs?""
"Yes. I promised her I would preserve the evidence.""
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?""
His face softened.
"Because I lost contact with your family after the accident. I tried to reach your father, but the address I had was outdated. By the time I learned what had happened to Elena, the legal records had become difficult to trace.""
He paused.
"I should have tried harder.""
I looked down at my gown.
The sapphire flowers seemed different now.
I'd thought I was recreating my mother's unfinished dream.
Instead, I might have been recreating the evidence of a theft.
Julian followed my gaze.
"Your design is not a copy, Nia. The similarities are striking, but your interpretation is your own. I can see your mother's influence in the flowers, the movement, and the structure.""
He touched the edge of the train.
"But this dress tells a different story.""
I swallowed.
"Is that a good thing?""
"It's the most important thing a designer can do.""
For the first time that morning, I felt my shoulders relax.
Then Julian's expression became serious again.
"There is something else you need to know.""
He opened his folder and removed a second document.
It was a photocopy of a contract.
At the bottom, beneath a series of signatures, was Vanessa's name.
But the name above it belonged to someone I knew.
My father.
Marcus Carter.
I stared at the page.
"What is my dad's signature doing there?""
Vanessa moved so quickly that her handbag struck the table.
"Give me that.""
Julian pulled the document away.
"No.""
"You have no idea what you're talking about!""
"Then explain the agreement.""
She looked around the room.
For the first time, her perfect composure completely collapsed.
Brianna stared at her mother.
"Dad signed something?""
Vanessa's eyes flashed.
"Your father has nothing to do with this.""
"Then why is his name on the contract?"" I asked.
She said nothing.
Julian placed the document beside the photograph.
"This agreement was signed six years ago, shortly before Elena's accident.""
My stomach twisted.
Six years ago.
The accident that killed my mother.
The accident that damaged my eye.
The accident that changed my life forever.
I looked at the date again.
Then I noticed the final paragraph.
It stated that ownership of the original design would transfer to Vanessa Reed only upon completion of the commission payment.
The payment had never been made.
The signature beneath the clause belonged to my father, who had witnessed the agreement.
"Why would Dad sign this?"" I whispered.
Vanessa's expression hardened.
"Ask your father.""
She grabbed Brianna's hand and marched toward the exit.
Before leaving, she turned back to me.
"You should be careful, Nia. Sometimes the truth destroys more than lies ever could.""
Then she disappeared into the corridor.
I stood motionless.
Julian gently gathered the documents.
"Your stepmother has spent years hoping this would never resurface.""
I looked at the empty doorway.
"Why?""
He hesitated.
"Because the original agreement contains another clause.""
"What clause?""
He looked down at the contract.
"If the design was sold, exhibited, or used commercially without payment, Elena retained the right to claim damages. And if the work was presented under another person's name, the agreement required the responsible party to surrender all profits associated with it.""
My heart began pounding.
"All profits?""
"All of them.""
He closed the folder.
"Your mother may have left you more than a sewing machine and a sketchbook, Nia.""
He paused.
"She may have left you the strongest evidence of a theft that has been hidden for six years.""
And suddenly, I understood why Vanessa had been so frightened when Julian showed me the photograph.
May you like
She wasn't afraid of my dress.
She was afraid of what I might discover next.
