Chapter 2: The Girl Behind the Locked Door
By sunrise, I had knocked on Brianna's door so many times that my knuckles were red.
She never opened it.
At seven o'clock, Vanessa came downstairs wearing a cream-colored suit and carrying a cup of coffee. She looked as if she'd slept peacefully.
I stood beside the staircase, still wearing my pajamas.
"Where is my dress?""
Vanessa took a slow sip.
"Good morning to you, too.""
"Please. The competition is tomorrow.""
"Then I suggest you prepare whatever else you intend to wear.""
I followed her into the kitchen.
"That gown took eleven weeks to make.""
"And Brianna looks magnificent in it.""
The words struck me like a slap.
Vanessa set her cup down and opened a folder on the counter.
Inside were printed photographs of Brianna wearing my gown.
One showed her standing in front of the dressing-room mirror.
Another showed her posing near the window, the silver beads catching the light.
The final photograph had been taken from behind. The translucent wings spread across the room like something alive.
My hands began to shake.
"Why are you taking pictures of my dress?""
"Because Brianna's agent wanted to see the design.""
"Her agent?""
Vanessa lifted her chin.
"She's meeting with someone from the fashion industry next month. A successful appearance at Meridian could help.""
I stared at the photographs.
"You've already arranged for her to enter the competition?""
Vanessa closed the folder.
"She has an excellent chance of winning.""
"She isn't registered as the designer.""
"Details can be managed.""
"No. They can't.""
Vanessa's eyes hardened.
"You're seventeen, Nia. You live in this house because your father provides for you. I would be very careful about making accusations you can't support.""
I felt the familiar pressure in my chest, the sensation of being trapped inside a room that had no doors.
But this time, something else rose beneath the fear.
Anger.
"You can take my dress," I said quietly.
"You can't change the registration.""
Vanessa's mouth tightened.
"Go get ready for school.""
I didn't move.
"Give it back.""
She picked up her coffee.
"That conversation is over.""
She walked away.
I stood alone in the kitchen, staring at the photographs she'd left behind.
Then I heard Dad's voice from the hallway.
"Nia? What's going on?""
I turned.
He was already wearing his work suit, one hand adjusting his cuff.
I hurried toward him.
"Dad, Brianna stole my competition gown. Vanessa knows. They've taken pictures of her wearing it, and they're planning to enter it as Brianna's design.""
His face tightened.
"Are you sure?""
I looked at him.
The question hurt.
"Yes.""
"Maybe there's been a misunderstanding.""
"She locked herself in her room with my dress.""
Dad rubbed his forehead.
"I'll talk to Vanessa.""
"You said that last time.""
He went still.
For a moment, I thought he might finally understand.
Then his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
"I have a meeting I can't miss. We'll discuss this tonight.""
"Dad—"
He kissed my forehead.
"Trust me, sweetheart.""
Then he left.
The front door closed.
I stood there listening to the sound of his car disappearing down the driveway.
I had trusted him for six years.
That morning, I finally understood that trust was useless when someone refused to act.
At school, my best friend, Maya Brooks, found me sitting alone in the art room during lunch.
She dropped her backpack onto the table.
"Okay, what's happened?""
I tried to smile.
"Nothing.""
"Nia, you look like you've been awake for three days.""
I told her everything.
Maya listened without interrupting. When I finished, she pressed both hands against the table.
"That is unbelievable.""
"I know.""
"No, I mean legally unbelievable. You registered the design, right?""
"Yes.""
"Do you have the confirmation?""
"At home.""
"Then they haven't won anything yet.""
I stared at her.
"What if they destroy the evidence?""
Maya pulled out her phone.
"Did you upload the photographs anywhere?""
I blinked.
"The original design files are on my laptop.""
"Cloud backup?""
"Yes.""
She snapped her fingers.
"Then download everything tonight. The sketches, the progress photos, the registration email. All of it.""
I let out a shaky breath.
"What if the judges don't care?""
"Then we make it impossible for them to ignore.""
For the first time that day, I felt a small spark of hope.
Maya leaned forward.
"There's something else you need to know.""
"What?""
"Brianna posted a teaser this morning.""
She turned her phone toward me.
On the screen was a photograph of my Phoenix Gown.
Brianna stood in front of a white background, one hand resting against the beaded bodice. Beneath the image, she had written:
Months of hard work. My first original couture design. Tomorrow, the world gets to see what I've been creating.
My stomach twisted.
Hundreds of people had already liked the post.
Comments flooded the screen.
You're going to win!
This is incredible!
Future fashion icon!
One comment came from a local boutique owner.
I'd love to discuss a collaboration.
Maya stared at me.
"She's claiming she made it.""
I zoomed in on the photograph.
Brianna was wearing the gown exactly as I had designed it. The silver beads formed the same pattern. The hidden side seam, which I'd spent hours adjusting, sat precisely where I had placed it.
She hadn't even bothered to alter it.
She had stolen my work and was collecting praise for it.
I took a screenshot.
Then another.
Then I sent the post to my email.
Maya watched me.
"You're going to expose her, aren't you?""
I looked at the photograph one final time.
"Not yet.""
"Why not?""
"Because I want the truth to be impossible to deny.""
That evening, I returned home and went straight to my room.
I downloaded every sketch, photograph, and design file onto a flash drive. My laptop contained pictures taken over eleven weeks: the first rough drawing, the fabric samples, the unfinished bodice, and the final fitting.
In one photograph, my hand held a handwritten note beside the gown.
Phoenix Gown, design 07. Nia Carter. November 12.
In another, the unfinished wings lay across my bed, with the date visible on the laptop screen.
I had more evidence than I realized.
Then I opened the competition's registration portal.
My entry was still active.
The official rules were clear: all designs had to be original, and any dispute over authorship could trigger an immediate review. Contestants were required to provide supporting documentation if a challenge was raised.
I downloaded the rules.
I printed them.
I saved them beside my mother's wooden box.
Then I sent a message to the competition coordinator.
I'm concerned that another contestant may present a design registered under my name. I have original sketches, dated photographs, and registration confirmation. Please tell me how to submit evidence of authorship.
I waited.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
At 9:41 p.m., an email arrived.
Dear Ms. Carter, please bring your documentation to the registration desk before the preliminary judging begins. We will review your claim confidentially.
I read it three times.
Then I printed it.
For the first time since the dress disappeared, I could breathe.
But I still needed the gown.
Without it, I couldn't present my work properly. Even if the judges believed me, I would have nothing to show them.
At 10:15 p.m., I heard music coming from Brianna's room.
I walked down the hallway.
Her door was open now.
Inside, she stood in front of the mirror wearing the Phoenix Gown. Vanessa was adjusting the translucent wings while a woman with a camera took photographs.
Brianna turned when she saw me.
"Oh, look. The seamstress has arrived.""
The photographer laughed uncertainly.
I ignored them.
"Give me the gown.""
Vanessa smoothed a section of silk.
"Nia, we're working.""
"That dress belongs to me.""
Brianna turned toward the photographer.
"Could you give us a minute?""
The woman stepped into the hallway.
Brianna waited until she was gone, then walked toward me.
"You need to stop embarrassing yourself.""
"You stole my design.""
"I improved your opportunity.""
"You didn't make a single stitch.""
Brianna's face flushed.
"I don't need to. I have the talent to wear it.""
"That's not what the competition is about.""
She leaned close enough for me to smell her perfume.
"Do you really think anyone will believe you over me?""
I looked at the gown.
At the silver beads I'd sewn one by one.
At the wings I'd constructed from layers of translucent organza.
At the girl who had never once asked how I made them.
"Yes," I said.
Brianna's smile disappeared.
Vanessa stepped between us.
"That's enough.""
She pointed toward the hallway.
"Leave.""
I didn't move.
"Give me my dress.""
Vanessa's voice dropped.
"If you continue this, you will regret it.""
I looked at her, then at Brianna.
"Tomorrow, the judges will see the truth.""
Brianna laughed.
"You mean they'll see me win.""
She reached behind herself and lifted the wings.
"Do you know what the best part is? Everyone already loves it. The school, the boutique owners, the fashion bloggers. By tomorrow, the whole city will know my name.""
I swallowed the pain rising in my throat.
"Then you'd better hope they never learn mine.""
I turned and walked away before she could answer.
Back in my room, I placed the flash drive, registration papers, and printed photographs into a folder.
I packed my mother's silver thimble into the small pocket of my handbag.
Then I sat beside the window and watched the city lights flicker in the distance.
Tomorrow, I would stand in front of the people who could decide my future.
I had no dress.
No powerful family connections.
No expensive shoes or designer handbag.
But I had evidence.
And I had the truth.
At 11:52 p.m., my phone vibrated.
An unknown number had sent me a message.
Don't let them put you on that stage without checking the guest list.
I stared at the screen.
Another message appeared.
Someone attending tomorrow knows your mother.
My fingers went cold.
I typed a reply.
Who is this?
The message showed as delivered.
No answer came.
Then, just as I was about to put my phone away, another text appeared.
Ask your father why Elena Carter's name was removed from the Bellamy Institute's records seventeen years ago.
I stopped breathing.
My mother had never attended Bellamy.
At least, that was what Dad had always told me.
I read the message again.
May you like
Then I looked toward the hallway, where Brianna's laughter drifted through the darkness.
For the first time, I wondered whether the stolen dress was only the beginning of something much bigger.
