Chapter 1: The Daughter They Threw Away
The day my father threw me out of his mansion, my stepsister was still wearing the diamond necklace my mother had left me.
And while I stood barefoot beside a suitcase on the marble floor, holding the remains of my first couture masterpiece, my stepmother said something I would remember for the rest of my life.
"Girls like you are born to serve women like Brielle. You should stop pretending otherwise.""
I was nineteen years old.
I had spent four months creating a dress that I believed could change my future.
Now it lay in torn pieces at my feet.
Vanessa Carter, my stepmother, stood beneath the crystal chandelier, examining her freshly manicured nails as if destroying my work had been nothing more than an inconvenient household chore.
My stepsister Brielle was still laughing.
"Mom, you should have seen her face when I ripped the train," Brielle said, holding up her phone.
"I recorded everything. I'm posting it tonight.""
"Don't you dare," I whispered.
Brielle turned her screen toward me.
The video showed her stepping on my dress, pulling its pearl-white silk apart, and laughing while ruby-red crystals scattered across the marble.
She had even zoomed in on my face when I started crying.
"Why not?"" she asked.
"It's hilarious.""
I reached for the phone.
Brielle pulled it away.
"Careful. You might damage something expensive.""
Vanessa laughed.
"Richard, perhaps you should explain to your daughter that this is not a charity organization.""
My father stood near the entrance to the showroom.
Richard Carter was the chairman of Carter Fashion House, a luxury fashion empire whose gowns had appeared on the world's most prestigious runways.
His face was expressionless.
"Dad," I said, forcing myself to stand straight.
"You know how much work I put into this dress.""
"I know you've been wasting your time.""
My lips parted.
"Wasting my time?""
"You were supposed to help prepare the showroom, not create some ridiculous costume.""
"It's not a costume. It's a couture gown.""
Brielle burst into laughter.
"Listen to her! She's using fashion words now.""
I looked at her.
"At least I made something.""
Her smile disappeared.
For a moment, the room went quiet.
Then Vanessa stepped forward.
She grabbed the remaining section of the dress and held it up.
"Do you know what this fabric costs?""
"I paid for it myself.""
"With what money? The money your father gives you?""
"I earned it by sewing alterations.""
Vanessa tilted her head.
"How touching. Your mother's little hobby has become your entire personality.""
"Don't bring my mother into this.""
"Why? Are you going to pretend she was some legendary designer?""
My hands curled into fists.
"She was talented.""
Vanessa leaned closer.
"She was a nobody.""
That was when my father intervened.
"Nia. Apologize to Vanessa.""
I stared at him.
"She just insulted Mom.""
"Your mother has been dead for eight years. It's time you stopped using her memory as an excuse for your behavior.""
I felt something inside me crack.
Not because he had insulted my mother.
Because he had said it so casually.
As though eight years of memories could be erased by a single sentence.
I looked down at the dress.
The ruby roses were scattered across the floor.
One of the sculpted shoulders had snapped.
The cathedral train was split almost in half.
I remembered every night I had spent stitching those roses by hand. Every needle prick. Every dollar I had saved.
I had imagined walking onto the Carter Legacy Fashion Gala runway wearing my creation.
Not because I wanted to become famous.
Because I wanted my mother to be remembered.
"Please," I whispered.
"Just let me take my dress.""
Vanessa glanced at Brielle.
Then she smiled.
"Richard, I think we've tolerated enough.""
My father picked up an old brown suitcase and threw it toward me.
It struck the marble with a heavy thud.
"Pack your things.""
I looked at him.
"What?""
"You're leaving.""
"Dad, it's my home.""
"This is my home.""
"I'm your daughter.""
He looked directly into my eyes.
"Then start acting like someone who deserves to live here.""
Brielle covered her mouth, pretending to be shocked.
"Where will she go?""
Vanessa shrugged.
"Perhaps she can find work sewing curtains.""
I looked at the three people standing before me.
My father.
My stepmother.
My stepsister.
For years, I had tried to earn their approval.
I had made excuses for their cruelty. I had swallowed insults. I had convinced myself that if I worked hard enough, they would eventually see me as part of the family.
But that afternoon, something changed.
I stopped begging.
I knelt and carefully gathered the torn pieces of my dress.
Then I placed them inside the suitcase.
"Fine," I said.
My father frowned.
"What?""
"I'll leave.""
Vanessa smiled triumphantly.
"Finally, some common sense.""
I closed the suitcase.
But before I walked toward the door, I turned around.
"One day, you'll remember this afternoon.""
Brielle rolled her eyes.
"Is that supposed to be a threat?""
"No.""
I looked at the ruined gown.
"It's a promise.""
I walked out without another word.
Outside, the November rain soaked through my thin blouse.
I had forty-seven dollars in my wallet, an old suitcase, and nowhere to sleep.
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
*Unknown:* Nia Carter? Is this really you?
I stopped beneath the mansion's stone entrance.
Another message arrived.
*Unknown:* My name is Daniel Hayes. I worked with your mother.
I stared at the screen.
Then the next message appeared.
*Daniel:* I think you deserve to know what your father has been hiding from you.
And attached to it was a photograph.
A photograph of my mother standing beside a man I had never seen before.
Behind them was a sign bearing a name that made my blood run cold.
*EVELYN CARTER — FOUNDER AND ORIGINAL CREATIVE DIRECTOR.*
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Because according to my father, Carter Fashion House had been founded by him.
May you like
But the photograph was dated twenty-three years earlier.
And my mother was standing in front of the company before he had even met her.
