Chapter 1: The Night They Tried to Break Me
The night my stepsister destroyed my trophy, she had no idea that the man she had spent ten years mocking me for losing was standing less than fifty feet away.
“Oops,” Brianna said, watching the golden pieces scatter across the marble floor.
“Looks like you're not a winner anymore.””
I was seventeen years old, still wearing the crimson gown that had just won me the biggest fashion competition of my life, and I couldn't remember how to breathe.
For five minutes, I had believed my life was finally changing.
Then my stepsister smiled, my stepmother folded her arms, and the two people who had spent years making me feel unwanted proved that they were willing to destroy anything I loved.
Including the only thing I had left of my dream.
“Pick it up,” Vanessa Carter, my stepmother, ordered.
I stared at her.
“I'm sorry?””
“You heard me, Nia. Pick up the mess you've made.””
I looked down at the shattered trophy. Its engraved nameplate lay beside a broken golden base.
*NIA CARTER — GRAND PRIZE WINNER.*
“I didn't break it,” I whispered.
Vanessa glanced at Brianna, who was examining her diamond earrings in the reflection of a backstage mirror.
“Brianna made a mistake,” Vanessa replied.
“There's no reason to turn this into another one of your dramatic performances.””
Brianna laughed.
“Honestly, Mom, I barely touched it.””
“You threw it against the floor!”” I cried.
“And you should be grateful I didn't throw that ridiculous dress with it.””
My fingers curled around the fabric at my waist.
The dress was the reason I had won.
It was also the reason Brianna hated me.
For six months, I had worked on that crimson gown in the narrow storage room behind our house. I had sewn every petal, placed every crystal, and rebuilt the enormous winged structure on its back so many times that I could recognize each supporting thread by touch.
I had slept beneath a worktable more than once.
I had burned my fingertips with hot glue.
I had sold my mother's old sewing machine attachments to afford the final shipment of crystals.
And tonight, under the brilliant lights of the Grand American Young Designers Showcase, hundreds of people had risen to their feet when I walked down the runway.
For the first time in ten years, I hadn't felt like the unwanted girl living in somebody else's house.
I had felt like a designer.
A real one.
The judges had called my creation unforgettable. A representative from a prestigious New York fashion house had asked for my contact information. The competition director had even mentioned a scholarship that could cover my first year at a leading design school.
I had been holding my trophy when Brianna appeared backstage.
She hadn't congratulated me.
She had looked at the trophy, then at my gown, and said five words that changed the entire evening.
“You think you beat me?””
I had barely opened my mouth before she snatched the trophy from my hands.
Now its pieces lay between our shoes.
“Why?”” I asked.
Brianna tilted her head.
“Why what?””
“Why would you do that?””
She stepped over a fragment of the base, careful not to scratch her expensive heels.
“Because I'm sick of everyone pretending you're special.””
“I'm not pretending anything.””
“Oh, please. You walk around with that pathetic little sketchbook like you're the next big thing. You sit in your room sewing scraps together, and suddenly everyone has to applaud you.””
“Those scraps won a competition.””
Her smile vanished.
For one glorious second, I saw the truth.
Brianna didn't hate my dress because it was ugly.
She hated it because it was beautiful.
And because the judges had known exactly who created it.
“You embarrassed me tonight,” she snapped.
I stared at her white-and-sapphire-blue gown.
The gown I had designed three months earlier.
The gown she had worn onto the runway while accepting compliments for work that wasn't hers.
“You stole my design,” I said.
Brianna looked down at her dress as though she had never seen it before.
“This dress? Mom bought it for me.””
“You know that's a lie.””
“Careful, Nia.””
Vanessa moved between us, her bracelets clicking as she adjusted the strap of Brianna's gown.
“Your sister has been under a great deal of pressure,” she said.
“You could have shown her some consideration.””
I laughed once, unable to believe what I was hearing.
“Consideration? She took my sketches, copied my design, and told the judges she made the dress herself.””
“Because she has a future in fashion,” Vanessa replied.
“You should be happy for her.””
“What about my future?””
Vanessa's expression hardened.
“Your future depends on learning to be realistic.””
I looked at the trophy fragments.
Then at the gown Brianna had stolen.
Then at the woman who had promised my dying mother she would take care of me.
My mother, Eleanor Carter, had been a brilliant seamstress. She could transform an ordinary piece of fabric into something that looked as though it belonged in a royal collection. When I was little, I used to sit beside her sewing table and watch her hands move.
She taught me how to thread a needle before I learned to write my full name.
She taught me that beautiful things were rarely created in a hurry.
And when she died, she left me a wooden box filled with her sketches, a silver thimble, and one final piece of advice.
Never let anyone convince you that the things you create are worth less than the things they inherit.
For years, I had repeated those words whenever Vanessa reminded me that I was living in her house.
Whenever Brianna took my clothes.
Whenever my stepsister received expensive gifts while I was told to be thankful for secondhand shoes.
Whenever I heard Vanessa say, “We have our own daughter to think about first.””
I had endured it because I believed my father would have wanted me to.
My father, Adrian Carter, had disappeared when I was seven.
He had been a famous fashion designer, known for his dramatic silhouettes and extraordinary floral embroidery. My parents had built their little design studio together before his work began attracting international attention.
Then he left for a business trip.
His vehicle was reportedly involved in an accident on a mountain road overseas.
The authorities searched for weeks.
No body was recovered.
No funeral could be held.
Eventually, people began speaking of him in the past tense.
Vanessa married him before he disappeared. After his disappearance, she became the only parent I had left.
And she made sure I understood that my father was never coming back.
Whenever I asked questions, she told me to stop torturing myself.
Whenever I said he might still be alive, she called it childish fantasy.
By the time I was twelve, I had learned not to ask.
But I had never stopped wondering.
Now Brianna was using his absence like a knife.
“Maybe your father would be embarrassed if he could see you,” she said.
My head snapped up.
“Don't talk about him.””
“Why not? He's dead.””
“You don't know that.””
Brianna gave a cruel little laugh.
“Ten years, Nia. Ten years. If he wanted you, don't you think he would have come back by now?””
Something inside me cracked.
“Stop.””
“Maybe he saw what you were like and decided—”
“SHUT UP!””
My shout echoed down the corridor.
A few people turned at the far end of the backstage area.
Vanessa seized my wrist.
“Never raise your voice to my daughter!””
I pulled free.
“Your daughter destroyed my trophy!””
“She made a mistake.””
“She ripped my sketches out of my notebook last month!””
“She was upset.””
“She wore my dress tonight and lied about making it!””
Vanessa stepped closer until I could smell her expensive perfume.
“Do you have any idea how much we have done for you?””
I looked at her hand, the one she had used to grip my wrist.
“You mean letting me sleep in the room that used to store your Christmas decorations?””
Her mouth tightened.
“You ungrateful little girl.””
“You mean making me pay for my own school supplies while Brianna gets a new designer handbag every birthday?””
“Enough.””
“You mean telling me I should stop sewing because nobody would ever pay to see my work?””
Vanessa slapped me.
The sound was sharp enough to silence the corridor.
For a moment, all I could hear was the faint hum of the backstage lights.
My cheek burned.
Brianna stared at me, then burst into laughter.
“Oh my God. Mom, did you see her face?””
I pressed my palm against my cheek.
Vanessa adjusted her sleeve.
“Perhaps now you'll remember how to behave.””
I looked at her.
Something changed in that moment.
It wasn't courage, exactly.
Courage sounded too grand for what I felt.
It was exhaustion.
I was tired of being grateful for cruelty.
Tired of apologizing for existing.
Tired of shrinking myself so Brianna could feel tall.
I bent down and picked up the broken nameplate.
My name was scratched across the metal, but every letter was still visible.
NIA CARTER.
I closed my fingers around it.
“You can break the trophy,” I said quietly.
“You can ruin my dress. You can tell everyone I'm nothing.””
Brianna folded her arms.
“And?””
I lifted my eyes to hers.
“But you can't make me believe you.””
Her smile faltered.
Vanessa pointed toward the service corridor.
“Get out of my sight.””
I turned toward the exit.
Then Brianna grabbed the left wing of my gown.
“Not so fast.””
I spun around.
“Let go!””
She pulled hard.
The support snapped.
A huge section of crimson fabric tore away from my shoulder, sending red petals and sparkling crystals cascading across the floor.
I screamed and reached for the wing, but Brianna held it above her head.
“Look at this thing!”” she shouted.
“You actually thought you were going to be famous in this?””
“Give it back!””
“Make me!””
She threw the ruined wing down beside the trophy.
Vanessa didn't stop her.
Instead, she looked at the scattered pieces and sighed.
“Perhaps this will teach you not to get above yourself.””
I stared at the woman who had once held my hand at my mother's funeral.
Then I looked at Brianna.
“You stole my design because you couldn't make one of your own,” I said.
“You broke my trophy because you couldn't stand seeing me win. And you destroyed my dress because you knew it was better than anything you could ever create.””
Brianna's face turned red.
“Take that back!””
“No.””
She raised her hand again.
But before she could strike me, a powerful voice thundered from the end of the corridor.
“THAT IS ENOUGH!””
Three men in black security suits came around the corner, followed by two uniformed police officers.
The tallest man moved directly between Brianna and me.
He had broad shoulders, a neatly trimmed beard, and a gold badge pinned to his jacket.
“Miss Carter?”” he asked.
I nodded.
“Are you injured?””
“My cheek hurts,” I whispered.
“But I'm okay.””
His eyes moved to the broken trophy, the scattered crystals, and the torn wing.
“Who did this?””
Brianna immediately stepped behind Vanessa.
Vanessa lifted her chin.
“This is a private family disagreement. I expect you to leave us alone.””
The security chief didn't even look at her.
“Ma'am, this is a restricted backstage area. We received a report of an assault and intentional property damage.””
“Assault?”” Vanessa scoffed.
“That's absurd.””
One of the officers approached the trophy.
“Who threw this on the floor?””
Nobody answered.
Then a young woman in a headset appeared at the end of the corridor.
“I saw everything,” she said.
“Brianna took the trophy from Nia and smashed it. Then she ripped the wing off the dress.””
Brianna spun around.
“You can't prove that!””
The woman lifted her phone.
“I recorded the entire thing.””
For the first time that night, Brianna looked afraid.
Vanessa reached for the phone.
“Delete that immediately.””
The officer stepped between them.
“Ma'am, don't touch the witness.””
The security chief turned back to me.
“Miss Carter, the competition director would like to speak with you. There's something else you need to know.””
I tightened my grip on the broken nameplate.
“What?””
He hesitated.
Then he glanced toward the main hall.
“Someone has been asking for you all evening.””
My heart began to pound.
“Who?””
The security chief lowered his voice.
“A man who says his name is Adrian Carter.””
The metal nameplate slipped from my fingers.
For ten years, I had imagined hearing my father's name spoken in a room where nobody was trying to silence me.
But I had never imagined hearing it here.
Not tonight.
Not while my trophy lay broken at my feet.
I stared at the security chief.
“That's impossible.””
He didn't look away.
“Miss Carter, he's waiting in the director's office.””
My lips parted, but no sound came out.
Then, from somewhere beyond the corridor, I heard a man's voice.
A voice I hadn't heard since I was seven.
A voice that had once sung me to sleep when thunderstorms rattled our windows.
“Nia?””
My knees nearly gave way.
May you like
Because the voice was real.
And it was getting closer.
