Chapter 1
The blue paint hit my white dress before I even saw Vanessa lift the container.
One second, I was standing in our living room, admiring the gown I had spent three months designing.
The next, thick blue paint was pouring down my chest, soaking into the delicate fabric and splattering across our marble floor.
I screamed.
"Vanessa! What are you doing?"
My older sister tilted the empty metal container and smiled.
"Oops."
That was all she said.
Oops.
As if she had accidentally spilled a glass of water instead of destroying the most important dress I had ever made.
I stared at the spreading stain.
My hands trembled.
The white satin was disappearing beneath a river of bright blue paint.
"That wasn't an accident!"
Vanessa shrugged.
"Maybe you shouldn't stand in everyone's way."
Before I could answer, my mother rushed into the room.
Claire Bennett always looked perfect.
Her hair was smooth. Her makeup was flawless. Her cream-colored dress probably cost more than my sewing machine.
But the first thing she looked at wasn't me.
It was Vanessa.
"Sweetheart, are you okay?"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"Mom! She just poured paint all over me!"
Mom glanced at my ruined dress.
Then she sighed.
"Maya, stop making everything dramatic. It's only a dress."
Only a dress.
Those three words hurt worse than the paint.
Because that dress wasn't just something I planned to wear to tonight's family celebration.
It was my first original couture design.
I had sewn every seam myself.
I had worked after school, skipped weekends with friends, and saved money from my part-time job to buy the fabric.
It was also the dress I planned to submit to the prestigious Sterling Young Designers Competition.
The winner would receive a full scholarship to a leading fashion institute.
That scholarship was my dream.
And Vanessa knew it.
"She did it on purpose," I whispered.
Mom crossed her arms.
"Vanessa didn't mean it."
Vanessa stood behind her, smiling.
She wasn't even trying to look sorry.
Then my father entered.
Marcus Bennett was a tall man who rarely raised his voice.
He had been speaking to guests near the entrance when he heard me scream.
He stopped the moment he saw me.
His eyes traveled from my stained dress to the blue puddle on the floor.
"What happened?"
I opened my mouth.
But Vanessa answered first.
"It was an accident, Daddy."
Dad looked at the empty container in her hand.
"An entire bucket of paint?"
Vanessa's smile weakened.
Mom stepped between them.
"Marcus, don't start. Maya is overreacting."
Something changed in Dad's expression.
"Claire, look at her."
"I'm looking."
"Then why aren't you helping her?"
For the first time, Mom had no immediate answer.
I stood there with blue paint dripping from my sleeves.
And suddenly, I felt seventeen years of disappointment pressing against my chest.
"You always protect her," I told Mom.
Her face hardened.
"Because Vanessa doesn't deserve your constant accusations."
I stared at her.
Vanessa was twenty-three.
She had her own apartment, designer handbags, and a position at a fashion company she barely attended.
Yet somehow, she was always the innocent one.
And I was always the difficult daughter.
"Fine," I said quietly.
I wiped my tears.
"Then I'll fix it myself."
Dad reached for me.
"Maya, honey—"
"I'm okay, Dad."
But I wasn't.
I walked upstairs, leaving blue footprints behind me.
Inside my bedroom, I locked the door.
Then I finally cried.
I cried because of the dress.
I cried because of Vanessa.
But mostly, I cried because my own mother had watched someone hurt me and decided I was the problem.
I sat on the floor until my breathing slowed.
Then I looked at the dress again.
The blue paint had spread unevenly across the front.
It was ruined.
Or maybe...
I stood up.
I grabbed my sketchbook.
My hands were still shaking when I opened a fresh page.
What if I stopped trying to save the white dress?
What if I turned the damage into something beautiful?
I sketched deep-blue waves running across the skirt.
Silver threads followed the edges like moonlight reflecting on water.
Tiny crystals would create the illusion of stars.
My tears dried.
For the next several hours, I worked.
I carefully removed the damaged lining.
I shaped the blue sections into deliberate patterns.
I added dark-blue fabric from my supply cabinet and brushed silver glitter along the seams.
Every stitch made me feel stronger.
Every hour took something Vanessa had destroyed and turned it into something she could never have imagined.
By evening, I stepped back.
The dress was breathtaking.
It no longer looked like a simple white gown.
It looked like a midnight sky.
I smiled for the first time that day.
Then I remembered something.
Vanessa had borrowed my design folder the previous week.
She said she needed inspiration for a project.
I had asked her to return it.
She never did.
Earlier that afternoon, Dad had brought a stack of Vanessa's folders upstairs, thinking some belonged to me.
They were sitting on my desk.
I started searching.
Under a thick folder labeled VANESSA BENNETT — ORIGINAL COLLECTION, I found a folded document.
At first, I thought it was a receipt.
Then I saw the logo.
STERLING YOUNG DESIGNERS COMPETITION.
My heart skipped.
I unfolded the paper.
There was a photograph of my original white dress.
My sketches.
My measurements.
Even the tiny embroidered pattern I had created for the neckline.
But the designer's name wasn't mine.
It was Vanessa Bennett.
My stomach twisted.
She hadn't just destroyed my dress.
She had stolen my design.
Then I noticed a second page.
It contained an authorization form.
Two signatures appeared at the bottom.
One belonged to Vanessa.
The other had been partially concealed by the fold.
I stared at it for a long moment.
Then I took the document downstairs.
The celebration was already underway.
Music filled the mansion.
Guests gathered beneath crystal chandeliers.
When I reached the bottom of the staircase, conversations stopped.
People turned.
Someone gasped.
My transformed dress shimmered with every step.
Vanessa's champagne-colored smile disappeared.
Mom stared at me.
"Maya?"
I stopped in front of them.
"Funny," I said, holding up the document. "This says Vanessa submitted my original dress design under her own name."
Vanessa went pale.
"Give me that!"
She reached for the paper.
I pulled it away.
Dad stepped forward.
"Vanessa, what is she talking about?"
I looked at my sister.
Then at my mother.
"And there's another signature underneath."
Mom's face collapsed.
Her champagne glass slipped from her fingers.
It shattered against the marble.
May you like
And in the sudden silence, I realized something terrifying.
Mom already knew exactly whose signature it was.
