Chapter 8
I had met Adrian Cole only twice.
Both times, he had been charming.
He wore expensive watches, drove a beautiful car, and talked about building a fashion empire.
Vanessa introduced him as a business consultant.
I remembered how he admired my sketchbooks during Christmas dinner.
He had asked questions about my designs.
What software I used.
Whether I had registered any of my work.
How I planned to enter competitions.
At the time, I thought he was interested in my future.
Now I felt sick.
He had been studying me.
Rachel arranged a meeting with Dad.
She explained what the records suggested.
Adrian had helped form Bennett Creative Holdings.
He had been involved in the sponsor negotiations.
His company had received money from the arrangement.
And he had communicated with Vanessa about the ownership paperwork.
Dad asked, "Did he forge my signature?"
"We don't know yet," Rachel answered.
I stared at the documents.
"But he knew the design wasn't Vanessa's?"
Rachel pointed toward a message.
It was an email Adrian had sent to Vanessa.
"Make sure the younger sister doesn't enter independently before our agreement is finalized."
My hands went cold.
He knew.
They all knew.
Mom.
Vanessa.
Adrian.
My dream had been treated like something they could package and sell.
Dad put his arm around my shoulders.
Rachel continued.
"The authorities have been given the relevant evidence. For now, don't contact Adrian directly."
We agreed.
Then she looked at me.
"Your final showcase is in twelve days."
I swallowed.
"Twelve?"
She smiled.
"You have something important to focus on."
I nodded.
She was right.
I couldn't control Vanessa.
I couldn't undo Mom's choices.
But I could decide what happened to me next.
That evening, I returned to my sewing table.
I had been invited to present a small collection at the showcase.
Three looks, including the transformed gown.
The invitation was more than I expected.
But it also terrified me.
I had never created three original gowns for a major presentation.
Not under this kind of pressure.
Dad found me staring at blank paper.
"Creative problem?"
I sighed.
"Creative disaster."
He pulled up a chair.
"Tell me."
I explained that I wanted the collection to represent transformation.
Not just beautiful clothes.
Something meaningful.
Dad listened.
Then he looked toward Grandma's sewing machine.
"What would she say?"
I smiled faintly.
"That I should stop complaining and start drawing."
He laughed.
"Sounds like Mom."
I looked at her photograph.
Then I opened my sketchbook.
The first design was the blue-and-silver gown.
I named it After the Storm.
The second would be a deep-purple dress with embroidered golden lines.
I named it Courage.
The third would be a soft ivory gown with delicate blue details.
Not the same as my stolen original.
Something entirely new.
I called it Freedom.
As I sketched, ideas began flowing.
By midnight, I had the entire collection planned.
Over the next ten days, I worked harder than ever.
Naomi offered to help with construction under my direction.
I hesitated.
"I don't have money to hire you."
She laughed.
"I'm not asking."
"But—"
"Maya, somebody helped me when I was struggling. Let me do the same for you."
I hugged her.
We became friends almost immediately.
She understood what it felt like to have your work stolen.
She never tried to control my designs.
She asked questions.
Offered advice.
Helped me solve problems.
For the first time, I experienced what real support felt like.
Tasha volunteered to help coordinate fittings.
Dad organized transportation and meals.
Our house filled with fabric, laughter, and music.
It felt different.
No competition.
No jealousy.
No one waiting for me to fail.
Then, four days before the showcase, Mom called.
I stared at her name for a long time.
I hadn't spoken to her since she left.
Finally, I answered.
"Hello?"
"Maya."
Her voice sounded smaller than I remembered.
"Hi, Mom."
A long silence followed.
Then she whispered, "I saw your designs."
I held my breath.
"They're beautiful."
My eyes burned.
Those were words I had wanted to hear from her for years.
But now they felt complicated.
"Thank you."
She began crying.
"I should have told you that sooner."
I sat on the edge of my bed.
"Yes."
She sniffed.
"I've been thinking about everything."
I waited.
Then she said, "I owe you an apology."
I gripped the phone.
"For what?"
Another pause.
"For choosing Vanessa over you."
My throat tightened.
Mom continued.
"For taking Grandma's money. For signing documents without telling you. For making you believe your feelings mattered less."
Tears ran down my face.
I had imagined this moment so many times.
But hearing her say the words didn't erase what happened.
"Why did you do it?"
She cried harder.
"I was afraid Vanessa would fail."
I closed my eyes.
"So you made sure I couldn't succeed?"
"No. I never wanted that."
"But that's what you did."
"I know."
For the first time, she didn't argue.
She didn't blame me.
She didn't say I was too sensitive.
She simply said, "I know."
We sat quietly.
Then she asked, "Can I come to your showcase?"
My heart twisted.
Part of me wanted her there.
Part of me remembered the blue paint.
The lies.
The stolen money.
"I don't know, Mom."
She whispered, "I understand."
That surprised me.
She had never accepted my boundaries before.
I wiped my face.
"I need time."
"Take it."
Then she said something unexpected.
"I'm cooperating with the investigation, Maya."
I sat upright.
"What?"
"I told them what I did."
My pulse quickened.
"And Vanessa?"
Mom began crying again.
"She still won't tell the truth."
I stared at the wall.
Then Mom whispered, "Maya, there's something else."
"What?"
"Adrian has disappeared."
My stomach dropped.
Mom continued.
"Vanessa went to his apartment. It's empty. His phone is disconnected."
I felt a chill.
"Where did he go?"
"Nobody knows."
May you like
Then her voice trembled.
"And Vanessa says he took the rest of the money."
