Chapter 2
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
The backstage room was filled with designers, assistants, photographers, and judges.
Yet all I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat.
Evelyn Brooks stood beside Maya, examining the champagne gown.
Maya looked confused.
"What identification?"
Evelyn reached toward the inside seam.
Maya immediately pulled away.
"Don't touch my dress!"
Evelyn's expression hardened.
"Miss, I'm asking because the garment appears to contain a registered designer label."
Vanessa stepped forward.
"Of course it does. My daughter designed it."
I stared at her.
The lie came so easily.
As though she'd repeated it a hundred times.
Evelyn looked toward me.
"Nia?"
My hands shook.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Did you create that gown?"
I swallowed.
"Yes."
Maya laughed sharply.
"She's lying!"
Several people turned.
I felt heat rise into my face.
Maya pointed at me.
"She's always jealous of me. She can't stand seeing me succeed."
I looked at the gown.
The dress I'd spent six months creating.
The dress my father had helped me sketch before he died.
The dress that was supposed to change my future.
My throat tightened.
"I made every stitch."
Vanessa folded her arms.
"Prove it."
Her confidence frightened me.
For years, she'd controlled every argument by speaking louder than everyone else.
She knew I hated confrontation.
She knew I was embarrassed by my eye injury.
She knew I often apologized simply to end disagreements.
But something was different now.
I looked directly at her.
"I can."
Maya's smile faded.
I reached into my handbag.
Inside was a small flash drive.
It contained photographs, design sketches, and sewing videos I'd recorded throughout the six-month process.
I'd submitted copies during registration.
The flash drive was my backup.
I handed it to Evelyn.
"Every stage of the dress is documented."
Vanessa's expression changed.
Maya looked toward her mother.
"Mom?"
Evelyn passed the drive to a competition assistant.
"Please verify these files against the registration materials."
The assistant hurried toward a laptop.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then the screen displayed my first sketch.
A champagne gown with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt.
Beneath it was my name.
NIA WILLIAMS.
The date was six months earlier.
The assistant opened another file.
A photograph showed me pinning the bodice on my dress form.
Another showed me attaching the beads.
A third showed the finished gown hanging in my bedroom.
I felt tears filling my eye.
Evelyn turned toward Maya.
"Do you have documentation showing you designed this garment?"
Maya opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Vanessa stepped forward.
"She's only twenty-one. She didn't think to photograph every little thing."
Evelyn remained calm.
"Then perhaps she can explain the construction."
She pointed toward the waist.
"What technique did you use to stabilize the beaded panels?"
Maya stared at her.
"I don't remember."
"What fabric did you use for the inner structure?"
Maya looked toward Vanessa.
"Mom?"
Vanessa's face reddened.
"This is ridiculous."
Evelyn looked at me.
"Nia, can you answer?"
I nodded.
"Silk organza underlining. I reinforced the waist with narrow boning channels and used hand-stitched support tape."
Evelyn smiled slightly.
"And the beadwork?"
"Three separate layers. The pattern follows the curved seams."
She turned toward the other judges.
They exchanged looks.
Then she faced Maya.
"Your competition entry is being placed under review for misrepresentation."
Maya gasped.
"You can't do that!"
Vanessa grabbed her arm.
"We're leaving."
But Evelyn raised one hand.
"Not yet."
The room grew silent.
She looked at me.
"Nia, I need to ask another question."
I straightened.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Why are you wearing an eye bandage?"
My stomach tightened.
I felt everyone's attention shift toward my face.
For months, I'd hated that question.
People stared.
Some whispered.
Others assumed I couldn't do anything requiring precision.
I touched the edge of the bandage.
"I was injured last year."
Evelyn's expression softened.
"May I ask how?"
I glanced toward Vanessa.
Her face changed immediately.
"Nia," she warned.
I felt my throat tighten.
The accident had happened eight months earlier.
Vanessa had told everyone I slipped on a staircase while carrying sewing supplies.
But the truth was more complicated.
We'd been arguing.
She'd grabbed a box of my equipment.
I'd tried to stop her.
The box had struck my face.
And my vision had never fully recovered.
I'd spent months blaming myself.
Telling doctors I fell.
Telling relatives it was an accident.
Telling anyone who asked that nobody was responsible.
Because Vanessa had warned me that accusing her would destroy what remained of our family.
Evelyn watched me carefully.
"You don't have to discuss anything you're uncomfortable sharing."
I nodded.
Then I looked toward Vanessa.
Her eyes were fixed on mine.
The warning was unmistakable.
Be quiet.
I took a breath.
"I was hurt during an argument at home."
The room became silent.
Vanessa stepped forward.
"That's enough."
I continued.
"My stepmother was angry because I refused to give Maya my sewing equipment."
Vanessa's face turned white.
"Nia!"
I felt tears rolling down my cheek.
"She grabbed the box. It hit my eye."
A photographer lowered his camera.
Maya stared at her mother.
Evelyn's expression became serious.
"Was the injury reported?"
I shook my head.
"No."
Vanessa laughed nervously.
"She's confused. The doctors know it was an accident."
I looked at her.
For the first time in years, I didn't lower my eyes.
"I told them what you told me to say."
Silence.
Then Evelyn gently touched my shoulder.
"Nia, you deserve to be safe."
Those words nearly broke me.
Because nobody had said them to me since my father died.
Before I could answer, my phone vibrated.
An unfamiliar number had sent a message.
I opened it.
There was a photograph.
It showed my father's old office.
His locked desk drawer was open.
Inside sat a blue folder I'd never seen before.
Beneath the photograph were five words.
YOUR FATHER LEFT YOU EVERYTHING.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
Then another message arrived.
VANESSA HAS BEEN LYING ABOUT HIS WILL.
