Chapter 4
Vanessa shut the door behind her.
"Give me that paper."
I held it against my chest.
"No."
Her eyes flashed toward Thomas.
"This is a family misunderstanding."
Thomas remained calm.
"Your message alleges professional misconduct. That is not a family misunderstanding."
Vanessa laughed nervously.
"I was trying to protect the company from a potential problem."
"What company?" I asked. "You don't own a fashion company."
"I know people in the industry."
"Who?"
She didn't answer.
Thomas gathered the documents.
"Any further communication about this matter must go through my office."
Vanessa turned toward me.
"You've always been good at making yourself look innocent."
I stared at her.
"You destroyed my dress this morning."
Her expression hardened.
"That has nothing to do with this."
"It has everything to do with it."
I stepped closer.
"You wanted me to fail. You wanted me to walk into this room wearing something ordinary so everyone would forget about my work."
She crossed her arms.
"And now you're going to pretend this ridiculous dress makes you special?"
"No. My work makes me special. The dress simply proves you couldn't stop me."
Her mouth fell open.
Thomas moved between us before she could respond.
"That's enough."
Vanessa stormed out.
I stood trembling, fighting the urge to follow her.
Thomas touched my shoulder gently.
"Don't let this distract you from your opportunity."
"What if the board believes her?"
"Then we provide evidence."
I nodded, but dread had already begun to settle inside me.
When I returned to the ballroom, the atmosphere felt different.
Two guests stopped talking when I approached. Another woman looked away.
Vanessa had been busy.
My mother found me near the entrance.
"What's happened?"
I explained everything.
Her expression shifted from confusion to disbelief.
"She accused you of stealing your own designs?"
"Apparently."
My mother closed her eyes.
"I should have stopped this years ago."
I took her hand.
"You can't change what happened before. But you can decide what happens next."
She nodded, tears shining in her eyes.
Across the room, Vanessa stood beside our aunt Patricia.
Patricia had always treated Vanessa as the golden child. She praised her beauty, her clothes, and her social connections while describing my work as a cute little hobby.
Now they were whispering while watching me.
I looked away.
A few minutes later, Denise approached with a serious expression.
"Nia, I need to ask you something."
"Of course."
"Someone told me your designs may not be original."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"I have documentation for every design."
"Can you show me?"
I opened my portfolio and explained my process. I showed her dated sketches, photographs, and receipts for materials purchased months before the finished pieces were made.
Denise examined everything carefully.
"This is exactly the kind of record a professional designer should keep."
She looked up.
"I won't make a judgment based on rumors."
Relief washed over me.
"Thank you."
"But I want to be clear. If the complaint is deliberate, the person responsible needs to understand how serious that is."
I glanced toward Vanessa.
"I understand."
Then Denise asked a question that changed everything.
"Did your sister have access to your studio?"
"Yes. She visited occasionally."
"Could she have seen your original sketches?"
"Some of them."
Denise exchanged a glance with Thomas, who had joined us.
"Then we need to examine where this complaint originated."
My pulse quickened.
"What are you thinking?"
"That someone may have copied your work and then accused you of copying theirs."
The possibility made me feel sick.
Vanessa had destroyed my gown.
She had tried to damage my reputation.
But what if those were only the latest steps in something much bigger?
I remembered a sketchbook that had disappeared from my studio two weeks earlier.
At the time, I assumed I had misplaced it.
Now I wasn't so sure.
I excused myself and called my studio manager, Tasha.
"Can you check the security records from the day Vanessa visited?"
"Why?"
"I think she may have taken something."
There was a pause.
Then Tasha said, "Nia, there's something you need to know."
My heart began pounding.
"What?"
"Someone used your studio access code after midnight last week."
"Who?"
"We're checking the footage now."
I stared across the ballroom.
May you like
Vanessa was laughing beside our aunt as though nothing had happened.
I suddenly understood that the ruined dress might have been the least important thing she had done.
