Chapter 1: The Dress They Stole
“GIVE ME THAT DRESS! IT BELONGS TO ME NOW!””
Brielle Williams's scream shattered the quiet afternoon as she stormed into Amara's bedroom and grabbed the most beautiful gown Amara had ever created.
The dress was breathtaking.
Its midnight-blue silk shimmered beneath the afternoon sunlight, while hundreds of tiny silver crystals formed delicate patterns across the bodice. Layers of translucent fabric flowed from the waist like waves beneath a moonlit sky.
Amara had spent seven months designing and sewing it.
Seven months of skipped lunches, sleepless nights, needle-pricked fingers, and every dollar she could save from her part-time job at a neighborhood alterations shop.
It was her entry for the prestigious New York Rising Designers Competition.
The winner would receive $100,000, a professional fashion contract, and an opportunity to showcase their collection at New York Fashion Week.
For Amara, it wasn't just a competition.
It was her way out.
Her way of proving that the little girl who had grown up being told she wasn't good enough could become someone extraordinary.
And now Brielle was standing in her bedroom, holding the gown as though it had always belonged to her.
“Put it down,” Amara said, rising from her sewing chair.
Brielle examined the dress in front of the mirror.
“Are you serious? This is gorgeous! Why have you been hiding something like this?””
“Because I'm entering it in a competition. Give it back.””
Brielle turned around, wearing an exaggerated pout.
“Come on, Amara. You know I have that charity gala next weekend. This would look absolutely perfect on me.””
“That's your problem, not mine.””
Brielle's expression hardened.
“Excuse me?””
“I said I made this dress for myself. I'm submitting it to the competition. You're not taking it.””
Brielle laughed.
“Since when do you get to decide what happens in this house?””
“Since it's my work, Brielle!””
Amara reached for the gown.
Brielle pulled it away, deliberately brushing the delicate fabric against the corner of the dressing table.
“Careful!”” Amara shouted.
“You'll damage the embroidery!””
“Oh, relax. It's only a dress.””
“It's not only a dress!””
Amara grabbed the other side of the gown.
For several seconds, they struggled over it.
Then Brielle suddenly released her grip.
She threw herself backward onto the carpet, letting out a dramatic scream.
“HELP! AMARA JUST HIT ME!””
Amara froze.
“What?””
Footsteps thundered down the hallway.
Vanessa, their stepmother, appeared in the doorway wearing an expensive cream blouse and gold earrings. Her eyes immediately landed on Brielle sitting on the floor.
“Oh my God! Brielle!””
Vanessa rushed forward.
“She pushed me!”” Brielle sobbed, covering her face.
“I only wanted to borrow the dress, and she attacked me!””
“That is not what happened!”” Amara protested.
Vanessa stood up.
Before Amara could say another word, a sharp slap landed across her cheek.
The sound echoed through the bedroom.
“HOW DARE YOU HURT YOUR SISTER?””
Amara stumbled sideways, one hand flying to her burning cheek.
“Vanessa, she grabbed my dress! I was just trying to get it back!””
“Don't you dare blame Brielle!””
“But—”
“Look at her! She's crying because of you!””
Brielle lowered her head, hiding the tiny smile forming on her lips.
Then she sniffled loudly.
“It's okay, Mom. I know Amara hates me. She's always jealous because people think I'm prettier.””
Amara stared at her.
“You're unbelievable.””
Vanessa pointed a manicured finger at her.
“Apologize. Right now.””
“No.””
The room went silent.
Vanessa's eyebrows lifted.
“What did you say?””
“I said no. I didn't hurt her. She deliberately threw herself onto the floor.””
Brielle immediately started crying harder.
“Mom, please. Don't let her yell at me!””
Vanessa wrapped an arm around her daughter before turning back to Amara.
“You've lived under this roof for years. We've given you food, clothes, and a comfortable room. Is this how you repay us?””
Amara swallowed.
The house had belonged to her father long before Vanessa entered their lives. Her mother had died when she was twelve, leaving behind a small inheritance that Richard had promised to protect.
Yet somehow, over the years, Vanessa had become the queen of the house, while Amara had become an inconvenience.
“I work for my own money,” Amara said quietly.
“I bought every piece of fabric in that dress myself.””
Vanessa ignored her.
Instead, she reached for the gown.
“Brielle needs something beautiful for the gala. You can make another one.””
Amara's eyes widened.
“Please don't.””
Vanessa pulled the gown from her hands.
“Don't be dramatic.””
“Vanessa, that dress took seven months!””
At that moment, Richard Williams walked into the bedroom.
He had just returned from his office, his tie loosened and his phone still in his hand.
“What is all this noise?””
Vanessa immediately changed her expression.
“Your daughter has been attacking Brielle over a dress.””
Richard looked at Amara.
“Again?””
Amara blinked.
“Dad, listen to me—”
“It's just a dress, Amara. Stop making such a big deal out of it.””
Her lips parted.
“It's my competition entry. The submission deadline is in four days.””
Richard sighed.
“You can always make another one.””
“Not this one. I designed every detail. I spent months working on it!””
Brielle slowly stood up, leaning against Vanessa.
“Dad, I really love it. I promise I'll take good care of it.””
Richard nodded.
“Then take it.””
Amara felt something crack inside her.
“Dad, please. You know how important this is to me.””
Richard looked irritated.
“Must everything in this house become a competition? Your sister wants one nice dress. Why can't you be generous for once?””
“Because it's mine!””
His face darkened.
“Enough.””
Vanessa handed the gown to Brielle.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you fitted.””
Brielle held the dress against her body, smiling triumphantly.
As she passed Amara, she whispered just loud enough for her to hear.
“Thanks, loser. Maybe I'll even mention you when everyone asks who designed it.””
Amara didn't move.
She watched her father walk away without looking back.
Then she watched the two women disappear down the hallway with seven months of her life in their hands.
The bedroom door remained open.
For several seconds, Amara stood completely still.
Then she slowly touched her cheek.
A tear rolled down her face.
But something changed in her expression.
Her crying stopped.
A cold, almost peaceful smile appeared.
“That's right,” she whispered.
“I can make another dress.””
She walked toward her sewing table and opened the small wooden drawer beneath it.
Inside lay an old photograph of her mother, a few handwritten design notes, and a tiny silver USB drive.
Amara picked up the photograph.
Her mother's handwriting was visible on the back.
Never let anyone steal your talent, sweetheart. Your work carries your name, even when someone tries to erase it.
Amara closed her fingers around the USB drive.
“You have no idea what I secretly hid inside that dress, Brielle.””
Her phone suddenly vibrated.
An email notification appeared.
<text weight="semibold" color="success" size="sm">NEW MESSAGE — RISING DESIGNERS COMPETITION</text>
Amara opened it.
The subject line made her blood run cold.
*URGENT: CONFIRMATION REQUIRED REGARDING YOUR SUBMISSION.*
She read the first sentence.
Then the second.
Her smile disappeared.
May you like
Someone had already registered her dress under another designer's name.
And the registration had been approved.
