Chapter 2: The Name on the Registration
Amara read the email three times.
Then a fourth.
Her hands began trembling.
The competition's official portal displayed a photograph of her midnight-blue gown. The same silver embroidery. The same hand-stitched neckline. Even the tiny crescent-shaped detail near the left shoulder.
But beneath the photograph was a different name.
*DESIGNER: BRIELLE WILLIAMS.*
Amara's stomach twisted.
“No,” she whispered.
She clicked the submission details.
The entry had been uploaded the previous evening at 9:43 p.m.
The description was almost identical to the one she had written in her original design portfolio.
It even included the name she had chosen for the gown.
Midnight Promise.
Amara's chair scraped backward.
“How?””
She immediately checked her email history.
Her original application had been submitted three weeks earlier. She had uploaded photographs of the unfinished dress, sketches, measurements, and a short video explaining her design inspiration.
Only she and the competition organizers should have had access to those materials.
But there was something else.
At the bottom of Brielle's application, a declaration stated:
I confirm that I am the original creator and sole owner of this design.
Amara covered her mouth.
Her stepsister hadn't simply stolen the dress.
She had stolen her identity as a designer.
A knock sounded.
“Amara?””
It was Vanessa.
Amara quickly minimized the page.
“What?””
Vanessa pushed the door open without waiting for permission.
She was holding a garment bag.
“Come downstairs. Brielle needs you to make some adjustments.””
Amara stared at her.
“Adjustments?””
“Yes. The waist is a little loose, and the straps need tightening. You're good with sewing, aren't you?””
For a moment, Amara couldn't speak.
“You want me to alter the dress you just stole?””
Vanessa sighed as though Amara were being unreasonable.
“Don't use that word. Brielle is your sister.””
“She isn't my sister when she wants my work, but suddenly she is when she needs something?””
Vanessa placed the garment bag on the bed.
“Listen carefully. Brielle has an important event coming up. Your father wants this family to look united. Don't embarrass us.””
Amara looked at the bag.
Then at Vanessa.
“Did you know she submitted my dress to the competition?””
Vanessa's expression changed for half a second.
It was brief.
But Amara noticed.
“What are you talking about?”” Vanessa asked.
“Brielle entered the Rising Designers Competition using my design.””
Vanessa crossed her arms.
“And?””
Amara stared at her.
“And it's plagiarism. I have the original sketches, the photographs, the receipts, and the entire creation process.””
Vanessa gave a dismissive laugh.
“Don't start throwing around big words because you're upset.””
“It's not a big word. It's theft.””
Vanessa stepped closer.
“Your father has worked hard to provide for this family. Brielle has opportunities that you don't understand. You should be happy for her.””
“Happy that she's pretending to be me?””
“Lower your voice.””
“No.””
Vanessa's jaw tightened.
“Do you want me to call your father?””
Amara nodded.
“Please do. I'd love to ask him why he thinks it's acceptable for his daughter to steal another person's work.””
Vanessa grabbed the garment bag.
“You ungrateful girl.””
She stormed out.
But she didn't take the bag with her.
Amara waited until the footsteps disappeared before opening it.
Inside was her gown.
The fabric looked slightly wrinkled, but the embroidery remained intact.
Then she noticed something.
A small white tag had been sewn into the inside lining.
It wasn't hers.
It read:
*BRIELLE WILLIAMS — ORIGINAL DESIGNER.*
Amara pulled out her phone and photographed it.
Then she carefully examined the lining.
The USB drive was still hidden beneath the inner waist panel, exactly where she had placed it.
But the small encrypted pocket beside it had been opened.
Someone had searched the dress.
Amara's pulse quickened.
She turned the gown inside out and inspected the seams.
A tiny piece of blue thread had been cut.
That wasn't accidental.
Someone had been looking for something.
She reached for the USB drive and plugged it into her laptop.
A folder appeared.
Inside were hundreds of photographs, sketches, and video clips documenting the gown's creation.
But there was one additional file.
A recording labeled:
*MOM_FINAL_MESSAGE.*
Amara's fingers stopped.
Her mother had died six years earlier.
She had left Amara the silver USB drive shortly before her death, telling her never to throw it away.
At the time, Amara thought it contained old family photographs.
She had never opened that particular folder.
With a shaking hand, she clicked the recording.
Her mother's face appeared on the screen.
She looked tired, but she smiled.
“Hello, my beautiful girl.””
Amara immediately covered her mouth.
“Mom…”
The recording continued.
“If you're watching this, it probably means you've started creating your own designs. I wish I could be there to see them.””
Amara's eyes filled with tears.
Her mother continued.
“There's something I need you to know. The money I left for your education and future wasn't the only thing I protected. I also kept copies of every original design I created before I became ill.””
The video paused briefly.
Then her mother leaned closer to the camera.
“Some of those designs were stolen from me. I discovered who did it, but I never had the strength to fight them.””
Amara sat upright.
“Who?”” she whispered.
Her mother's voice became softer.
“If anyone ever tries to take your work, look inside the folder marked LEGACY. The truth is there. And remember, sweetheart, never trust someone simply because they share your last name.””
The recording ended.
Amara stared at the screen.
She opened the LEGACY folder.
There were old sketches, signed contracts, scanned letters, and photographs.
One document caught her attention.
It was a legal agreement dated eight years earlier.
Her mother's signature appeared at the bottom.
Beside it was another signature.
*VANESSA HARRINGTON.*
Amara's breath caught.
Why would her mother have a contract with Vanessa?
She opened the document.
The first paragraph described a fashion partnership involving an original collection.
The second paragraph mentioned stolen designs.
And the third paragraph contained a clause that made Amara's entire body go cold.
Vanessa had been legally accused of selling her mother's original designs under another person's name.
But the case had mysteriously been withdrawn before reaching court.
Amara printed the document.
Then she heard laughter downstairs.
Brielle was talking on the phone.
“Of course I'm entering the competition! The judges are going to love it. That dress is practically made for me.””
Amara approached the bedroom door.
Brielle continued.
“And the best part? Amara doesn't have proof of anything.””
A pause.
Then Brielle laughed.
“Even if she complains, Mom will make sure Dad shuts her up.””
Amara stepped away from the door.
She looked at the document in her hands.
Then she looked at the photograph of her mother.
“I'm sorry I didn't open this sooner.””
Her phone vibrated again.
This time, it was a text from an unknown number.
*I KNOW WHAT VANESSA DID TO YOUR MOTHER. IF YOU WANT THE FULL STORY, MEET ME TOMORROW AT 10 A.M. — ELEANOR PRICE.*
Amara frowned.
Eleanor Price.
The name sounded familiar.
She searched it online.
A photograph appeared.
Eleanor Price was the founder and chief judge of the Rising Designers Competition.
And beneath her photograph was an article with a headline that made Amara's heart pound.
*FASHION ICON ELEANOR PRICE REVEALS HER FORMER BUSINESS PARTNER DISAPPEARED AFTER A MAJOR DESIGN THEFT SCANDAL.*
Amara looked back at the message.
May you like
Then another message arrived.
*BRING THE USB. AND WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T TELL VANESSA I'M CONTACTING YOU.*
