GIVE ME THAT DRESS! IT BELONGS TO ME NOW!

At exactly 9:57 the following morning, Amara stood outside a small café on Madison Avenue.

She hadn't slept.

All night, she had reviewed her mother's files, photographing every document and saving copies to three separate accounts.

She had also discovered something disturbing.

Vanessa hadn't simply been involved in a dispute over stolen designs.

She had once worked as her mother's business manager.

And shortly before her mother died, she had transferred ownership of several designs into a company registered under her own name.

Amara had always believed her mother had given up her fashion career because of her illness.

Now she wondered whether someone had forced her to give it up.

The café door opened.

A tall woman in a charcoal-gray coat stepped outside.

“Amara Williams?””

Amara nodded.

“Eleanor Price?””

The woman studied her face.

For a moment, her expression softened.

“You have your mother's eyes.””

Amara swallowed.

“You knew her?””

Eleanor looked toward the street.

“Better than you can imagine. Come inside. We have a lot to discuss.””

They sat at a corner table.

Eleanor ordered black coffee and placed a thick folder between them.

“I received your original competition application,” she began.

Amara leaned forward.

“Then you know Brielle stole my dress.””

“I know someone submitted your design under her name. I also know your application was altered after submission.””

Amara frowned.

“Altered how?””

Eleanor opened the folder and turned a laptop toward her.

Two versions of the application appeared.

The first was Amara's original submission.

The second contained Brielle's information.

The photographs were identical.

Even the timestamps were visible.

“Your original application was received three weeks ago,” Eleanor explained.

“Someone accessed the system using your household's shared internet address and attempted to replace your designer profile.””

Amara's face went pale.

“Can you tell who did it?””

“We're investigating.””

Eleanor paused.

“But there's something more important. Your mother was supposed to be one of the founding designers of this competition.””

Amara blinked.

“What?””

“Six years ago, before she became seriously ill, she developed a collection called The Midnight Garden. It was supposed to launch internationally.””

Eleanor opened an old photograph.

Amara recognized her mother immediately.

She was standing beside Eleanor in a fashion studio, surrounded by sketches and fabric samples.

She looked happy.

Confident.

Alive.

Eleanor continued.

“Vanessa was handling the business side of the collection. One morning, we discovered that several designs had been registered under a different company. Your mother confronted her.””

“And what happened?””

“Vanessa claimed your mother had given her permission. She produced documents to support the claim.””

Amara gripped the edge of the table.

“My mother would never have done that.””

“I know.””

Eleanor lowered her voice.

“Your mother told me the documents were forged. But before we could challenge them, she withdrew from the case.””

“Why?””

Eleanor hesitated.

“Because someone threatened to expose information about your father's business if she continued.””

Amara felt the blood drain from her face.

“My father?””

“Richard Williams was struggling financially at the time. Vanessa knew it. Your mother believed that if she continued fighting, your father could lose everything.””

Amara stared at the photograph.

All those years, she had thought her father had simply moved on after her mother's death.

Now she wondered whether he had known more than he had ever admitted.

Eleanor slid another document across the table.

“This is the original ownership agreement for The Midnight Garden collection.””

Amara scanned the page.

Her mother's signature was there.

So was Eleanor's.

And at the bottom, a clause stated that the collection's remaining intellectual property rights would pass to Amara Williams upon her eighteenth birthday.

Amara looked up.

“I'm twenty-two.””

“Exactly.””

Eleanor nodded.

“Which means those rights belong to you.””

Amara stared at the paper.

“Then Vanessa has been using my mother's designs illegally?””

“Potentially. We need a lawyer to review everything, but the evidence is significant.””

Amara opened her bag and removed the silver USB drive.

“I found these documents yesterday.””

Eleanor's expression changed.

“Where did you get that?””

“My mother left it to me.””

Eleanor slowly reached for the drive.

“Your mother told me she had kept a complete backup of the original collection. I never knew where she stored it.””

Amara hesitated.

“There's something else. My stepsister took my competition dress yesterday. She registered it under her name.””

Eleanor's eyes narrowed.

“Brielle Williams?””

“Yes.””

Eleanor closed the folder.

“Then we need to act quickly.””

“Why?””

“Because the preliminary judging takes place tomorrow evening. If Brielle presents the dress as her own, the competition could publicly recognize her as its creator.””

Amara looked down.

“Can you stop her?””

“I can suspend the entry pending an ownership investigation. But I need you to understand something. If Vanessa is involved, she won't surrender quietly.””

Amara nodded.

“I'm not asking her to.””

For the first time that morning, Eleanor smiled.

“Your mother used to say exactly that.””

They spent another hour reviewing documents.

Before Amara left, Eleanor gave her a business card.

“Call me if anything happens. And don't confront Vanessa without making sure your evidence is secure.””

Amara promised.

But when she returned home, she found her father waiting in the living room.

Richard stood beside the fireplace, holding a printed photograph of the gown.

Vanessa sat on the sofa.

Brielle was beside her, wearing the dress.

Amara stopped in the doorway.

The gown had been altered.

The waist had been tightened, the neckline adjusted, and a sparkling silver belt had been added.

Brielle stood up and turned around.

“Surprise! I had it fitted. Doesn't it look amazing?””

Amara stared at the dress.

“You had someone alter my original design?””

Brielle rolled her eyes.

“Don't be jealous. It looks better on me anyway.””

Richard placed the photograph on the coffee table.

“Sit down, Amara.””

“Why?””

“Because we're going to discuss something important.””

Vanessa folded her hands.

“Your sister has been selected as a finalist in the Rising Designers Competition.””

Amara almost laughed.

“She's not a designer.””

Brielle gasped.

“Dad! Did you hear that?””

Richard slammed his hand against the table.

“Enough! You're going to stop trying to ruin your sister's opportunities.””

Amara stared at him.

“Have you even seen the application?””

“Yes. Brielle showed it to me.””

“Did you see the original sketches?””

Richard frowned.

“What sketches?””

“The sketches I made seven months ago. The photographs I took during construction. The receipts for every piece of fabric. The videos documenting every stitch.””

Vanessa suddenly stood.

“Why are you making this so complicated?””

“Because it's my work!””

Brielle crossed her arms.

“Prove it.””

Amara turned toward her.

“I will.””

Brielle laughed.

“You don't have anything.””

Amara slowly reached into her bag.

She pulled out a printed document.

Then another.

Then a photograph of the unfinished gown, dated seven months earlier.

Brielle's smile faltered.

“What is that?””

“Proof.””

Vanessa's face lost its color.

Richard picked up the documents.

His eyes moved across the first page.

Then the second.

Finally, he looked at Vanessa.

“What is this?””

Vanessa quickly stepped forward.

“Richard, she's twisting things. Those are just old papers.””

Amara placed one final document on the table.

It was the ownership agreement signed by her mother.

Richard stared at the signature.

His expression changed completely.

“Where did you get this?””

“Mom left it to me.””

Vanessa snatched the document.

“That's not yours!””

The words escaped before she could stop herself.

Silence filled the room.

Amara looked directly at her.

“How do you know?””

Vanessa's fingers tightened around the paper.

Richard slowly turned toward his wife.

“Vanessa?””

For the first time, Brielle looked genuinely frightened.

“Mom, what's going on?””

Vanessa forced a laugh.

“Nothing. Amara is trying to create problems because she can't stand seeing you succeed.””

But Richard wasn't looking at Amara anymore.

He was staring at the document.

Then he noticed a handwritten note attached to the back.

His face went white.

He recognized the handwriting immediately.

It belonged to his first wife.

He carefully removed the note and read it aloud.

“Richard, if Vanessa ever comes back into our lives asking about the Midnight Garden collection, don't trust her. She knows what she did.””

Richard's hands began to shake.

He looked at Vanessa.

Then at Amara.

“Tell me this isn't true.””

Vanessa opened her mouth.

But before she could answer, Brielle's phone rang.

She glanced at the screen.

A moment later, her expression changed.

“Mom…”

“What?””

“The competition just sent me an email.””

Brielle swallowed.

“They've suspended my entry.””

Amara remained silent.

Brielle read the message again, her fingers trembling.

Then she looked up.

“There's another problem.””

Vanessa grabbed the phone.

“What now?””

Brielle whispered the words that made everyone freeze.

“They've invited the original designer to appear before the judges tomorrow.””

Her eyes shifted toward Amara.

“And they're asking her to bring the dress.””

Vanessa slowly turned toward her stepdaughter.

For the first time, she wasn't looking at Amara like an annoying girl who needed to be controlled.

She was looking at her like someone who had just discovered that the person she had bullied for years possessed the one thing she had spent her entire life trying to hide.

The truth.