Chapter 1: The Dress She Tried to Destroy
“Look at you, pretending you're going to be the prettiest girl at prom.””
I froze in front of my bedroom mirror.
Vanessa stood in the doorway, holding a metal bucket filled with red paint. Her perfectly manicured fingers curled around its handle, and her lips stretched into the kind of smile that always meant trouble.
I looked down at my pale blue dress.
It was beautiful. Or at least, I thought it was.
The fitted bodice hugged my waist, while the soft skirt flowed to the floor. Tiny silver beads decorated the neckline. I'd spent four months saving for the fabric, another two months working extra shifts at the bakery, and countless evenings sewing it together.
It was the first dress I'd ever made entirely by myself.
More importantly, it was supposed to be my first real prom.
“Vanessa, what are you doing?”” I asked.
She stepped into my bedroom.
“Just looking at your little masterpiece.””
“Get out of my room.””
Her eyes traveled over the dress before settling on my face.
“You actually think people are going to notice you tonight?””
I turned toward her.
“Please. I don't want to argue.””
“That's because you know I'm right.””
Vanessa was my stepsister. Our parents had married three years earlier, and ever since then, she'd treated me like an unwanted guest in my own house.
Her father was wealthy. Mine had died when I was twelve, and my mother had passed away two years later after a long illness.
When my stepfather, Richard, married Vanessa's mother, Patricia, I thought I might finally have a family again.
I was wrong.
Vanessa got a designer bedroom, expensive vacations, and a new car for her sixteenth birthday.
I got a smaller bedroom upstairs and constant reminders that I should be grateful to live under their roof.
But I never complained.
I worked at Miller's Bakery after school, paid for my own clothes, and saved every dollar I could.
That dress was proof that I could build something beautiful without anyone's help.
Vanessa knew that.
And she hated it.
“Your mother would be embarrassed seeing you dressed like that,” she said.
My fingers tightened around the edge of my vanity.
“Don't bring my mother into this.””
“Why? It's true. She couldn't even afford to buy you a proper prom dress.””
“Get out.””
Vanessa tilted her head.
Then she lifted the bucket.
I barely had time to understand what she was doing.
The red paint came flying.
It struck my chest first, then splattered across the bodice and poured down the pale blue skirt. Thick crimson streaks spread over the fabric, dripping onto the carpet.
I screamed.
“What is wrong with you?””
Vanessa dropped the empty bucket onto my bed.
“There! Now you have nothing to wear. Nobody will ever look at you twice.””
I stared at the ruined dress.
The paint smelled sharp and chemical. My hands trembled as I tried to wipe some of it away, only spreading the stain farther.
“Vanessa, why would you do this?””
She laughed.
“Because I can.””
Then she walked out.
I heard her footsteps disappear down the hallway.
A moment later, her bedroom door slammed.
I sank onto the floor.
For several minutes, I couldn't move.
The dress lay against my legs, heavy with paint. My savings. My evenings at the bakery. The tiny crystals I'd carefully attached one by one.
All destroyed in less than ten seconds.
I pressed my hands against my face.
I wanted my mother.
I wanted someone to come upstairs, hug me, and tell me everything would be okay.
But nobody came.
Instead, I heard Patricia calling from downstairs.
“Vanessa, darling! Are you ready? We need to leave for your hair appointment!””
Vanessa answered cheerfully.
“Almost, Mom!””
I looked toward the door.
Not once did either of them ask why I'd screamed.
I slowly stood and carried the dress to my sewing table.
My mother's old sewing machine sat beside the window. She'd taught me to use it when I was nine.
I could still hear her voice.
Never let someone else's cruelty decide what you're capable of.
I ran my fingers over the ruined fabric.
Then I noticed something.
The red paint hadn't spread evenly.
Some sections had absorbed the pigment, while others had formed thick, raised patterns along the folds. The crimson streaks looked almost like petals.
I pulled a chair closer.
My sketchbook was beneath the table.
I flipped through pages of designs I'd drawn over the past year. Most were ideas I'd never had the money or confidence to create.
Then I stopped at one.
A gown covered in sculpted roses.
I looked at the ruined dress again.
Slowly, an idea began forming.
If I couldn't remove the red paint, perhaps I could make it part of the design.
I grabbed my scissors.
At 8:47 p.m., I cut the first section of stained fabric.
At 9:15, I removed the original neckline.
At 10:00, I began reshaping the bodice.
My phone buzzed.
A message from my best friend, Lily.
*Lily:* Are you okay? I heard something happened at your house.
I typed back.
*Me:* Vanessa ruined my dress.
Three dots appeared immediately.
*Lily:* WHAT? I'm coming over.
*Me:* Don't. I have an idea.
*Lily:* What kind of idea?
I looked at the fabric spread across my desk.
*Me:* I'm going to make something better.
At midnight, my fingers were sore.
At 2:00 a.m., I'd sewn the first crimson rose.
At 4:30, the gown had a new silhouette, a dramatic off-shoulder neckline, and layers of sheer fabric that floated around the skirt.
I used silver thread to outline the red petals.
Then I added tiny crystals to the center of each flower.
The dress was no longer pale blue.
It was something entirely different.
Something bold.
Something that looked as if someone had taken a garden of roses and captured it in fabric.
Outside, the sky slowly changed from black to gray.
I stepped away from the sewing machine.
My back ached. My eyes burned. A small cut on my finger had left a spot of blood on the measuring tape.
But the gown was finished.
I stood in front of the mirror.
For the first time that night, I smiled.
Then my phone rang.
It was Lily.
“Emma,” she said breathlessly, “you need to check your email. The academy just posted something.””
I frowned.
“What are you talking about?””
“The prom scholarship announcement. They changed the rules.””
I glanced at the dress.
“What rules?””
Lily paused.
“Emma, they're not just judging the best-dressed student anymore. They're looking for the most original design.””
My heart began beating faster.
“And?””
“And the winner gets a full scholarship to the city's most prestigious fashion design academy.””
I stared at my reflection.
Then Lily said something that made me grip the phone tighter.
“There's one more thing. The judges have already seen photographs of the dresses students submitted.””
I swallowed.
“What photographs?””
“Someone sent them a picture of your ruined dress.””
My smile disappeared.
Because I knew exactly who had taken that photograph.
May you like
Vanessa.
And I had no idea what she'd told them.
