Chapter 3: The Whisper That Changed Everything
I found Dad in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a cup of untouched coffee.
He looked exhausted.
"What's going on?"" I asked.
He glanced up.
"Nothing, sweetheart.""
I placed my phone in front of him.
"Someone sent me this.""
He read the message.
His face went pale.
"Who sent it?""
"I don't know. But what did Vanessa tell you?""
Dad pushed his chair back.
"Emily, this isn't something you need to worry about.""
"Then why are you acting like it is?""
He looked toward the staircase.
Before he could answer, Vanessa appeared wearing a white blouse and an innocent expression.
"What's happening?""
I turned toward her.
"What did you tell Dad about my scholarship?""
She blinked.
"Excuse me?""
"The fashion academy. What did you whisper to him?""
Vanessa looked at Dad.
Then she sighed dramatically.
"Are we really doing this?""
"Answer me.""
She crossed her arms.
"Fine. I told him what I found out.""
"What did you find out?""
"That you've been lying.""
My stomach tightened.
"About what?""
Vanessa glanced at Dad.
"Tell her.""
Dad stood.
"Vanessa, stop.""
But she continued.
"She submitted photographs of her dress months ago. And now she's pretending this new design is completely original.""
I stared at her.
"That's ridiculous. I made both dresses.""
"Did you?"" Vanessa asked.
"Because I saw some of your mother's old sketches. Some of those designs look exactly like the dress you're making.""
"They're my mother's drawings. She taught me how to sew.""
"Exactly. So how do we know you didn't just copy her work and pretend it was yours?""
My mouth fell open.
Dad rubbed his forehead.
"Vanessa told me the academy might disqualify you if they believe your entry isn't original.""
I turned toward him.
"You believe her?""
"I didn't say that.""
"But you haven't defended me either.""
He looked down.
Vanessa leaned against the counter.
"I'm just trying to protect this family from embarrassment.""
I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"You poured paint over my dress. Now you're accusing me of stealing my mother's designs?""
"Don't be dramatic.""
"Why are you doing this?""
Her expression hardened.
"Because not everything in this house needs to revolve around you.""
Dad slammed his palm against the table.
"Enough!""
The kitchen fell silent.
He looked at Vanessa.
"You've gone too far.""
For a second, I thought he was finally going to stand up for me.
Then he turned toward me.
"Emily, maybe you should withdraw from the showcase until we understand what's happening.""
I felt the floor shift beneath my feet.
"What?""
"Just temporarily.""
"The scholarship application closes tonight.""
"I know.""
"Then there is no temporary.""
Dad lowered his voice.
"I don't want you getting hurt.""
I stared at him.
"She's the one hurting me.""
Vanessa shrugged.
"Nobody is forcing you to enter.""
I walked away before I said something I couldn't take back.
In my bedroom, I locked the door.
My dress stood on the mannequin near the window.
The crystals caught the afternoon sunlight. The crimson roses looked almost alive against the midnight-blue fabric.
I sat beside it and opened Mom's sketchbook.
For the first time, I noticed something written beneath the original design.
A small note in her handwriting:
Every design has a story. Keep the original sketches, fabric samples, and measurements. One day, someone may ask how you made it.
I stared at the words.
Then I remembered something.
I had kept everything.
Every photograph.
Every receipt.
Every sketch.
Every dated video of myself sewing the original gown.
I even had footage of the dress before Vanessa poured the paint over it.
I opened my laptop.
My design folder was still there.
I began organizing the evidence.
The original sketches were dated four months earlier. The fabric receipts carried my name. My progress photographs showed every stage of construction.
And the video from the laundry room?
It showed Vanessa holding the bucket.
I had accidentally started recording earlier that afternoon because I was making a video diary about finishing my dress.
I'd forgotten to stop it.
My hands began shaking.
I opened the footage.
There she was.
Vanessa walked into the laundry room carrying the bucket. She looked directly at the camera, which was sitting on the washing machine.
Then she smiled.
She lifted the bucket.
And poured the paint.
But that wasn't the part that made my blood run cold.
Just before she left, Vanessa spoke into her phone.
"Yeah, I did it," she whispered.
"Now she won't have anything to show those judges.""
A pause.
Then she laughed.
"Don't worry. I'll make sure she never gets that scholarship.""
I replayed the recording.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then I heard another voice through the phone speaker.
A woman's voice.
"Good. Your father will handle the rest.""
I stopped breathing.
Because I recognized that voice.
It belonged to Diane.
Vanessa's mother.
The woman who had spent two years pretending she wanted to be part of our family.
I saved the video in three different places.
Then I opened my email and found the academy's contact information.
Before I could type a message, my bedroom door rattled.
"Emily!"" Dad called.
"Open the door.""
I unlocked it.
He stood there holding a printed document.
"I need you to read this.""
I took the paper.
It was a formal withdrawal request for the prom fashion showcase.
My name was already typed at the bottom.
"Why are you giving me this?""
Dad looked uncomfortable.
"Vanessa and Diane think it's best if you step away from the competition.""
I stared at him.
"They think?""
He swallowed.
"There's something else. Diane says she spoke with someone from the academy.""
My fingers tightened around the paper.
"What did she say?""
Dad hesitated.
"She claims they received an anonymous complaint accusing you of copying your mother's designs and submitting them as your own.""
My heart pounded.
"Who sent the complaint?""
He didn't answer.
Then he said something that made my entire body go cold.
"Emily, the academy has requested an interview with you tomorrow morning.""
I looked at him.
"An interview?""
He nodded.
"They want you to explain why your original submission and your mother's private sketches look so similar.""
I almost laughed.
They weren't similar because I'd stolen anything.
They were similar because my mother had designed the original gown with me in mind.
But then Dad handed me a second page.
It was a printed photograph.
A photograph of Mom's final sketch.
And beneath it was a handwritten statement claiming that I had taken the design from her private notebook without permission.
At the bottom was a signature.
My father's signature.
I looked up slowly.
"Did you sign this?""
Dad's eyes filled with guilt.
"Emily, I was told it was only a statement confirming that the sketch belonged to your mother.""
"Then why does it say I stole it?""
He opened his mouth.
But before he could answer, Vanessa appeared behind him.
She was smiling.
And she held another document in her hand.
"There's one more thing you should know," she said.
She placed it on top of the withdrawal form.
It was a photograph of a midnight-blue gown with crimson roses.
Almost identical to mine.
But the name printed beneath the design wasn't mine.
It was Vanessa Carter.
And the submission date was two days earlier.
Vanessa leaned closer and whispered:
"Looks like someone beat you to your own dream.""
I stared at the photograph.
Then I noticed the tiny detail in the bottom corner.
A handwritten note.
Three words.
Property of Diane.
And suddenly, I understood.
May you like
They hadn't just planned to stop me from winning the scholarship.
They had planned to steal the dress itself.
