Chapter 1: The Stolen Dress
“You stole my dress, ruined it, and took my bag!””
My voice cracked through the marble hallway of my father's mansion, loud enough to make the housekeeper freeze halfway up the stairs.
Brianna didn't even look embarrassed.
My twenty-three-year-old stepsister stood beneath the crystal chandelier, admiring herself in the mirror beside the grand staircase. Her sleek ponytail fell perfectly down her back, and the sparkling evening gown she wore caught every shaft of daylight streaming through the tall windows.
At the bottom of that gown was a large, ugly brown stain.
And hanging from her wrist was my jeweled handbag.
The handbag my grandmother had given me before she died.
Brianna tilted it toward the light, inspecting the clasp as though she'd bought it herself.
“Oh, Maya,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“You always make everything so dramatic.””
I stared at her.
“That dress was hanging in my bedroom. My bedroom, Brianna. And you somehow managed to spill something all over it before taking the one thing I specifically told you never to touch.””
She lifted the handbag higher.
“This?””
My fingers curled into my palms.
“Give it back.””
Brianna laughed softly.
“Or what?””
Behind her, my stepmother, Phyllis, appeared from the sitting room wearing a beige designer dress and a look of practiced irritation. Her straightened bob barely moved as she approached us.
“What is all this noise?”” she demanded.
I pointed at Brianna.
“She went into my room, took my dress, stained it, and stole Grandma's handbag.””
Phyllis glanced at the gown.
Then at the handbag.
Then she did something I would remember for the rest of my life.
She shrugged.
“It's just a dress.””
I felt the words land harder than a slap.
“It's a custom-made dress,” I said.
“And that bag belonged to my grandmother.””
“Your grandmother left you plenty of things,” Phyllis replied.
“You can afford to lose one.””
I stared at her in disbelief.
The bag wasn't valuable because of its price. It was valuable because Grandma had held my hand in the hospital during her final days and told me never to let anyone make me feel small in my own home.
Now Brianna was wearing my dress, holding my grandmother's handbag, and smiling as if she had won a prize.
I took one step forward.
“Brianna. Hand it over.””
She clutched the bag against her chest.
“No.””
“I'm not asking again.””
“Mom said I could keep it for Hawaii.””
My head snapped toward Phyllis.
“What?””
Phyllis lifted her chin.
“Your father spent twelve thousand dollars on our vacation. Brianna needed something appropriate to wear, and you have more clothes than you can possibly use.””
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
“You gave her permission to go through my things?””
“I gave her permission to borrow something.””
“She didn't borrow it. She took it without asking.””
Phyllis stepped between us and pointed a manicured finger at my face.
“Watch your tone. This family has done more for you than you appreciate.””
I almost laughed.
This family.
Those two words had been used against me for years.
When Brianna wanted a new car, Dad was reminded that family supported family.
When Phyllis wanted to renovate the upstairs bedrooms, Dad was told that everyone deserved to feel comfortable.
When I asked for help with my college expenses, I was told that I was old enough to learn independence.
I had learned independence very well.
At twenty-four, I paid my own bills, worked as a freelance interior designer, and covered the expenses of the small studio I used for client meetings.
But I still lived in my father's mansion while saving for a place of my own. Dad had insisted I stay until I was financially comfortable enough to leave.
He had always told me that his house would remain my home.
Apparently, Phyllis had a different definition of home.
“Give me my grandmother's bag,” I said quietly.
Brianna opened the clasp and peered inside.
“Honestly, Maya, this thing is cute, but it doesn't even fit my makeup.””
She pulled out a lipstick and tossed it onto the console table.
Then she took a compact mirror from her own purse and placed it inside my bag.
The casualness of the gesture made my stomach twist.
“Stop touching it,” I said.
Brianna snapped the clasp shut.
“Make me.””
Phyllis grabbed my forearm.
“Enough! You're embarrassing your sister.””
I looked down at her hand.
“Let go of me.””
“Not until you calm down.””
“Phyllis.””
The voice came from the far end of the hallway.
My father stood in the doorway of his study, a phone in one hand and his reading glasses in the other. Michael Carter was fifty-six, with a short gray fade, broad shoulders, and the kind of quiet presence that usually made people lower their voices without being asked.
He looked from Phyllis's hand on my arm to Brianna's stolen handbag.
Then he looked at the stain on the dress.
“What happened here?””
Phyllis immediately released me.
“Nothing serious, Michael. The girls are having a disagreement.””
“A disagreement?”” I repeated.
Dad raised one hand gently.
“Maya, tell me.””
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“Brianna took my dress and Grandma's bag. She spilled something on the dress, and Phyllis says Brianna can keep the bag because we're all going to Hawaii.””
Dad's expression changed.
Not dramatically.
His eyebrows simply drew together, and his gaze settled on the handbag.
“Is that the bag your grandmother gave you?””
I nodded.
He looked at Brianna.
“Where did you get it?””
Brianna gave him a sweet smile.
“Mom said I could borrow it.””
“Borrow it?”” Dad asked.
“That's what I said.””
“Then why did Maya say you stole it?””
Brianna's smile faltered.
Phyllis stepped forward.
“Michael, please. This is ridiculous. The vacation leaves tomorrow, and everyone is already stressed.””
Dad ignored her.
He walked toward Brianna, stopping a few feet away.
“Show me the dress.””
She turned slightly, hiding the stain with her hand.
“It's fine.””
“Brianna.””
Her jaw tightened.
She reluctantly lifted the hem.
The brown stain spread across the sparkling fabric, dark and unmistakable.
Dad stared at it for several seconds.
Then he looked at me.
“Did you buy this dress yourself?””
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I used the money from my last design project.””
He nodded slowly.
Then he took out his phone.
Phyllis's face relaxed, apparently convinced he was about to send me money to replace the dress.
But Dad didn't open his banking app.
He opened the family's travel booking.
“What are you doing?”” Phyllis asked.
Dad scrolled through the reservation details.
“The Hawaii trip,” he said.
Brianna laughed nervously.
“Dad, don't tell me you're getting involved in a dress argument.””
He looked up.
“I'm getting involved in theft, disrespect, and the treatment of my daughter in my own home.””
Phyllis stepped toward him.
“Michael, be reasonable.””
Dad turned the screen toward himself and tapped the cancellation option.
Then he spoke in a voice so calm that everyone in the hallway went silent.
“That twelve-thousand-dollar Hawaii vacation? I'm canceling it.””
For the first time that morning, Brianna stopped smiling.
Phyllis lunged for his phone.
“Michael, stop!””
He moved it out of her reach and pressed the final confirmation button.
A notification chimed.
*CANCELLATION CONFIRMED.*
Dad lowered the phone.
Phyllis stared at him as if he had struck her.
Brianna's fingers loosened around my grandmother's handbag.
But Dad wasn't finished.
He looked directly at Phyllis.
“And since we're finally discussing what belongs to whom, there's something else you need to know about this house.””
His eyes shifted toward the study.
“Bring me the blue folder.””
I knew that folder.
I'd seen it on his desk two days earlier.
And when Phyllis saw the color of the folder he was asking for, every trace of anger disappeared from her face.
May you like
She looked frightened.
Because whatever was inside that folder, she clearly knew it wasn't about a dress.
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