Chapter 3: The Secret Behind the Dress
Nia read the message three times.
Ask your grandmother why Vanessa Bellamy hates your mother.
The words seemed to glow against the dark phone screen.
She looked at the sender's number.
Unknown.
No name.
No profile picture.
Just a warning.
Nia immediately typed a reply.
*NIA:* Who is this?
The message showed as delivered.
No response came.
She tried calling the number.
A recorded voice informed her that the number was unavailable.
Nia lowered the phone.
Something about the message frightened her more than Vanessa's earlier insults.
She knew Vanessa disliked her.
That much was obvious.
But why would Vanessa hate her mother?
Camille had been gone for three years. She had never spoken badly about the Bellamy family, at least not in front of Nia.
There were moments, however, when her mother had become unusually quiet whenever the Bellamy name appeared on television.
Nia remembered one particular evening.
She had been sitting on the living-room floor, drawing a dress.
Her mother was folding laundry.
A fashion interview played on the television.
The interviewer introduced Richard Bellamy, founder of the Bellamy fashion group.
Camille had stopped folding.
Her hands had gone completely still.
Nia had looked up.
"Mom, what's wrong?""
Camille had turned off the television.
"Nothing, sweetheart.""
"Do you know him?""
Her mother had forced a smile.
"Some people are better left in the past.""
At the time, Nia hadn't understood.
Now, the memory returned with uncomfortable clarity.
She picked up her phone and called her grandmother.
Evelyn answered after the second ring.
"Hello, baby?""
"Grandma, I need to ask you something.""
"What's wrong? Are you still at the gala?""
"Yes.""
"Have you eaten anything?""
"Grandma, please.""
Evelyn went quiet.
Nia looked at the ruined scraps of white fabric beside the worktable.
"Do you know Vanessa Bellamy?""
"Of course. Why?""
"Did she know Mom?""
A pause.
Then another.
"Why are you asking me that?""
Nia swallowed.
"Because someone told me Vanessa hates Mom.""
The silence on the other end of the phone was immediate.
Nia stood.
"Grandma?""
Evelyn exhaled slowly.
"Where did you hear that?""
"Does it matter?""
"It matters very much.""
"Grandma, what happened?""
Before Evelyn could answer, a loud knock sounded at the dressing-room door.
Nia turned.
"Someone's here. I'll call you back.""
"Wait, Nia. Don't—"
The call disconnected.
Nia stared at her phone.
Then the door opened.
Vanessa stood in the doorway.
Her champagne satin gown shimmered beneath the overhead lights. Her expression was calm, but her eyes moved immediately toward the worktable.
"What are you doing?""
Nia placed her phone down.
"Finishing my dress.""
Vanessa stepped inside.
"Still?""
Nia didn't answer.
Vanessa examined the blue fabric.
For the first time, her expression changed.
The paint-covered gown was becoming something extraordinary.
The gold embroidery caught the light, and the layers of blue tulle created a beautiful gradient across the front.
Vanessa moved closer.
"Who told you to do that?""
"No one.""
"That design looks familiar.""
Nia looked up.
"It's from my mother's sketchbook.""
Vanessa's face tightened.
"Your mother's sketchbook?""
"Yes.""
Vanessa reached for the notebook.
Nia immediately pulled it away.
"Don't touch that.""
Vanessa laughed.
"Excuse me?""
"It's mine.""
"Everything in this building belongs to the Bellamy family.""
Nia stood between Vanessa and the worktable.
"Not my mother's things.""
Vanessa stared at her.
Then she looked down at the golden flowers.
"Where did you get those appliqués?""
"My mother saved them.""
"Interesting.""
Vanessa reached into her small satin handbag and removed a folded piece of paper.
She unfolded it.
It was a photograph.
A younger woman stood in front of a fashion studio, wearing a blue-and-gold ballgown.
Nia's breath caught.
It was her mother.
The dress was almost identical to the design she was creating.
Nia took a step closer.
"Where did you get that?""
Vanessa folded the photograph.
"Your mother had a habit of taking things that didn't belong to her.""
Nia shook her head.
"That's not true.""
"Isn't it?""
"She designed everything herself.""
Vanessa gave a cold smile.
"That's what she told you?""
Nia felt her heartbeat quicken.
"What are you talking about?""
Vanessa walked toward the mirror.
"Your mother and my father had a disagreement many years ago. She was supposed to create a collection for our company.""
"Mom never told me about that.""
"Of course she didn't.""
Vanessa examined her reflection.
"She left before the collection was completed. My father lost a fortune because of her.""
Nia frowned.
"Why would she leave?""
Vanessa turned.
"Because she wasn't as innocent as you think.""
"You're lying.""
Vanessa's expression hardened.
"Watch your mouth.""
Nia lifted her chin.
"My mother worked harder than anyone I know. She never stole anything.""
Vanessa stepped closer.
"Then perhaps you should ask your grandmother what happened to the original designs.""
Nia's eyes widened.
Before she could respond, Adrian appeared in the doorway.
"Vanessa, what are you doing in here?""
"Checking on our little designer.""
Adrian looked at the dress.
He stopped.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he approached the worktable.
"Did you make this?""
Nia nodded.
Adrian studied the golden embroidery.
"That's actually impressive.""
Vanessa turned sharply.
"Adrian.""
"What? It is.""
"Don't encourage her.""
He looked at Nia.
"How much time do you have?""
"About forty minutes.""
Adrian checked his watch.
"Then you'd better hurry.""
Vanessa grabbed his arm.
"We're leaving.""
As they walked toward the door, Nia heard Adrian say something under his breath.
"Maybe you should stop making things worse.""
Vanessa pulled away from him.
"Don't tell me what to do.""
The door slammed.
Nia sat down.
Her thoughts were spinning.
Her grandmother knew something.
Vanessa knew something.
And her mother's old sketchbook suddenly seemed to contain far more than fashion designs.
She opened it again.
This time, she searched every page carefully.
Near the back, she found a small envelope tucked inside the binding.
Her name was written across the front.
For Nia, when the time is right.
Her hands began to shake.
She opened it.
Inside was a photograph of her mother standing beside another woman.
The other woman was much younger than Vanessa but unmistakably resembled her.
On the back, Camille had written:
The day I learned that talent means nothing to people who believe they own it.
Nia turned the photograph over again.
There was something written beneath the first sentence.
A date.
And a name.
Richard Bellamy.
She pulled out the letter folded behind the photograph.
The paper was yellowed at the edges.
Her mother's handwriting filled the page.
My darling Nia,
If you're reading this, then perhaps you've reached the moment when people will try to make you doubt what you can do.
There is something I never told you about the Bellamy family.
Years ago, I created a collection that was supposed to change my life. I trusted the wrong people, and when the collection was presented to the world, someone else's name was placed on my work.
I fought to prove the truth.
But I was young, I had no money, and nobody believed a small-town dressmaker could challenge a powerful fashion empire.
Nia stopped reading.
Her eyes moved back to the page.
I walked away because I refused to spend my entire life begging people to acknowledge my talent.
But I kept the original designs.
And I kept the evidence.
Nia's breathing became shallow.
She turned the letter over.
At the bottom, her mother had written:
The Phoenix Gown was never supposed to be mine alone. It was meant to be yours.
Nia looked at the dress.
The gold flowers.
The blue fabric.
The design that had seemed like a way to rescue something ruined.
She suddenly understood that she might be finishing something her mother had never been allowed to show the world.
A second sheet of paper slipped from the envelope.
It was a handwritten list.
Three names appeared at the top.
Richard Bellamy.
Vanessa Bellamy.
And Adrian Bellamy.
Beside Richard's name was a note:
Original collection owner.
Beside Vanessa's:
Present at the final fitting.
But beside Adrian's name, the handwriting became darker.
He knows where the original contract is.
Nia stared at the words.
Adrian?
The same man who had stood beside Vanessa and called her dress "just a dress"?
A new knock sounded at the door.
Nia quickly folded the letter.
Denise entered, holding a tablet.
"I found something.""
Nia stood.
"What?""
Denise locked the door behind her.
"I checked the hallway security footage.""
She placed the tablet on the table.
A video appeared.
It showed the dressing-room corridor from a fixed camera.
Nia watched herself walk into the room carrying the white gown.
Then she watched Vanessa enter several minutes later.
Vanessa looked around.
She checked the hallway.
Then she reached into a large decorative bag and removed a blue balloon.
Nia stopped breathing.
On the screen, Vanessa walked toward the black clothing rack.
She held the balloon above the white gown.
Then she deliberately squeezed it.
POP!
Blue paint exploded across the dress.
Vanessa stepped back, looked at the damage, and laughed.
Nia covered her mouth.
Denise paused the footage.
"There is more.""
She moved the video forward.
Adrian appeared at the end of the corridor.
He saw Vanessa holding the remains of the balloon.
He looked directly at the stained gown.
Then he looked toward the security camera.
Instead of reporting what he had witnessed, he picked up the paint-covered balloon fragments and placed them inside Vanessa's bag.
Nia stared at the frozen image.
"He helped her.""
Denise nodded.
"Yes.""
Nia felt sick.
"Why?""
Denise looked at the letter in Nia's hand.
"Perhaps that is something you should ask him.""
She transferred the footage to Nia's phone.
"Keep this somewhere safe. And don't let Vanessa know you have it.""
Nia nodded.
Then Denise looked toward the gown.
"How much longer?""
Nia glanced at the clock.
Twenty-two minutes.
She returned to the worktable.
"I can finish.""
Denise smiled.
"Then finish.""
Nia picked up the needle.
She stitched the final golden flower into place, then added tiny crystals along the neckline.
The blue fabric flowed into the skirt, becoming lighter toward the hem. The bodice was now covered in intricate gold vines and flowers.
The damaged white gown had become an elegant blue ombré ballgown.
Nia carefully lifted it from the table.
The fabric shimmered.
For a moment, she imagined her mother standing beside her.
She could almost hear Camille's voice.
Let your hands answer them.
Nia stepped into the dress.
The bodice fit perfectly.
She adjusted the straps and turned toward the full-length mirror.
There she was.
A young girl in a magnificent gown.
Not a girl who had been humiliated.
Not a girl who had been told she didn't belong.
A designer.
Nia smiled at her reflection.
Then she heard applause from the doorway.
She turned.
A tall older man stood there in a dark suit.
His silver hair was neatly combed, and his expression was impossible to read.
Nia recognized him immediately.
Richard Bellamy.
Vanessa's father.
The founder of the Bellamy fashion empire.
His eyes were fixed on the dress.
Slowly, he stepped inside.
"Where," he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, "did you get that design?""
Nia held her mother's sketchbook tightly.
"From my mother.""
Richard's face lost its color.
He looked at the golden flowers.
Then at the blue bodice.
Finally, he whispered a name.
"Camille.""
Nia stepped forward.
"You knew my mother?""
Richard didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked over his shoulder toward the hallway.
Vanessa was approaching.
When she saw her father standing in front of Nia's finished gown, her confident smile disappeared.
"Dad?""
Richard turned toward her.
Then he looked at Nia again.
"Does your grandmother still have the original contract?""
Nia's heart began pounding.
Before she could answer, Richard said something that made Vanessa grab the doorframe.
"Because if she does, then your mother didn't just steal a fashion collection.""
He paused.
"She stole something worth millions.""
May you like
Vanessa's face went white.
And Nia suddenly understood that the blue balloon had been the smallest part of the secret her mother had left behind.
