My Stepsister Destroyed My Prom Dress—Then Discovered It Could Win Me $100,000

“Tell me what you signed, Dad.””

My voice sounded strangely calm, considering that my entire world had just tilted sideways.

Michael Miller stood in the hallway with the academy’s document trembling between his fingers. Patricia was beside the front door, clutching her keys so tightly that their metal edges pressed into her palm.

Vanessa had stopped crying.

For once, she looked as frightened as I felt.

“Emily, this isn't the time,” Dad said.

“Then when is the time? After the competition? After Patricia takes another piece of Mom's work?””

“Watch your tone,” Patricia snapped.

Dad turned toward her.

“Don't you dare tell her how to speak.””

Patricia flinched.

I had never seen him talk to her that way.

He turned back to me and exhaled slowly.

“Eighteen years ago, your mother was offered a chance to launch her own fashion collection. She'd won an award at the Atlanta Academy of Fashion, and a small company wanted to manufacture several of her designs.””

“Why didn't she tell me?””

“Because the deal fell apart.””

He looked down at the document.

“Your mother believed the company was going to manufacture her collection under her name. But the contract gave them broad commercial rights. When she discovered what she'd signed, she challenged the agreement.””

I shook my head.

“That doesn't explain Patricia.””

“No,” he admitted.

“It doesn't.””

Patricia stepped away from the door.

“Michael, you're leaving out important details.””

“Then explain them,” he said.

She lifted her chin.

“Your mother was desperate. She wanted money, recognition, and a career. She signed a contract without reading it properly. When she regretted it, she expected everyone else to pay for her mistake.””

“My mother wasn't careless,” I said.

Patricia laughed bitterly.

“You were a child. You have no idea what happened.””

“I know she taught me to sew. I know she kept every sketch she ever made. And I know someone ripped pages out of her journal.””

I held the journal against my chest.

“Was that you?””

Patricia's silence lasted a second too long.

Dad noticed.

“Patricia?””

She looked away.

“I removed the pages because I knew Emily would misunderstand them.””

Vanessa stared at her mother.

“You told me those sketches were worthless.””

“They are not relevant right now.””

“You told me nobody could prove where they came from!””

Patricia spun toward her.

“Be quiet!””

Vanessa recoiled.

I watched them, realizing that whatever secret they shared had begun to crack.

Dad stepped between them.

“Patricia, did you submit Eleanor's designs to the academy?””

She pressed her lips together.

“I submitted a collection based on designs I helped develop.””

“You helped develop?”” I repeated.

“You were barely old enough to remember. Your mother and I discussed fashion all the time.””

“That doesn't make the designs yours.””

“You don't understand how the industry works!””

“Then explain it to me.””

She stared at me.

For a moment, I thought she might finally tell the truth.

Instead, she pointed at my gown.

“You're making a terrible mistake entering that competition. The academy will investigate your mother's history, and you'll embarrass yourself in front of everyone.””

Dad stepped forward.

“That's enough.””

He took his phone from his pocket and called the academy.

“Dr. Hayes? This is Michael Miller.

I'm Eleanor's husband. I want to know exactly what agreement you're referring to.””

He listened for nearly a minute.

His expression changed.

“What do you mean, the complaint was never resolved?””

Patricia's keys slipped from her hand and struck the hardwood floor.

Dad continued listening.

“An injunction? Filed before Eleanor died?””

I grabbed his sleeve.

“What is it?””

He held up one finger, asking me to wait.

Then he said, “Yes. Please preserve every record. We'll come in tonight.””

He ended the call.

Nobody spoke.

Finally, I asked, “What did Mom file?””

Dad rubbed his forehead.

“Your mother believed someone was using her designs without permission. She filed a complaint to stop the collection from being sold.””

“Who was using them?””

His eyes moved toward Patricia.

“I don't know everything that happened after the complaint was filed.””

Patricia gave a hollow laugh.

“You know perfectly well what happened.””

Dad's face tightened.

“Not now.””

“No, Michael. If you're going to pretend you were innocent, then let's tell the whole story.””

He stared at her.

She took a step toward me.

“Your mother was going to lose everything. The company threatened to sue her for breach of contract. We were newly married, and Michael was terrified of losing the house. He signed a confidentiality agreement to settle the dispute.””

I felt as though the floor had disappeared beneath my feet.

“Dad, you signed an agreement about Mom's designs?””

He nodded once.

“I believed it would protect our family.””

“Did you know Patricia was taking them?””

“No.””

Patricia laughed.

“Of course he knew there was more to the agreement than he admitted.””

Dad's face turned red.

“Patricia, stop.””

“Why? You're the one who wants honesty.””

I looked between them.

“Did Mom know you signed it?””

Dad's eyes filled with tears.

“She found out afterward.””

The room became painfully quiet.

I remembered my mother sitting at the kitchen table during the final months of her illness, drawing designs in a notebook while Dad paid the bills beside her.

I'd thought she was simply too tired to talk.

Now I wondered whether she'd been carrying a betrayal I had never noticed.

“Did she forgive you?”” I whispered.

Dad couldn't answer.

My phone vibrated again.

A message from Dr. Hayes appeared.

Emily, please come to the academy as soon as possible. There is a second applicant whose submission may affect your eligibility tonight.

I showed Dad the screen.

He read it twice.

“Who is the second applicant?””

Before I could call, another message arrived.

The application was submitted under Vanessa Miller's name.