Chapter 3: The Signature That Wasn't Mine
I didn't sleep that night.
At 2:17 a.m., I was still sitting at my desk, staring at the forged transfer document.
Maya had gone home to get a few hours of rest, but she'd promised to return before sunrise.
I kept zooming in on the signature.
The first letter was close.
The middle looked convincing.
But the final stroke was wrong.
My father had signed hundreds of school permission slips for me over the years. He knew my handwriting almost as well as I did.
And now someone had used it to steal the one thing I'd built without his help.
At 7:30 a.m., I went downstairs.
My father was eating breakfast while reading emails on his tablet.
"Dad, I need to ask you something.""
He didn't look up.
"Make it quick. I'm late.""
"Did you authorize a transfer of my fashion competition application to Brianna?""
His fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
"What?""
I placed my laptop on the table and turned the screen toward him.
"This.""
He glanced at it.
For a moment, his expression changed.
Then he closed the laptop.
"Where did you get that?""
"It's my application.""
"I asked where you got it.""
"The competition portal.""
He stood up.
"Nia, this is an administrative matter. You don't understand the paperwork.""
"Then explain it to me.""
He picked up his coffee.
"Your stepmother was trying to help Brianna enter the competition.""
"With my design?""
"She believes Brianna has potential.""
"That's not an answer.""
He exhaled sharply.
"Your original dress was damaged. Brianna has an opportunity to use it. I thought we could make something positive out of a bad situation.""
I stared at him.
"You signed a document saying I gave her my design.""
"I approved a transfer.""
"Without asking me?""
"You're eighteen. You don't understand how these things work.""
"I'm legally an adult.""
His eyes narrowed.
"Watch your tone.""
I pushed the laptop toward him again.
"That signature isn't mine.""
He looked at the screen.
Then he said something that made my stomach turn.
"It doesn't matter whose signature it is if the family has agreed.""
I couldn't speak.
He walked toward the hallway.
"Dad!""
He stopped.
"Are you saying I should let Brianna win a scholarship using my work?""
"I'm saying you should stop making everything a competition between you and your sister.""
"She ripped my dress!""
"And you've spent your entire life making her feel like she has to compete with you.""
I laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
Because I finally understood how deeply he had rewritten our family's history.
Brianna was never competing with me.
She was simply taking whatever I had, while everyone else explained why I should be generous enough to let her.
I returned upstairs.
Maya arrived twenty minutes later with a bag of sandwiches and a roll of metallic silver fabric.
"How did it go?""
I told her everything.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she placed the sandwiches on my desk.
"Okay. We need evidence.""
"I have the application history.""
"We need more than that. Can you prove the signature was forged?""
"Maybe.""
I opened my old school documents folder.
There were photographs of every original sketch, receipts for the fabric, and screenshots of the design submission from six months earlier.
Maya pointed at the dates.
"These prove you created the design before Brianna entered.""
"But the transfer document says I gave her permission.""
"Then we challenge it.""
I shook my head.
"The competition starts tomorrow morning. I don't have time for a legal battle.""
Maya looked at the butterfly wings.
"Then we make sure the judges see the truth.""
For the next several hours, we worked without stopping.
The bodice was nearly finished. We added silver stitching along the neckline and attached tiny metallic butterflies to the waist.
Each butterfly was cut by hand.
Each wing was painted separately.
When the light hit the fabric, the entire gown seemed to move.
At 4:00 p.m., Maya stepped back.
"Nia, it's beautiful.""
I looked at the unfinished structure.
"One more wing.""
"Then the hem.""
"And the fastening system.""
"And the lining.""
She sighed.
"Okay. Maybe five more things.""
I laughed for the first time in two days.
But the moment didn't last.
At 5:20 p.m., Brianna appeared in the doorway.
She was holding my original gown.
Or what remained of it.
The silk had been repaired. The torn panels were hidden beneath a new layer of fabric, and the pearls had been replaced with cheaper silver beads.
It was still unmistakably my design.
Brianna held it up against herself.
"Pretty, isn't it?""
I stood.
"Get out.""
She ignored me.
"Mom found a seamstress who fixed it. She worked all night.""
"You can't enter that.""
Brianna laughed.
"Actually, I can. My name is already on the application.""
"You stole my design.""
"Prove it.""
I pointed at the laptop.
"I have six months of dated sketches.""
She shrugged.
"Then I guess you'll have to explain why you signed the transfer.""
"I didn't.""
Brianna stepped closer.
"Nobody's going to believe you, Nia.""
Maya stood between us.
"Get out before I throw that dress down the stairs.""
Brianna rolled her eyes.
"Relax. I'm not here to fight.""
She walked toward the door, then turned back.
"Oh, one more thing.""
She held up the gown.
"Mom says you should stay home tomorrow. It'll be embarrassing when I win and everyone realizes your designs look better on someone else.""
I clenched my fists.
"You're not winning.""
Her smile disappeared.
"Excuse me?""
"You heard me.""
She stepped toward me.
"You think that ugly butterfly costume is going to save you?""
I glanced at the gown behind me.
"It's not a costume.""
"Whatever helps you sleep.""
Then she left, closing the door hard enough to shake the picture frames.
Maya watched the doorway.
"She's really going to wear your dress.""
"Yes.""
"And Vanessa is helping her.""
"Yes.""
Maya picked up the final silver butterfly.
"Then we finish ours.""
We worked until almost 3:00 a.m.
The last wing was attached at 2:41.
The hem was completed at 2:53.
At 3:07, I put the gown on.
Maya adjusted the back fastening.
Then she stepped away.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
The butterfly wings extended behind me in four enormous layers, each panel catching the light differently. The gold details looked like tiny stars scattered across a midnight sky.
I turned slowly.
The wings opened.
Maya covered her mouth.
"Nia, you did it.""
I touched the delicate silver stitching.
"No. We did.""
She hugged me.
"Tomorrow, you walk onto that stage, and nobody gets to take this away from you.""
I wanted to believe her.
At 7:00 a.m., we arrived at the Atlanta Convention Center.
The building was enormous, with glass walls, polished floors, and banners announcing the $100,000 scholarship competition.
Designers hurried through the lobby carrying garment bags and portfolios.
I held my butterfly gown carefully against my chest.
Then I saw Brianna.
She stood near the registration desk wearing a fitted cream blazer.
Vanessa was beside her, holding a garment bag.
My stomach dropped.
Brianna noticed me immediately.
She smiled and walked over.
"Well, look who decided to show up.""
I ignored her and headed toward registration.
Vanessa stepped into my path.
"Nia, we need to talk.""
"I have nothing to say to you.""
She lowered her voice.
"Don't create a scene. Brianna is representing the family today.""
"She's representing herself with my stolen design.""
Vanessa smiled coldly.
"Careful. You don't want to make accusations you can't prove.""
Brianna unzipped the garment bag.
My original gown was inside.
The repaired silk looked almost new from a distance.
Then she leaned closer and whispered:
"Enjoy your little butterfly costume. I'll be wearing the dress that actually matters.""
I looked at her.
Then at Vanessa.
Then at the registration desk.
I handed the coordinator my portfolio.
"Good morning. I'm Nia Carter. I'm here to compete.""
The coordinator checked her tablet.
"One moment, please.""
She frowned.
"That's strange.""
My stomach tightened.
"What's wrong?""
She looked up.
"Your application has been flagged for an ownership dispute. We have instructions not to admit your design until the matter is resolved.""
Vanessa smiled.
Brianna covered her mouth, pretending to look surprised.
I felt my hands go cold.
"Can I still compete with a different design?""
The coordinator hesitated.
"If it's an original, independently submitted entry, I can ask the director.""
I opened my garment bag.
"Then I'd like to enter this one.""
She looked at the butterfly gown.
Her eyebrows rose.
"That's quite a design.""
Before she could say anything else, a woman's voice came from behind us.
"Excuse me. Who made that dress?""
We turned.
A tall woman in a charcoal suit was standing near the entrance, holding a black portfolio.
I recognized her immediately.
Elise Monroe.
The lead judge.
The woman whose fashion house had launched some of the biggest names in American couture.
I stepped forward.
"I did, ma'am.""
She walked closer, studying the wings.
Then she looked at the sketches in my portfolio.
Her expression changed.
"Where did you learn to construct this particular butterfly pattern?""
I swallowed.
"I developed it myself.""
Elise didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she opened her portfolio and removed a sheet of paper.
It was an old design sketch.
A butterfly gown.
A very familiar butterfly gown.
She placed it beside mine.
My breath caught.
The silhouettes were similar, but the details were different.
Elise looked directly into my eyes.
"Young lady, I need you to tell me something.""
"Yes, ma'am?""
"Have you ever seen this sketch before?""
I shook my head.
"No.""
She studied my face.
Then she glanced toward Brianna, who was standing behind Vanessa with my original gown.
Her expression turned serious.
"Then why," Elise asked quietly, "does your stepsister's dress contain a pattern that was registered under my fashion house six months ago?""
And suddenly, I understood.
Elise hadn't recognized my butterfly wings.
She had recognized the pattern hidden inside the dress Brianna had stolen.
May you like
But how could a design I had created independently be connected to something registered by one of America's most famous designers?
And why was Elise looking at my father, who had just walked through the convention center doors?
