Chapter 2: The Empty Box
I stood in the doorway, unable to make sense of what I was seeing.
The curtains stirred in the evening breeze. A half-empty cup of tea sat beside my sewing machine, exactly where I had left it that morning.
Everything looked normal.
Except the dress was gone.
I rushed inside and dropped to my knees beside the bed, searching beneath it even though I knew I would never have put the gown there.
Then I opened the wardrobe.
Nothing.
I pulled clothes off hangers, checked the laundry basket, and searched the storage boxes beneath my desk.
My hands shook harder with every empty space.
“No, no, no,” I whispered.
The wooden box had been tucked behind a stack of old notebooks. Now only a thin layer of dust marked the spot where it had sat.
I grabbed my phone and called Dad.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“What's wrong, Nia?””
“Someone took my dress.””
A pause.
“What dress?””
“The competition dress. The Last Light. It's gone, Dad. Someone took it from my room.””
“Have you checked everywhere?””
“Yes! My mother’s lace is missing too. The box it was in is gone.””
He exhaled.
“Maybe you moved it somewhere while you were cleaning.””
“I didn't move it.””
“Then we'll look when I get home.””
I heard Vanessa speaking in the background.
“What happened?””
Dad covered the phone, but not quickly enough.
“Nia says she lost something.””
Vanessa laughed softly.
“Again?””
I clenched my jaw.
“Dad, please. I need you to come home.””
“I have a meeting. I'll be back in an hour.””
He hung up before I could answer.
I searched for another twenty minutes.
Then I noticed a thin silver thread caught on the edge of my desk.
It was the same thread I had used to embroider the constellations.
I picked it up and rubbed it between my fingers.
The bedroom door had been unlocked when I arrived home. Vanessa had a spare key to every room in the house, supposedly for emergencies.
Brianna had never needed a key.
She simply walked in whenever she wanted.
My stomach tightened.
I crossed the hallway and knocked on her bedroom door.
No answer.
I knocked again.
“Brianna, open the door.””
The door swung inward.
She was sitting in front of her vanity, applying lip gloss. Her phone rested on a velvet cushion, playing a video of a fashion influencer discussing competition-ready gowns.
“What?”” she asked without looking at me.
“Have you seen my dress?””
Her hand stopped.
Only for an instant.
“What dress?””
“The blue one. The one I entered in the Young American Designers Competition.””
She turned toward me with exaggerated confusion.
“Oh. That ugly thing you were making?””
My throat tightened.
“It wasn't ugly.””
“I didn't say it was terrible. I said it wasn't my style.””
“You've seen it?””
Brianna capped the lip gloss.
“Everyone in this house has seen you sewing. You practically turn the hallway into a fabric store.””
“Did you take it?””
She stared at me, then laughed.
“You think I stole your homemade dress?””
“It's not homemade. It's my original design.””
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.””
I stepped into the room.
“Brianna, this isn't funny. The dress was hanging in my wardrobe this morning, and now it's gone.””
She stood and adjusted the belt of her satin robe.
“Maybe Dad finally realized you weren't going to win and threw it away.””
“Don't joke about this.””
“Then stop accusing me.””
I looked past her.
On the chair beside the window lay a length of midnight-blue silk.
My heart lurched.
I moved toward it.
Brianna stepped directly into my path.
“Don't touch my things.””
“Why do you have the same fabric?””
“Because I like blue.””
She grabbed the silk and shoved it into a drawer.
“You need to leave.””
I stared at her face, searching for a crack in the performance.
I found one.
Her eyes kept flicking toward the closet.
“What's in there?”” I asked.
“My clothes.””
“Open it.””
Brianna's mouth fell open.
“Are you insane?””
“Open the closet.””
She snatched up her phone.
“Mom!””
Vanessa appeared seconds later, wearing a cream silk blouse and pearl earrings. She looked from Brianna's flushed face to my clenched fists.
“What is going on?””
“She barged into my room and started accusing me of stealing her ugly dress,” Brianna said.
Vanessa immediately placed an arm around her daughter.
“That's enough, Nia.””
“My dress is missing.””
“Then look for it.””
“I have. I think Brianna took it.””
Vanessa's expression hardened.
“Do you have proof?””
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
I had a thread.
A piece of blue fabric.
A look in Brianna's eyes.
Nothing that would convince anyone who had already decided I was wrong.
Vanessa stepped closer.
“Your stepsister has her own life. She doesn't need your cheap little sewing project.””
“It's not cheap.””
“Then why are you always begging for money to finish it?””
The words struck like a slap.
Brianna folded her arms.
“Exactly.””
I looked at Vanessa.
“You know what that dress means to me.””
Her eyes narrowed.
“Don't you dare use your dead mother to manipulate this family.””
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
Brianna glanced at her mother, then looked away.
Vanessa continued, her voice low and controlled.
“You've been jealous of Brianna since the day we moved into this house. Every time something good happens to her, you find a way to turn it into a tragedy about yourself.””
“That's not true.””
“You accuse her of stealing your dress because you cannot stand the possibility that someone might appreciate her talent instead of yours.””
I felt something inside me go very still.
“Her talent?””
“Yes. Brianna has a natural eye for fashion. Perhaps you should learn to accept that.””
I stared at her.
Brianna had never sewn anything more complicated than a loose button.
She had never spent a night working on a garment until her fingertips were raw.
She had never held my mother's lace and wondered how to transform a memory into something beautiful.
But Vanessa looked at her as though she were already a celebrated designer.
Then she turned to me.
“Apologize to your sister.””
“What?””
“You heard me.””
“I won't apologize for asking where my dress is.””
Vanessa's hand tightened around Brianna's shoulder.
“Then get out.””
I walked away before the tears came.
Back in my room, I shut the door and sat beside the sewing machine.
My mother's old chair creaked beneath me.
I picked up the photograph I kept beside the lamp. It showed her standing in a garden, wearing a simple white dress she had sewn herself.
I traced the edge of the frame.
“I don't know what to do, Mom.””
The room offered no answer.
I thought about withdrawing from the competition. Without the gown, I had nothing to present. Even if I could somehow rebuild it in three days, I couldn't replace the antique lace.
The competition rules required the original garment to be presented during the final round.
I would lose my entry fee, my scholarship opportunity, and the months of work I had poured into the dress.
And Brianna would get exactly what she wanted.
I opened my laptop and logged into the competition portal.
My entry was still listed under my name.
Nia Carter.
Below it sat the official registration number and the digital portfolio I had submitted weeks earlier.
I downloaded every file.
Then I opened my design journal and photographed each page.
The sketches.
The measurements.
The fabric receipts.
The progress pictures.
Every step of the gown's creation was documented, including photographs showing my hands attaching the antique lace.
I backed everything up to a private folder.
If someone tried to erase my work, I would still have proof that it existed.
At eleven that night, Dad finally knocked on my door.
“Nia? Can I come in?””
I wiped my face.
“Yes.””
He entered carrying a mug of hot chocolate.
For a moment, he looked like the father who had once sat beside me on the floor, laughing over a tangled sewing machine.
Then he glanced at my empty wardrobe.
“I spoke to Vanessa.””
I waited.
“She says you went into Brianna's room and threatened her.””
“I asked if she took my dress.””
“Your tone frightened her.””
I stared at him.
“Dad, someone took the dress from my room.””
“I'm not saying they didn't.””
“Then help me find it.””
He rubbed his forehead.
“Brianna says she has nothing to do with this. Vanessa says you might have misplaced it.””
“Why would I hide my own competition dress?””
“I don't know, sweetheart.””
I held up my phone, showing him the photographs of the gown.
“I made every stitch. I have pictures from the first day to the last. You saw me working on it.””
“I know you worked hard.””
“Then why don't you believe me?””
He sat on the edge of my bed.
“Because I don't want this family tearing itself apart over a dress.””
I looked at him for a long time.
“A dress?””
His face changed.
“You know what I mean.””
“No. I don't think I do.””
I placed my mother's photograph on the desk.
“This isn't just fabric, Dad. The lace came from Mom's wedding dress. I kept it safe for eight years.””
His eyes dropped to the photograph.
“I know.””
“Then why are you asking me to pretend it doesn't matter?””
He didn't answer.
Instead, he placed the mug beside my laptop.
“Get some sleep. We'll figure something out tomorrow.””
When he left, I heard him pause outside the door.
Then I heard Vanessa's voice from the hallway.
“She needs to learn that the world doesn't revolve around her.””
Dad murmured something I couldn't hear.
A few seconds later, their footsteps faded.
I sat in the darkness until my phone buzzed.
An unknown number had sent me a message.
*Stop looking for the dress. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into.*
I read it twice.
Then a second message appeared.
*If you want to know where it is, come to the laundry room at midnight. Alone.*
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I looked at the clock.
11:47 p.m.
For the first time that night, I felt something stronger than despair.
Hope.
Or perhaps a warning I was too desperate to ignore.
At midnight, I slipped into the hallway.
The house was dark except for the light beneath Vanessa's bedroom door.
I descended the stairs, crossed the kitchen, and reached for the laundry room handle.
The door was already open.
Inside, beneath the harsh fluorescent light, stood a garment bag.
My garment bag.
I rushed forward and unzipped it.
The midnight-blue gown spilled into my arms.
The silver embroidery caught the light.
The skirt was intact.
The bodice was intact.
And at the waist, I saw the tiny crystals from my mother's necklace.
I pressed the fabric to my chest, fighting back a sob.
Then I noticed a folded piece of paper pinned to the hanger.
Three words were written across it in black ink.
*LOOK INSIDE FIRST.*
My hands trembled as I opened the paper.
There was a photograph inside.
It showed Brianna standing in front of a mirror, wearing The Last Light.
The timestamp in the corner was from three days earlier.
But the detail that made my blood run cold wasn't Brianna's face.
It was the person standing behind her.
May you like
Vanessa.
Holding a pair of scissors.
