TAKE OFF MY DRESS, YOU THIEF!

I didn't sleep that night.

I enlarged the photograph until the words became blurry.

Then I downloaded it and opened it on my laptop.

The document appeared to be a transfer agreement.

It stated that I had voluntarily assigned all intellectual property rights associated with my collection to Celeste Vaughn.

The signature at the bottom belonged to me.

The signature beside it belonged to my father.

I read the document again.

Then I read the date.

Three months before my original application.

How could my father have signed away something I hadn't even submitted yet?

At 7:15 the next morning, I walked into the kitchen with the photograph printed in my hand.

My father was making toast.

Vivienne was pouring coffee.

Celeste was seated at the island, wearing sunglasses indoors and scrolling through her social media.

I placed the paper in front of my father.

“Did you sign this?””

He glanced at it.

His hand stopped halfway to the toaster.

Vivienne turned around.

“Where did you get that?””

I looked at my father.

“Answer me.””

He slowly put down the butter knife.

“Aaliyah, this isn't what you think.””

“Then tell me what it is.””

Celeste removed her sunglasses.

“Why are you always creating drama?””

I ignored her.

My father picked up the paper.

“Vivienne brought me some documents months ago. She said they were related to household expenses and the competition.””

“Did you read them?””

He looked uncomfortable.

“Not every page.””

“You signed away my designs without asking me?””

“I didn't know what the document contained.””

Vivienne put down her coffee cup.

“Daniel, don't be ridiculous. You knew exactly what you were signing.””

He turned toward her.

“You told me it was a parental consent form.””

“And it was.””

“For what?””

Vivienne sighed.

“Celeste needed proof that the family supported her participation. Your daughter was under eighteen when the preliminary planning began.””

“I'm twenty-three,” I said.

Vivienne looked at me.

“Then perhaps you should have handled your own paperwork.””

I pushed the photograph closer to my father.

“The agreement says I transferred my intellectual property to Celeste.””

He stared at the page.

For once, he had nothing to say.

Celeste stood and grabbed her handbag.

“I'm leaving. I have a fitting.””

I stepped in front of her.

“Not until you answer one question.””

She rolled her eyes.

“What now?””

“Did you know Dad signed this?””

Her jaw tightened.

“Mom handled everything.””

“Did you know?””

She glanced at Vivienne.

That was enough.

I stepped aside.

“Go to your fitting.””

Celeste walked past me.

But before leaving, she leaned close enough for only me to hear.

“You're never getting that dress back.””

I looked at her.

“Maybe not.””

She smiled.

“Then what are you going to do?””

I held her gaze.

“Make sure you never wear it again.””

At noon, I met Naomi at a small coffee shop near the tailor shop.

She had already contacted a lawyer named Rebecca Collins, who specialized in intellectual property disputes.

Rebecca arrived carrying a leather briefcase.

After examining the documents, she asked me a series of questions.

“Do you have dated original sketches?””

“Yes.””

“Fabric receipts?””

“Yes.””

“Photographs showing the construction process?””

“Yes.””

“Any independent witnesses who saw you working on the gown?””

Naomi raised her hand.

“I did. I also helped her purchase the fabric and saw the dress before it was taken.””

Rebecca nodded.

“Excellent.””

She examined the transfer agreement again.

“This document raises several concerns. First, the date predates your original application. Second, the assignment appears to cover designs that may not have existed when it was signed. Third, if your signature was forged, the agreement could be invalid.””

I leaned forward.

“Can we stop Celeste from wearing the dress?””

“Potentially. But we need to act quickly.””

Rebecca opened her briefcase.

“There's something else. The competition has a clause requiring contestants to certify that their submitted work is original and that they own the rights to display it.””

I nodded.

“Celeste signed that?””

“Apparently.””

Rebecca tapped the document.

“If we establish that she knowingly submitted your work under her own name, the competition may disqualify her.””

Naomi smiled.

“So she could lose everything?””

“Possibly,” Rebecca replied.

“But we need more than suspicion.””

I took out my phone.

“I have a video of them entering my room and discussing the theft.””

Rebecca watched it.

When it ended, she looked at me.

“This is very useful.””

I exhaled.

For the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe.

Then Rebecca pointed to the screen.

“Wait. Go back.””

I replayed the footage.

She leaned closer.

“Pause there.””

The image showed Vivienne standing beside my sewing table.

She was holding a document.

Rebecca zoomed in.

“Can you make out the heading?””

I enlarged the image.

The words were faint, but readable.

*Vaughn Atelier Holdings — Creative Asset Acquisition Agreement.*

Rebecca looked at me.

“Do you know what this company is?””

I shook my head.

Naomi frowned.

“Isn't that Vivienne's company?””

Rebecca nodded.

“It's registered as a private business. If she used it to acquire the rights to your work, there may be a financial motive beyond helping Celeste enter a competition.””

My stomach tightened.

“What kind of financial motive?””

Rebecca closed her briefcase.

“We need to investigate.””

That afternoon, I went to the public business records office with Naomi.

After several searches, we found Vaughn Atelier Holdings.

The company had been established eleven months earlier.

Its listed business activities included fashion consulting, garment production, and intellectual property licensing.

I stared at the screen.

Vivienne had told everyone she was merely helping Celeste develop her career.

But she had created a business that could profit from my designs.

We downloaded the registration documents.

Then we found something else.

A licensing proposal.

The company had approached three boutique retailers with a planned collection of evening gowns.

The first design featured a pastel-pink ball gown.

My pastel-pink ball gown.

The proposal described the garment as:

An exclusive original creation by emerging designer Celeste Vaughn, developed under the creative direction of Vaughn Atelier Holdings.

I felt sick.

“They're planning to sell copies,” Naomi whispered.

I scrolled down.

The proposed retail price was $8,500 per dress.

There were plans for an initial production run of forty gowns.

Forty.

They hadn't simply stolen one dress.

They were preparing to turn six months of my unpaid labor into a business.

I photographed every page.

Then I noticed the proposed launch date.

The morning after the competition.

Naomi shook her head.

“That's why they rushed to get her entry approved.””

I nodded.

“They needed the competition to make her look legitimate.””

My phone rang.

An unknown number.

I answered.

“Hello?””

A man's voice came through.

“Is this Aaliyah Bennett?””

“Yes.””

“My name is Marcus Reed. I work with a fashion publication. I was hoping to ask you about the ownership dispute involving Celeste Vaughn.””

I glanced at Naomi.

“How did you get my number?””

“Someone sent us documentation. We understand there's a controversy surrounding her competition entry.””

“Who sent it?””

There was a pause.

“That's something I can't disclose.””

I tightened my grip on the phone.

“Are you publishing a story?””

“Possibly. But before we do, we'd like to give you a chance to respond.””

I looked at the photographs on the desk.

“Then you should come to the competition.””

“Why?””

I looked at Naomi.

“Because I'm going to be there.””

Two days before the competition, my father came to my bedroom.

He knocked twice.

I was sitting at my sewing table, working on a new garment.

Not another pink gown.

Something entirely different.

Black silk. Structured shoulders. A dramatic silver panel that reflected light like liquid metal.

I had decided that if I couldn't wear my original design on the runway, I would create something that belonged entirely to me.

“Can we talk?”” he asked.

I kept sewing.

“About what?””

He entered and closed the door.

“I saw the business documents.””

I continued stitching.

“Then you know.””

He looked at the unfinished garment.

“You've been working on another dress?””

“Yes.””

“Why didn't you tell me?””

I laughed quietly.

“Would you have listened?””

He lowered his eyes.

“Aaliyah, I made a mistake.””

I stopped the machine.

“Which one?””

He looked confused.

“What?””

“Which mistake are you talking about? Signing the document? Letting Vivienne take my work? Or believing her every time she told you I was the problem?””

He sat on the edge of my bed.

“I thought I was doing what was best for the family.””

“I'm your family too.””

“I know.””

“Then why did you never defend me?””

His eyes became wet.

“I didn't realize how far things had gone.””

I looked at him.

“You watched her give Celeste everything while I worked weekends to buy thread. You watched her move me into the laundry room. You heard Celeste laugh at my designs.””

He said nothing.

“You didn't need to realize anything, Dad. You just needed to care.””

He covered his face.

For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small envelope.

“I found something in Vivienne's office.””

I took it.

Inside was a printed email exchange between Vivienne and a representative of a fashion company.

The subject line read:

*Celeste Vaughn — Exclusive Designer Partnership.*

I read the first paragraph.

Then the second.

My hands began to shake.

The company wasn't merely interested in buying the dress.

They were offering Celeste a three-year contract to develop an entire collection based on the designs she had submitted.

The contract included a signing bonus of $150,000.

And a clause transferring all future design rights to the company.

I looked up.

“Dad, why did you give me this?””

He swallowed.

“Because I think Vivienne is planning something bigger.””

“What?””

He looked toward the closed door.

“She wants Celeste to sign the contract tomorrow night, immediately after the competition.””

I stared at him.

“Tomorrow night?””

He nodded.

Then he pulled another page from his jacket.

It was a draft agreement.

My name appeared in the document.

Not as the designer.

Not as a beneficiary.

As a witness confirming that Celeste had created the collection independently.

My father looked devastated.

“She told me you had already agreed.””

I stood.

“I never agreed to anything.””

“I know.””

I looked at the page again.

There was a line at the bottom for my signature.

And beside it was a date.

Tomorrow.

The following evening, I arrived at the competition venue wearing a simple black dress and carrying a leather portfolio.

Naomi walked beside me.

“Are you ready?”” she asked.

I looked through the glass doors.

Inside, photographers were interviewing contestants. Fashion executives stood beside the runway. The judges were seated beneath the massive illuminated competition logo.

And in the center of the room, Celeste was posing for photographs.

She wore my pink gown.

Vivienne stood beside her, holding a champagne glass.

When Celeste saw me, she whispered something to her mother.

Both women turned.

Vivienne approached first.

“What are you doing here?””

“I'm attending the competition.””

“You're not a contestant.””

“Neither is a thief.””

Her face tightened.

“Lower your voice.””

I smiled.

“Why? Are you worried people might hear the truth?””

Celeste joined us.

“Aaliyah, this is embarrassing.””

I looked at the gown.

“Does the dress still pull beneath your left arm?””

She frowned.

“Stop talking about the dress.””

“Why? It's the only thing you've ever worn that was worth photographing.””

Celeste stepped closer.

“You think showing up here will change anything?””

“No.””

I opened my portfolio.

“But showing them this might.””

I removed the original sketches.

Then the receipts.

Then the printed business proposal.

Vivienne's champagne glass trembled.

“What is that?””

“Your business plan.””

Celeste's face drained of color.

I placed the documents in her hands.

She glanced at the first page.

Then the second.

Her lips parted.

“Where did you get these?””

I leaned closer.

“From the company you created to sell my designs.””

Vivienne grabbed the papers.

“You had no right to access confidential business information!””

I looked at her.

“Then perhaps you shouldn't have used my stolen work in it.””

For several seconds, neither woman spoke.

Then Celeste did something unexpected.

She laughed.

A loud, nervous laugh.

“You can't prove anything. Even if you made the dress, I submitted it. The judges accepted my work. The contract is already prepared.””

She straightened the bodice.

“And tomorrow, I'll be a professional designer.””

I watched her adjust one of the flowers.

Then I noticed something.

The flower beneath her right shoulder was coming loose.

A tiny crystal dangled from its center.

I stepped closer.

“Careful.””

She frowned.

“What?””

“That flower is attached to the original structure. If you pull it, the whole arrangement may shift.””

She scoffed.

“You're just jealous.””

I looked at her.

“No, Celeste. I'm warning you.””

Before she could answer, the competition director approached with a microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention? Before we begin tonight's presentations, we have received a formal complaint regarding the ownership of one of the submitted designs.””

The auditorium fell silent.

Celeste's smile vanished.

Vivienne grabbed her arm.

The director looked down at his papers.

“The complaint concerns contestant number twelve, Ms. Celeste Vaughn.””

A camera swung toward us.

Celeste turned pale.

Then the director added something that made Vivienne's champagne glass slip from her fingers.

“The original designer has requested to address the judges personally.””

He raised his eyes.

“Ms. Aaliyah Bennett, would you please come to the stage?””

Celeste stared at me.