Chapter 3 - The Wedding Dress With My Name Hidden Inside It
Ethan told me not to panic.
Maya told me to prepare for war.
I decided to do both.
The next morning, I asked Dominic where Vanessa had spent the previous night.
He stared at me.
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
“She went home.”
I nodded.
He lied.
The hotel records showed Vanessa had spent the night in a suite under Dominic's corporate account.
Ethan had obtained the information through a legitimate records request related to the company transfer.
The evidence was piling up.
But there was another problem.
Caruso Design Group had scheduled its official bridal collection unveiling for Friday.
They intended to announce Vanessa as the creative face of the collection.
One of the headline gowns was my design.
The "Ivory Fold."
The dress I had drawn when I was pregnant with Eli.
The dress I had imagined wearing in my first major collection.
The dress Dominic had once told me was too ambitious.
Now Vanessa was smiling beside it on every promotional poster in Manhattan.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, Ethan told me to wait.
“We need their official launch documents.”
“Why?”
“If they display the dress publicly, they create their own evidence trail.”
I frowned.
“So you're saying I should let them steal from me?”
“No.”
He looked directly at me.
“I’m saying don't help them destroy themselves.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Friday arrived.
Caruso's ballroom was packed.
Fashion editors.
Investors.
Celebrities.
Buyers.
Influencers.
The room was built for admiration.
Not truth.
Vanessa entered in a champagne gown.
The crowd applauded.
Dominic stood beside her.
I watched from the back with Maya and Ethan.
Then the lights dimmed.
The first model came out.
Then the second.
Then the third.
My hands became cold.
The fourth wore the Ivory Fold.
The audience erupted.
Vanessa stepped forward.
“This collection represents a new era of Caruso design.”
I almost laughed.
New era.
It was my old life.
Then Vanessa said something that changed the room.
“Every piece was developed over the last 16 months.”
Ethan whispered, “Record this.”
Maya was already filming.
Vanessa continued.
“The centerpiece of the collection is completely original.”
I looked at Ethan.
He nodded.
That sentence was the knife.
The exact claim we needed.
I walked forward.
The room gradually noticed me.
Dominic saw me first.
His face drained of color.
“Nora.”
Vanessa stopped smiling.
“What are you doing here?”
I looked at the model.
Then at Vanessa.
Then at the cameras.
“I came to see my dress.”
Silence.
Someone laughed nervously.
Vanessa recovered.
“That design belongs to Caruso.”
“No.”
She tilted her head.
“It does.”
I took one step forward.
“It belonged to me four years ago.”
Dominic moved toward me.
“Nora, this isn't the place.”
I looked at him.
“You're right.”
I turned toward the audience.
“So let's talk somewhere everybody can hear.”
Ethan stepped beside me.
“My name is Ethan Cole. I represent Nora Bianchi.”
A murmur passed through the room.
Vanessa's smile disappeared.
He continued.
“Tonight, we are placing Caruso Design Group on formal notice regarding copyright infringement, misappropriation of trade secrets, fraudulent registration, and unauthorized commercial use of original designs.”
Phones came out instantly.
The audience began recording.
Dominic whispered something to Vanessa.
She shook her head.
Then she snapped at me.
“You have no proof.”
I smiled.
“I do.”
I held up the flash drive.
“This contains original sketches, dated revisions, emails, and audio files.”
Vanessa went pale.
“You stole that.”
“No.”
I looked at Dominic.
“He gave me the evidence himself.”
Dominic stiffened.
“What?”
I said nothing.
The truth was, he hadn't.
Not intentionally.
He had created it by being careless.
Every email he sent.
Every file he forwarded.
Every revision he discussed.
He had unknowingly preserved the chain of evidence.
The room became chaotic.
A reporter shouted, “Are you saying your husband stole your designs?”
I looked at Dominic.
He couldn't answer.
That was enough.
We left before the police arrived.
Outside, the rain had started.
Ethan opened an umbrella.
“You did well.”
My hands were shaking.
“I thought I was going to faint.”
“You didn't.”
“Does that mean I'm getting better at this?”
“It means you were angry enough.”
I laughed for the first time in days.
Then my phone rang.
Dominic.
I rejected it.
He called again.
I rejected it.
The third time, I answered.
“What?”
“I need to see you.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“Why?”
“Because there is something you don't know.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Vanessa is not the person you think she is.”
I almost laughed.
“I don't think she's a person worth thinking about.”
“Nora, listen to me.”
“No.”
“Someone else is behind the transfers.”
I looked at Ethan.
He watched my face.
Dominic continued.
“My father.”
I froze.
Dominic's father had died three years earlier.
“What does he have to do with this?”
“He started something before he died.”
“What?”
“I'll tell you everything.”
“Then tell me now.”
He hesitated.
“I can't on the phone.”
I hung up.
Ethan asked, “What did he say?”
I told him.
He thought for several seconds.
“Your husband may be trying to distract you.”
“Or?”
“Or there really is another layer.”
That night, I received an anonymous email.
One image.
A contract.
It showed a meeting from three years earlier.
Dominic.
Vanessa.
And an older man I recognized from old photographs of the Gallagher board.
My father-in-law.
At the bottom of the contract was a clause:
Upon successful transfer of Nora Bianchi's creative portfolio, Caruso Design Group shall receive controlling rights in exchange for equity.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Dominic had promised to transfer my entire creative portfolio.
Without my permission.
Ethan stared at the page.
“I told you.”
“What?”
“This is bigger than a dress.”
He pointed to the clause.
May you like
“They weren't planning to steal one design.”
“They wanted everything.”
