Chapter 2 - The Stolen Blueprint
“Nora, wait!” Dominic called out, taking a step toward me.
I didn't slow down. I didn't look back. The ballroom guests parted before me like water, some staring downward in awkward silence while others eagerly raised their smartphones to record every second of the spectacle. Behind me, Vanessa began producing those perfectly timed, breathy sobs that always managed to bend Dominic to her will.
Three hours earlier, I had nearly stayed home.
Our six-year-old son, Eli, had been sitting quietly in his blue dinosaur pajamas while I stood in the doorway of his bedroom wearing the sleek midnight-blue evening gown Dominic’s personal assistant had dropped off that afternoon. Eli had looked up with big, innocent eyes and asked whether his father was actually coming home to pick me up, or if he was working late again.
Dominic wasn't coming. After two unanswered calls to his cell, his only response had been a cold text message: Meet me at the gala. Not a single word wishing me a happy anniversary. Not a hint of affection. Just instructions, like I was an employee reporting for duty.
Yet, something far deeper than a forgotten wedding anniversary had ultimately driven me to attend this gala.
The event was the grand launch of Caruso Design Group’s highly anticipated winter bridal collection. Earlier that week, a promotional lookbook had arrived in our mail, and flipping through its glossy pages had made my blood run instantly cold. Featured prominently on page twelve was a gown unlike anything Dominic had ever produced: a narrow-backed architectural wedding gown with a folded asymmetrical shoulder and a seamless ivory drape running diagonally from collarbone to waist.
It was my design.
I had sketched it four years earlier during late nights in our apartment, long before Dominic persuaded me that raising Eli required absolute domestic stability, and long before every single conversation about me returning to professional fashion design was deflected with his soothing promise: "Soon, sweetheart. Focus on our family right now."
That specific sketch had never been published, digitized, or shown to anyone outside our household. Only one person on earth had ever seen it.
Dominic.
I vividly remembered sitting on the edge of our bed, showing him the sketchbook with starry-eyed pride. He had traced the lines with his finger, kissed my forehead, and said, "This is absolute art, Nora." When I asked if there might finally be a place for me at Caruso Design, he smiled warmly and changed the subject.
Now, that exact design was hanging beneath blinding spotlights on a multimillion-dollar mannequin with Vanessa Moretti’s name attached to it as the lead creative director. As I reached the heavy mahogany ballroom doors, my cheek still burning from the blow, the horrifying truth crashed over me. Vanessa hadn't just wanted me out of the way tonight because of jealousy; she knew I would recognize my own stolen work the moment the curtains parted.
I stopped walking and slowly turned around.
Dominic was watching me from across the room, his jaw tight. Vanessa was clinging tightly to his arm, flashing a triumphant, venomous smile. And directly behind them towered my wedding gown, basking in stolen glory.
May you like
I slid my hand into my evening purse and felt the cold, hard plastic of a matte-black flash drive. Inside it sat four years of original digital sketches, timestamped CAD files, private email correspondence with manufacturing contacts, and one final, explosive piece of evidence Dominic had no idea I possessed.
For the first time all evening, Vanessa’s smile faltered. Because across the crowded room, our eyes locked, and she suddenly realized exactly what I was holding in my hand.
