I’m Ellie, 30 years old, a fashion designer, and my life is like a dream woven from the finest threads. I have a perfect little family: Liam, my handsome, warm husband who always supports my decisions, and my son Lucas, with his big, round eyes sparkling with curiosity. Our small house in the suburbs is filled with children’s laughter and the smell of freshly roasted coffee every morning. I have my studio in the attic, where I spend hours immersed in sketches, fabric samples, and the steady hum of my sewing machine. For me, this is heaven.
My passion for fashion isn’t about the glamour of the runway or dazzling outfits. I love practical fashion, iconic designs that can transcend time. I believe in the value of every stitch, in sustainability, and beauty created by skilled hands. For me, fashion is an art, a way to tell stories and connect. I dream of building an authentic brand where every garment is not only beautiful but also deeply meaningful, honouring the core values of creativity and dedication.
Liam has always been my solid support. He doesn’t understand much about fashion, but he always listens to my wildest ideas with boundless patience. He brings balance, stability to my world, which is always soaring with ideas. And Lucas, he’s my biggest inspiration, reminding me of the beauty of simplicity and purity.
Yet, my life, however beautiful, still has a complicated thread woven into it – Avery. She’s my cousin, a powerful CEO of the luxury fashion group “Valerie Atelier,” named after our legendary grandmother. Avery is five years older than I, with a sharp appearance, confident demeanor, and keen business acumen. She’s admired in the fashion world, always the centre of every event, every billion-dollar deal. To me, Avery is both an idol and an unsolvable mystery.
Growing up, Avery was always the authoritative older sister, who taught me how to put outfits together, how to choose fabrics, and even how to hold a needle. She was the first to take me to high-end fabric stores, introducing me to the world of silk, smooth velvet, and Chantilly lace. I admired her decisiveness and vision, believing she was the embodiment of the success I craved. As we grew up, even though I chose my path, building my small brand “Ellie & Threads,” Avery was always present in my life and career. She opened doors, introduced me to important industry figures, and even offered me a job at the family corporation. I declined, wanting to stand on my own two feet, but I still constantly sought her advice. I believed that, despite our different paths, we still shared the same passion and love for the legacy our grandmother Valerie left behind.
I trusted too much in “blood ties,” in Avery. That’s my biggest weakness in this treacherous business environment. I never imagined that some silk threads, so beautiful, could constrict and hurt so much.
The conflict between Avery and me began with small things, creeping in like misaligned stitches. Avery, as CEO of “Valerie Atelier,” started to “support” me excessively. She constantly invited me to major corporate events, introducing me to important investors and partners. At first, I was grateful. “She’s so kind,” I told myself. But then, I felt myself gradually being pulled into Avery’s orbit, being turned into a “promising new face” under the shadow of Valerie Atelier, rather than an independent designer. I started to feel her control, as if she wanted me to become an extension of her empire.
One morning, Avery visited my studio. She browsed through my sketches with a cold expression and arrogant attitude.
Avery: “Your designs… they’re okay, Ellie. But they’re too safe. Too… small. You need to think bigger. Valerie Atelier can take you to the next level. Why keep tinkering with old stitches in your tiny workshop?”
Ellie: Trying to stay calm, “Avery, I believe in the core values of ‘Ellie & Threads.’ I want to build it from the most authentic things, from the sophistication in every detail. I want my fashion to have a story, a soul.”
Avery: Sneering, her eyes sharp, “A story? A soul? In this industry, money is real, Ellie. And power. I’m here to make an offer. I want to buy a large stake in ‘Ellie & Threads.’ You’ll have unlimited resources, a top-notch production team, and a global distribution network. You just need to focus on design. Let me handle everything else.”
Avery’s offer stunned me. It was a huge sum, enough for me to realise all my dreams. But I felt something was wrong. “Ellie & Threads” was my brainchild, built with sweat and tears. I didn’t want it to become a subsidiary of a giant corporation, where my core values could be diluted, turned into mass-produced goods just for profit.
Ellie: “I… I need time to think, Avery. This is everything I have.”
Avery: Standing up, her smile becoming rigid, “You should think carefully, Ellie. Opportunity doesn’t knock twice. And in this world, those who hesitate lose everything.” She uttered a meaningful sentence, like a warning, then turned and walked away, leaving me to sink into unease.
After that refusal, our relationship became strained. Avery no longer directly “helped” me, but I noticed subtle obstacles. Fabric suppliers suddenly ran out of the materials I usually used, and familiar workshops were inexplicably busy. Even potential partners I had met through Avery became more aloof, not returning my calls or emails.
Once, I called my favourite silk fabric supplier.
Ellie: “John, I want to order another batch of Jacquard white silk, type A…”
John: He said hesitantly, “I’m sorry, Ms. Ellie, that batch… we just had a surprisingly large order. From Valerie Atelier. They bought all of it. It might be a few months before we get more.”
I hung up, my heart heavy. I understood that this was Avery’s way of demonstrating her power. She was a formidable opponent because of her extensive network with financiers, her ability to acquire and manipulate the market. She knew my weaknesses – my naivety and idealism – and exploited them thoroughly.
In the midst of that, another, even harder to accept, event began to creep into my life. It concerned Liam.
Liam was the husband I trusted absolutely. He was an architect, busy with work, but always made time for family. I noticed recently that he was travelling frequently for business, and Avery’s calls to Liam’s number were also more numerous. At first, I didn’t think much of it. Maybe they were discussing expanding my studio or a new architectural project for Valerie Atelier. Avery was talented, Liam was talented, and cooperation was normal.
But then, small details began to make me uneasy. One evening, I saw Liam texting. I casually glanced over his shoulder and saw a message from Avery: “I missed last night’s dinner. You were wonderful.” My heart felt squeezed. “What dinner?” I wondered. Liam hadn’t mentioned having dinner alone with Avery.
Ellie: “Liam, who were you just texting?”
Liam: Startled, he quickly put away his phone, “Oh… just a client. It’s nothing, honey.”
Me: “I saw Avery’s message. I missed last night’s dinner. You were wonderful.’ What dinner, Liam?”
Liam: His face changed, he looked awkward and said reproachfully, “Oh… it was just a business dinner, honey. Avery is a bit… enthusiastic. Don’t overthink it.”
He reassured me, saying I was imagining things. I wanted to believe him, I did. But the unease just grew.
The ambiguous relationship between Avery and Liam began to become an invisible rope tightening around me. Their “accidental” meetings at events where I wasn’t present, their furtive glances, their overly playful remarks. Avery, with her deadly charm, seemed to be trying to penetrate every corner of my life. She not only wanted to control my career but also wanted to break up my home.
A week later, Avery invited Liam to a private party for the elite. I wasn’t invited. Liam said it was a good networking opportunity. When he returned, I saw a faint lipstick smudge on his shirt. Liam said he didn’t notice, maybe someone accidentally.
Ellie: Trying to keep my voice calm, “Liam, do you know what colour Avery’s lipstick is?”
Liam: Looking at me with a puzzled expression, “What is it, honey? Why are you asking?”
Me: “Nothing. It’s just… this lipstick mark, it looks like her lipstick colour.”
He looked at me, and I saw a flicker of confusion in his eyes. I tried to control my anger and suspicion. I didn’t want to become a suspicious, jealous woman. But the pain and disappointment gnawed at my heart. Avery was not only a business rival; she was also a direct threat to my family’s happiness. I felt like I was trapped in a complex web Avery had spun, a web woven from lies and manipulation.
Amidst the tension and suspicion, I found rare peace with Lucas. The boy knew nothing of the complex adult world, of conspiracies or betrayal. To Lucas, Mom was just Mom, the storyteller, the one who colored bright pictures with him.
One rainy afternoon, when Liam was away and Avery was busy with endless meetings, Lucas and I sat in my attic studio. I didn’t turn on the lights, letting the natural light from the window stream in, dyeing the colourful fabric rolls golden. Lucas sat on the floor, intently drawing dinosaurs with crayons. I sat at my sewing machine, stitching each line on a child’s dress – a simple, pure, unembellished design, just like Lucas’s own soul.
The sound of rain pattering on the tin roof, the steady hum of the sewing machine, and Lucas muttering stories to his dinosaurs. It was a moment when all burdens seemed to vanish. I felt the warmth of motherhood, the simplicity of family happiness. At that moment, I promised myself: No matter what happens, no matter how chaotic the world becomes, I must protect this peace, protect Lucas from lies and deception. It’s not just about career or love, but about holding on to what’s most authentic in my life.
I caressed the soft fabric under my hand. Could any thread, however strong, withstand a web of lies woven by one’s own family? I didn’t know. But I knew I had to find the truth. For Lucas. For myself.
After that peaceful moment, I was determined to clarify everything. Not just about Liam and Avery, but also about my grandmother’s legacy. My intuition told me a bigger secret was hidden. I began a secret investigation, silently digging into Valerie Atelier’s history. I wasn’t just looking for inspiration; I was looking for the truth.
I rummaged through old company archives, where Avery had previously tried to block me. She cited “brand security” or “outdated, valueless documents.” But that very prohibition made me more suspicious. I found an old, forgotten box in a dark corner. Inside were yellowed documents, faded sketches, and a small diary.
In those sketches, I realised something astonishing. Some of Valerie Atelier’s most iconic designs – the dresses that defined the brand’s style in its early years, the collections admired worldwide – didn’t resemble my grandmother’s design style at all. They had a free-spiritedness, a bold unconventionality that I had never seen in any of her other works. Alongside were confusing notes, mismatched dates, and strange initials.
I started looking for information about those names. I contacted old seamstresses, former employees who had worked for Valerie Atelier from the beginning. They were all very hesitant when I mentioned one name: “Genevieve Dubois.” Some deliberately avoided the topic, others looked at me with pity or fear. But finally, an old, frail former employee, who had once been my grandmother’s secretary, with trembling hands, handed me an old box of documents. She said, “This secret has haunted me for too long, Ellie. It’s time for it to be revealed.”
In that box were blurry old photos, a torn contract, and desperate letters. The photos showed a young, beautiful woman, with eyes sparkling with passion, standing next to designs identical to my grandmother’s iconic works. The contract was an agreement to acquire copyright from a young designer named Genevieve Dubois, but the amount was ridiculously small, and there was a clause binding Dubois never to design again. The letters were Genevieve’s pleas, her desperate tears, begging my grandmother to give her justice. I also found an old newspaper article about Genevieve Dubois’ mysterious disappearance from the fashion industry after an “unclear copyright lawsuit.” Even the anonymous witnesses Daniel later found confirmed that my grandmother Valerie had used her powerful connections to destroy Genevieve, preventing her from ever continuing her design career.
My heart stopped. The entire luxury fashion empire that Avery was running, supposedly built on my grandmother’s talent and dedication, actually originated from my grandmother Valerie having “stolen” and “blatantly appropriated” a revolutionary design collection from a young, inexperienced designer named Genevieve Dubois, then destroying that person’s entire career. This wasn’t just ordinary plagiarism but a deliberate act of sabotage, a crime covered up by glamour and power. A crime that had been passed down from generation to generation.
Avery not only knew this but was also continuing that “dark legacy.” She used similar strategies to maintain her monopoly in the market, including exploiting my talent. Avery invested heavily in projects promoting her grandmother’s legacy, but avoided specific details about the brand’s formation process because she wanted to hide this stain. She wanted me to continue, and perhaps, one day, I too would become a new Genevieve Dubois, forgotten under the shadow of Valerie Atelier.
My throat tightened. The pride in my family, in the legacy I once held so dear, is now shattered into pieces. It wasn’t just Avery’s competition or selfishness. This was a historical crime, a rotten foundation built on the exchange of morality and the blood and bones of others.
As I was sinking into the horrifying truth about my grandmother and Avery, I needed someone to share with, someone who could help me bring the truth to light. Liam was still a big question mark in my heart, and I didn’t want to risk telling him these things when everything was still unclear. I turned to Daniel, a talented former investigative journalist, now retired and working as an editor for a prestigious fashion magazine. Daniel was an old friend from college; he always had a sharp eye and wasn’t afraid to face the truth, no matter how harsh.
I met Daniel at a small cafe, far from the spotlight of the fashion world. I told him everything, from my suspicions about Liam and Avery, to the evidence I found about my grandmother Valerie and Genevieve Dubois. Daniel listened attentively, his eyes glinting with the fire of a true reporter.
Daniel: Placing his coffee cup down, his voice calm, “Ellie, what you’re saying… if this is true, it will be a nuclear bomb. It will not only destroy Valerie Atelier but also your family’s reputation, the reputation of those who have protected this secret. Are you prepared for that?”
Ellie: I nodded resolutely, looking straight into Daniel’s eyes, “I’ve never been surer, Daniel. I can’t live with this lie anymore. Every time I look at Lucas, I ask myself, What will I teach him? Truth or falsehood? I need your help to bring the truth to light. At all costs.”
Daniel, with his experience and connections, became my invaluable right-hand. He helped me verify documents, find more anonymous witnesses, including some old seamstresses who had worked for Genevieve Dubois before she disappeared from the industry. He had to use every connection, every investigative skill to find them, those who had buried this secret for decades for fear of Valerie Atelier’s influence. They told me about Genevieve, a passionate young designer, how my grandmother Valerie had visited her small workshop, expressed admiration, and then, Genevieve’s designs suddenly appeared in Valerie Atelier’s collection, while Genevieve disappeared from the market, as if she had never existed.
Daniel and I devised a meticulous plan to expose everything. He taught me how to collect undeniable evidence, how to stay calm under pressure, and how to confront an empire built on deception. He was the one who prepared the USB stick containing all the evidence, and also the one who helped me install the secret code into Valerie Atelier’s projection system. He believed that the truth, no matter how long buried, would one day be revealed. Daniel was not just a friend; he was my moral compass, reminding me that truth, however painful, is always worth it.
The decisive moment arrived. Valerie Atelier hosted its new Autumn-Winter collection show, heavily advertised as “Celebrating Valerie’s Legacy: The Future Woven from the Past.” Hundreds of critics, investors, celebrities, and reporters gathered at a luxurious venue. I was also present, but not as an ordinary guest. I was here to expose the truth. Daniel sat in the reporter’s row, his eyes sharp and full of anticipation.
As the models began to stride down the catwalk, dressed in magnificent garments, Avery stood on stage, glittering under the lights, proudly speaking of my grandmother Valerie’s “unique vision” and “greatness.” She praised the “timeless creativity” of the iconic designs, which I knew for certain belonged to Genevieve Dubois. Every word Avery spoke, the more disgusted I felt.
I took a deep breath, checking the USB stick in my pocket. Inside was all the evidence I had collected: old photos, a copy of the torn contract, Genevieve Dubois’s desperate letters, and detailed analyses comparing the original sketches with my “grandmother’s” designs. Daniel had helped me perfect everything, ensuring there were no loopholes.
As Avery was enthusiastically talking about inspiration from Valerie Atelier’s “glorious early years,” and images of my grandmother’s legendary designs were projected on the giant LED screen behind her, I began to act. I signalled to Daniel. He nodded, his fingers rapidly moving across his laptop keyboard.
Suddenly, just as the image of an exquisite white lace dress, considered an icon of my grandmother, appeared on the screen, it began to flicker. The screen turned black, then a series of images and texts began to appear rapidly, off-script. These were portraits of Genevieve Dubois, her original sketches, lines cut from her handwritten letters begging for justice, and even a detailed copy of the shady “acquisition” contract. Finally, a large text appeared, blazing on the screen, like a sharp knife cutting through the air: “THE TRUE ORIGIN OF VALERIE ATELIER: WOVEN FROM THEFT AND LIES. RESTORE GENEVIEVE DUBOIS’ HONOR!”
The entire hall erupted into chaos. Whispers echoed like thunder, cameras flashed incessantly, and reporters shouted. Avery stood stunned on stage, her face pale, her smile completely gone. She tried to signal to the technicians, but everything was out of control.
I walked onto the stage, not from backstage but from the audience, taking slow and determined steps. My gaze locked onto Avery, like a silent judgment. As Avery tried to regain her composure, I took the microphone from her hand, without a tremor.
Ellie: My voice resonated throughout the hall, calm but weighty, overpowering the noise, “Ladies and gentlemen, and true fashion lovers. Today, we are not just witnessing a show. We are witnessing the truth being exposed.”
A few more whispers arose, all eyes fixed on me. Avery, with a pale face, tried to snatch the microphone back. “Ellie! What are you doing?! This is a misunderstanding! Just a joke!” Her voice was full of panic, completely losing her usual arrogance.
Ellie: I held the microphone tightly, looking straight at Avery, my eyes sharp as knives, “A misunderstanding? Like the ‘business dinners’ you and Liam had that I knew nothing about? Like the message ‘I missed last night’s dinner. You were wonderful, that you sent my husband, or the lipstick mark on his shirt? You didn’t just steal someone else’s legacy; you wanted to steal my happiness, too! You wanted to take everything from me!”
The entire hall held its breath. Camera flashes continuously lit up my face and Avery’s. The whispers now turned into louder chatter, buzzing like a disturbed beehive. Avery completely lost control, her eyes looking at me with hatred and fear, but she couldn’t resist.
Just then, Liam, who was present at the show as an important guest of Valerie Atelier, jumped up from the front row, his face as white as a sheet of paper. He tried to squeeze through the crowd of reporters surrounding him, but his steps seemed to be held back by everyone’s gaze, by the words I had just uttered. He advanced towards the stage, his eyes filled with both panic and extreme shame.
Liam: His voice panicked, mixed with a bit of anger, as he finally reached the stage, standing a few steps from me, “Ellie! What are you saying?! You’re ruining everything! You can’t do this! You have to think about Lucas!”
Ellie: I looked straight at Liam, my eyes full of hurt but resolute, not backing down, “I’m not ruining anything, Liam. I’m exposing the truth. You can’t pretend anymore. You know exactly what happened between you and Avery, don’t you? You know she manipulated you, and you let it happen! You betrayed my trust, betrayed our family! You covered up her lies!”
Liam lowered his head, his shoulders slumped, his face completely defeated. He didn’t dare to look at me directly. His silence, Avery’s avoiding gaze were the strongest proof of everything I had just said. Avery, now completely out of control, looked at me with eyes that seemed to want to burn me, but she could do nothing. She was no longer the confident queen on the runway, but just someone afraid of being exposed in front of hundreds of eyes.
In the midst of the extreme chaos, two more men emerged from backstage, their faces horrified. They were Mr. Henry, my father, my grandmother Valerie’s biological son, who took over most of the business after she passed away, and Mr. Arthur, Avery’s father, my grandmother Valerie’s nephew, who held an important position on the Valerie Atelier board. They were all people who had silently benefited from this legacy.
Mr. Henry: Stuttering, trembling, addressing me, full of anger and despair, “Ellie! What in God’s name are you doing?! Stop immediately! You’re ruining everything! Everything we’ve built! Ruining the family’s honour!”
Mr. Arthur: Shouting, his face red, pointing at me, “This girl! You’re crazy! What did you tell her, Avery?! You’ve messed everything up! You’ll pay for this chaos!”
Ellie: I turned to them, my voice no longer calm but filled with pain and disappointment. I gripped the microphone tightly, “Ruining? You are the ones who are ruining it! Ruining grandmother’s honour, ruining the values we once believed in! You knew this truth, didn’t you?! You knew what grandmother did to Genevieve Dubois, but you remained silent, still benefiting from that crime! You turned Valerie Atelier into a symbol of lies! You are accomplices!”
Mr. Henry: Stepping quickly towards me, intending to snatch the microphone from my hand, his face contorted with anger, he raised his hand as if to slap me, “Shut up, Ellie! You don’t know what you’re talking about! This is a family secret! You’re insulting your grandmother, insulting the family name! You are an unfilial child!”
Ellie: I yanked the microphone back, taking a step back, dodging my father’s blow, my voice ringing out with pain and determination, without an ounce of fear, “A secret? A secret that destroyed a whole life! A secret built on theft, on trampling on the efforts and talent of others! This is not a legacy to be proud of, but a stain, a curse eating away at our souls! Avery continued that curse, and you let her do it! You sold your souls for money, for deceit! You have no right to talk about honour!”
Mr. Arthur: His face pale, looking at Avery and then at me with hatred, but his eyes also showed a hint of fear, “What did you tell this girl, Avery?! You’ve messed everything up! You’ll pay!”
Avery: Shouting, in extreme despair and anger, tears streaming down her face, she collapsed onto the catwalk, “I didn’t say anything! She… she found out herself! She’s a poisonous snake! She wants to destroy me! Destroy all of us! She’s crazy!”
Liam, still standing there, witnessing the chaotic scene, the breakdown of my family, of himself. His eyes were full of remorse, mixed with fear. He understood that everything I said was true, and he was also a part of that painful truth. Daniel stood below, recording every moment, his eyes full of empathy and trust in me.
The entire hall erupted. Reporters rushed forward like a broken beehive, pointing microphones and cameras at me, at Avery, at the two fathers desperately trying to control the situation. The show had turned into a stage of collapse.
After that night, everything was as chaotic as a tangled ball of yarn. The show was cancelled midway. The press was flooded with news of Valerie Atelier’s shocking scandal and my family’s dark secrets. Avery’s reputation plummeted; she was forced to resign as CEO immediately and faced a strict internal investigation from the board. She was completely isolated; no one wanted to side with her anymore. Valerie Atelier faced a series of lawsuits regarding copyright and asset origins, not only from Genevieve Dubois’s family but also from other small designers who had been “exploited” by Valerie Atelier in the past. Both my father, Mr. Henry, and Avery’s father, Mr. Arthur, were also investigated for their roles in hiding this secret and could face criminal charges related to fraud and complicity. They lost the power, money, and reputation they had worked so hard to conceal.
I also faced many legal troubles for “breaching contract” and “spreading false information,” as accused by Avery. However, I was prepared for that. I had ample evidence, supported by Daniel and his lawyer, to prove the truth. The legal battle was long and exhausting, but I didn’t give up.
Liam and I had a long, tearful conversation. He confessed everything, his weakness in the face of Avery’s charm and manipulation. He apologised to me hundreds of times, and I felt his sincere remorse. I knew the emotional wounds wouldn’t heal easily, and our relationship would never be the same. We couldn’t continue living under the same roof when trust had been shattered. I decided to forgive Liam, not because I wanted to cling to the marriage, but because I wanted to release the burden in my heart, to live a life free from hatred. Liam left home, starting a new, humbler job, but one that aligned with the values he had lost. We agreed to co-parent Lucas, putting our son’s best interests first, and together build a healthy, honest environment for him.
I left Valerie Atelier, cutting all ties completely. “Ellie & Threads” faced great difficulties. Investors withdrew funds, partners turned away; many feared being implicated in the scandal. But I didn’t give up. I had learned a valuable lesson about trust and ethics in business.
In the most difficult times, I received unexpected support. Genevieve Dubois, the woman whose career my grandmother had destroyed, contacted me. She was an old, frail woman living in seclusion, but her eyes still glowed with the fire of passion when she spoke of her designs. She no longer designed, but she publicly supported me, sharing her story with the press, becoming a living testament to what I had exposed. Young designers, those who shared my ideals, also began to seek me out, offering to collaborate. Daniel wrote a series of in-depth articles and investigative reports, exposing the whole truth, turning public opinion to my side and putting great pressure on Valerie Atelier. The fashion community began to speak out in support of me and those who had been wronged.
I rebuilt “Ellie & Threads” from scratch, but this time, it was built on a much stronger foundation: truth, ethics, and respect for creative work. We don’t chase trends; we create timeless garments, woven from threads of sustainability and trust. I no longer seek glamour. I seek peace and meaning.
Now, I am a much more mature woman. I no longer blindly trust anyone. I have learned to listen to my intuition and to put my faith in what truly matters. Avery has disappeared from public view, isolated by the very relationships she built on lies and power. Valerie Atelier is on the verge of bankruptcy, or undergoing a thorough restructuring to cleanse the stains of the past, gradually losing its former glory. My father, Mr. Henry, and Avery’s father, Mr. Arthur, must face the collapse of an empire they silently protected, and perhaps, finally, face serious legal consequences and their consciences.
Liam and I, though unable to return to what we were, have learned to co-parent Lucas, building a deep friendship and respect. Lucas grew up in an honest environment, where his mother fought for truth and justice, an environment far removed from the lies I once experienced.
I still work in my attic studio, but now, my sketches aren’t just about fashion. They are about resilience, about standing up for what’s right, and about finding true beauty even in the darkest moments. I am no longer haunted by my grandmother’s dark legacy. I have created my legacy: a legacy of integrity and genuine passion, woven from the threads of truth and faith.
Every time I pick up a needle, I feel a stronger connection than ever to the thread of my life – a thread that may have once been tangled, broken, but is now carefully rewoven, stronger and more beautiful than ever. I didn’t just save my brand; I saved my soul.