Chapter 3
Seraphina's POV
Father's study hadn't changed in twenty years—the same mahogany desk, the same leather-bound volumes, the same suffocating smell of old money and older secrets.
But today felt different. Today, everything would change.
"I've called you all here," Father began, his voice carrying that familiar tone of absolute authority, "to announce my decision regarding Aurora's future."
I sat straighter in my chair, Sebastian's napkin still folded in my pocket like a talisman. The memory of his warm eyes gave me strength I didn't know I had.
Victoria perched on the edge of her seat, manicured fingers gripping her Hermès bag. Isadora practically bounced with anticipation, all innocent curls and calculated sweetness.
"I've decided to make this fair. Both my daughters will compete in the International Fashion Design Competition next month. The winner takes Aurora."
The words hit the room like a thunderclap.
"This competition will be fair and transparent. May the best designer win."
Isadora's sugar-sweet smile never wavered. "Of course, Daddy. I'm confident in my abilities."
The lies rolled off her tongue so easily. I wondered if she even remembered what truth felt like.
"I accept the challenge," I said, surprised by the steadiness in my own voice.
Victoria's laugh was soft as silk and twice as dangerous. "Sometimes talent isn't enough, dear. You need... strategy."
The threat in her words was crystal clear.
Three weeks later, my attic studio had transformed into a battlefield of fabric and dreams.
Sebastian said beautiful things are waiting for the right light. This is my light.
I worked through the nights, fueled by coffee and something deeper—hope.
The "Rebirth" collection took shape under my hands like a prayer made manifest. Each stitch carried my pain, my strength, my refusal to disappear.
"From ashes, we rise. From shadows, we emerge," I whispered to my sketches.
The dresses were revolutionary—traditional craftsmanship meeting modern innovation, every piece telling the story of transformation.
Of a girl who'd been invisible becoming a woman who refused to be ignored.
I barely slept. Barely ate.
This collection was everything I'd never dared to dream, and everything I'd finally found the courage to create.
The night before the competition, voices drifted up from Isadora's room below.
I froze on the stairs, my arms full of garment bags.
"...can't let her win, Mother. She'll take everything from me."
Victoria's response was honey over poison. "Don't worry, darling. Sometimes accidents just... happen."
A third voice—Jesse. "Are we really going to hurt her?"
"It's just a small accident, Jesse. She'll be fine, just... unable to compete."
My blood turned to ice.
They were planning something. But what?
Lincoln Center buzzed with nervous energy. The fashion world's elite had gathered for the most prestigious competition of the year.
I clutched my garment bags tighter, my "Rebirth" collection safely zipped inside.
I was so focused on protecting my designs that I didn't see the wire until it was too late.
My foot caught on something nearly invisible stretched across the staircase. The world tilted, and then I was falling—hard marble rushing up to meet me.
The impact drove the air from my lungs. Pain exploded through my ankle, sharp and immediate.
"No, no, no!" I gasped, trying to push myself up. "I have to get on that runway!"
A medic appeared. "Miss, you need to go to the hospital. Your ankle might be fractured."
"I've waited my whole life for this moment. I won't give up now."
But even as I said it, I could see my dreams slipping away. The competition started in ten minutes. My ankle screamed with every movement.
I was going to miss everything.
By the time I hobbled to the main stage, the show was ending.
"The winner of this year's International Fashion Design Competition is... Isadora Vincent!"
My heart shattered. Through a gap in the curtains, I watched my sister—my identical twin—accept roses and applause for my work.
"That's my design. Those are my dreams," I whispered.
Isadora beamed under the spotlights, wearing one of my pieces. "Thank you! This collection represents my vision of rebirth and renewal!"
Every word was a knife twist. She was taking credit for my soul, my story, my everything.
That's when I looked up and saw him.
Sebastian.
He sat in the judges' panel, elegant in a dark suit, his eyes focused on the stage. On Isadora. On my stolen dreams.
"Sebastian... it's you..."
The world tilted again, but this time it had nothing to do with my injury. The man who'd held me through the rain, who'd seen something in me worth saving—he was here.
I hid in the shadows as the crowd dispersed, watching Sebastian approach Isadora.
"Miss Vincent, your 'Rebirth' collection is extraordinary."
Isadora practically glowed under his attention. "Thank you, Mr. Cole. I put my heart and soul into every stitch."
Every word was a lie. But Sebastian didn't know that. How could he?
He was studying Isadora's face with the same intensity he'd shown me that night in the coffee shop. Did he see the similarities? The identical features that had fooled everyone our entire lives?
Or was I just another shadow in his world now—invisible, forgotten, replaced by the shinier version of myself?
I pressed my back against the cold wall, watching the man who'd given me hope praise the woman who'd stolen my dreams.
The irony was perfect and perfectly cruel.
Sebastian Cole—successful, powerful, part of the world I'd been denied access to my entire life.
But would he believe it? Would he care?
Or would he, like everyone else, choose the prettier lie over the complicated truth?
Three days after the competition, I was still nursing my injured ankle and my shattered dreams when Father summoned me to his study.
The familiar scent of cigars and leather hit me as I limped through the heavy oak doors. Father sat behind his desk, but something in his expression was different—softer, almost... remorseful.
"Seraphina, I owe you an apology. I've been blind to your true talent for too long."
My heart stuttered. "Father, do you mean...?"
He leaned forward, his weathered hands clasped together. "You are the rightful heir of Aurora. That design... it has your soul in every thread."
The words I'd dreamed of hearing my entire life hit me like a physical blow. Tears burned my eyes.
"Thank you for finally seeing me, Dad."
"I always knew you had potential, but seeing your work displayed as Isadora's..." He shook his head. "The craftsmanship, the innovative techniques, the emotional depth—that's not Isadora's style. That's yours."
'He knows. He actually knows the truth.'
"I'm officially naming you as Aurora's heir," Father continued. "But I need you to keep this quiet for a few days while I handle the legal arrangements."
"Thank you dad."
I could see the light at the end of the tunnel—soon I'd leave that attic behind for good.