Emma
Time seemed to slow as Camille's accusation echoed through the suddenly silent auditorium. The finale gown I'd sewn with such hope now felt like a weight, its crystals no longer catching light like stars but like shattered dreams.
"These are the original designs." Camille's voice dripped false concern as she showed her tablet to Laurent. Each swipe of her perfectly manicured finger revealed another comparison. "Posted by an Italian designer months ago. The similarities are... striking, wouldn't you say?"
My hands trembled as I looked at the images. There were surface similarities - fashion always built on what came before. But these weren't my designs. Weren't my stories.
"That's not true." My voice came out smaller than intended. "I can explain—"
"Oh, can you?" Camille's smile w
